Ham. Murder!

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is,

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as

swift

20 As meditation or the thoughts of love,

35

40

45

May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost.

Ham.

I find thee apt;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat

weed

That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,

hear.

"T is given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of
Denmark

Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abused; but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.

My uncle!

O my prophetic sou!!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous

gifts,

O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!-won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity

That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine!

But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,

50

So lust, though to a radiant angel linked, 55 Will sate itself in a celestial bed

And prey on garbage.

60

But, soft! Methinks I scent the morning air.
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood. So did it 70
mine,

And a most instant tetter barked about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at

dispatched;

65

once 75

80

85

90

95

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught. Leave her to

heaven

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,

To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at

once!

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

[Exit. Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?

And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold,
hold, my heart,

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a

seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,

All saws of books, all forms, all pressures 100

past,

That youth and observation copied there,
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables,-meet it is I set it down

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;

At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.

So, uncle, there you are.

word;

[Writing.

105

Now to my 110

It is "Adieu, adieu! remember me."
I have sworn 't.

}[Within.] My lord, my lord!

[Within.] Lord Hamlet!

Mar.

Hor.

Mar.

Hor.

Ham. So be it!

[Within.] Heaven secure him!

Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Mar. How is't, my noble lord?

Hor.

Ham. O, wonderful!

Hor. Good my lord, tell it.
Ham.

What news, my lord?

No, you'll reveal it.

115

120 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.

Nor I, my lord. Ham. How say you, then,-would heart of man

125 Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave

130

135

Ham.

To tell us this.

Why, right, you are in the right.
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;
You, as your business and desire shall point

you,

For every man hath business and desire,

Such as it is; and for my own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my

lord.

Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;

Hor.

Yes, faith, heartily.

There's no offence, my lord. Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,

And much offence too. Touching this vision here,

It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you.