Your better wifdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: (for all, our thanks.)
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak fuppofal of our worth;

Or thinking by our late dear brothei's death
Our State to be disjoint and out of frame;
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pefter us with meffage,
Importing the furrender of thofe Lands
Loft by his father, by all bands of law,

To our most valiant brother-So much for him.-
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is. We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
(Who, impotent and bed-rid, fcarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose.) to suppress
His further gait herein; in that the Levies,
The Lifts, and full Proportions are all made
Out of his Subjects: and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this Greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further perfonal power
To bulinefs with the King, more than the scope
Which thefe dilated articles allow.

Farewel, and let your hafte commend your duty.
Vol. In that, and all things, will we fhew our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewel,

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with

you? You told us of fome fuit. What is't, Laertes?

You cannot fpeak of Reason to the Dane,

And lofe your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes That fhall not be my offer, not thy afking?

* The blood is not more native to the heart,

The head is not more native to the heart, &c.] This a flagrant Inftance of the firft Editors' preferring Sound to Sense. fuppofe that Shakespear wrote,

The Blood is not more native to the heart.

We may

Warb.

The hand more inftrumental to the mouth,
Than to the Throne of Denmark is thy father.
What would'ft thou have, Laertes?

Laer. My dread lord,

Your leave and favour to return to France;

From whence, though willingly I came to Denmark To fhew my duty in your Coronation;

Yet now I must confefs, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again tow'rds France: And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. King. Have you your father's leave? what fays Polonius?

Pol. He hath, my lord, by labourfome petition, Wrung from me my flow leave; and, at the laft, Upon his will I feal'd my hard confent.

I do befeech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes, time be thine; And thy beft Graces spend it at thy will. * But now, my coufin Hamlet.

Kind my fon

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.

[Afide. King. How is it, that the clouds ftill hang on you? Ham. Not fo, my lord, I am too much i'th' Sun. Queen. Good Hamlet, caft thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids,

Seek for thy noble father in the duft;

Thou know'ft, 'tis common; all that live, must die; Paffing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, Madam, it is common.

* But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my fon

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.] The King had called him, Cousin Hamlet, therefore Hamlet replies,

A little more than kin,

-and less than kind?

The King, in the present Reading, gives no Occafion for this Refledion, which is fufficient to fhew it to be faulty, and that we fhould read and point the firft Line thus,

But now, my coufin Hamlet.

VOL. IX.

L

-Kind my son Warb.

Queen'

Queen. If it be,

Why feems it fo particular with thee?

Ham. Seems, Madam? nay, it is; I know not feems: 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor cuftomary fuits of folemn Black,

Nor windy fufpiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, fhews of grief,
That can denote me truly. These indeed feem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have That within, which passeth fhew:
Thefe, but the trappings, and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis fweet and commendable in your nature,
Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father:
But you must know, your father loft a father;
That father, his; and the furviver bound
In filial obligation, for fome term,
To do obfequious forrow. But to persevere
In obftinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornnefs, unmanly grief.
It fhews a will most incorrect to heav'n,
A heart unfortify'd, a mind impatient,
An understanding fimple, and unfchool'd:
For, what we know must be, and is as common
As any the moft vulgar thing to fense,
Why should we, in our peevish oppofition,
Take it to heart? fie! 'tis a fault to heav'n,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To Reafon most abfurd; whose common theme
Is de ath of fathers, and who ftill bath cry'd,
From the firft coarfe, 'till he that died to-day,
This must be so. We pray you throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our Throne;
And with no lefs nobility of love,

Than

Than that which dearest father bears his fon,
*Do I impart tow'rd you. For your intent
In going back to school to Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our defire:

And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, coufin, and our fon.

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet : I pr'ythee, ftay with us, go not to Wittenberg. Ham. I fhall in all my best obey you, Madam. King. Why, 'tis a loving, and a fair reply; Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits fmiling to my heart, in grace whereof No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day But the great Cannon to the clouds fhall tell; And the King's rouse the heav'n fhall bruit again, Re-fpeaking earthly thunder. Come, away. [Exeunt.

Ham.

that this too-too-fold flesh would melt, Thaw, and refolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fixt

His canon 'gainft felf-flaughter! Oh God! oh God! How weary, ftale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the ufes of this world!

Fie on't! oh fie, 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to feed; things rank, and gross in nature
Poffefs it merely. That it fhould come to this!
But two months dead! nay, not so much; not two;~
So excellent a King, that was, to this,

Hyperion to a Satyr: fo loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heav'n
Vifit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
Muft I remember-why, the would hang on him,
*Do I impart toward you--] Impart, for profess.

As if Increase of Appetite had grown
By what it fed on; yet, within a month,-
Let me not think-Frailty, thy name is Woman!
A little month! or ere thofe fhoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears- -Why fhe, ev'n fhe,

(O heav'n! a beast that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer-) married with mine uncle,

My father's brother; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules. Within a month!.

Ere yet the falt of moft unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her gauled eyes,
She married.Oh, moft wicked speed, to poft
With fuch dexterity to incestuous fheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to Good.
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus,

Hor. H Ham. I am glad to fee you well;

AIL to your lordship.

Horatio. or I do forget myself?

Hor. The fame, my lord, and your poor fervant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!

Mar. My good lord

Ham. I am very glad to fee you; good morning, Sir. But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? Hor. A truant difpofition, good my lord. Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor fhall you do mine ear that violence, To make it Trufler of your own report Against yourself I know, you are no truant; But what is your affair in Elfinoor?

We'll