Bestial oblivion, or fome craven fcruple
Of thinking too precifely on th' event,

(A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,

And ever three parts coward:) I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing's to do;

Sith, I have caufe, and will, and ftrength, and means
To do't. Examples, grofs as earth, exhort me;
Witness this army of fuch mafs and charge,

Led by a delicate and tender Prince,
Whofe fpirit, with divine ambition puft,
Makes mouths at the invifible event;
Expofing what is mortal and unfure

To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Ev'n for an egg-fhell. 'Tis not to be great,
Never to ftir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,

When Honour's at the flake. How ftand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother flain'd,
(Excitements of my reafon and my blood)
And let all fleep? while, to my fhame, I fee
The imminent death of twenty thousand men ;
That for a fantasy and trick of fame

Go to their Graves like beds; fight for a Plot,
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent.
To hide the flain? O, then, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.

Queen. I

Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.

Will not speak with her.

Gent. She is importunate,

[Exit.

Indeed, diftra&t; her mood will needs be pitied.

Queen.

Queen. What would fhe have?

Gent. She fpeaks much of her father; fays, she

hears,

There's tricks i' th' world; and hems and beats her

heart;

Spurns enviously at ftraws; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half fenfe: her speech is nothing, Yet the unfhaped ufe of it doth move

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; Which as her winks, and nods, and geftures yield them,

Indeed would make one think, there might be thought;

Tho' nothing fure, yet much unhappily.

Hor. 'Twere good fhe were spoken with, for fhe may ftrow

Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Let her come in..

Queen. To my fick foul, as fin's true nature is,
Each Toy feems prologue to fome great Amifs;
So full of artlefs jealoufy is guilt,

It fpills itfelf, in fearing to be spilt.

Enter Ophelia, diftracted.

Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark? Queen. How now, Ophelia?

Oph. How fhall I your true Love know from another

one?

By his cockle hat and staff, and his fandal fhoon's

[Singing.

Queen. Alas, fweet lady; what imports this fong?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

He's dead and gone, lady, he's dead and gone;
At his head a grafs-green turf, at his heels a stone.

5

Enter

White his fhroud as the mountain fnow.
Queen. Alas, look here, my lord.

Oph. Larded all with fweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love fhowers.

King. How do ye, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God yield you! they say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!

King. Conceit upon her father.

Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, fay you this:

To-morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime,
And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
Then up he rofe, and don'd his clothes, and do'pt the
chamber door ;

Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia !

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.

By Gis, and by S. Charity,
Alack, and fie for fhame!

Young men will do`t, if they come to`t,

By Cock, they are to blame.

Quoth fhe, before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed:

So would I ha' done, by yonder fun,

And thou had not come to my bed.

King. How long has he been thus?

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa

tient;

tient; but I cannot chufe but weep, to think, they fhould lay him i' th' cold ground; my brother shall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counfel. Come, my coach; good-night, ladies; goodnight, fweet ladies; good-night, good-night. [Exit. King. Follow her clofe, give her good watch, I [Exit Horatio. This is the poifon of deep grief; it fprings All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude! When forrows come, they come not fingle spies, But in Battalions. Firft, her father flain;

pray you;

Next your Son gone, and he moft violent author
Of his own juft Remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholefome in their thoughts and
whispers,

For good Polonius' death; (We've done but greenly,
In private to inter him ;) poor Ophelia,
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
(Without the which we'er pictures, or mere beasts :)
Laft, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in fecret come from France:
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With peftilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein neceffity, of matter beggar'd, *
Will nothing stick our perfons to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me fuperfluous death!

Queen. Alack! what Noife is this?

SCENE

Enter a Meffenger.

King WH
WHERE

VI.

[A noife within.

HERE are my Switzers? let them guard the door.

What is the matter?

Mef. Save yourself, my lord.

O 6

The

The ocean, over-peering of his lift,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him lord;
And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every ward;

They cry,

"Chufe we Laertes for our King!" Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the Clouds; "Laertes fhall be King, Laertes King!"

Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trial they cry! Oh, this is counter, you falfe Danish dogs.

[Noife within.

Enter Laertes, with a Party at the Door.

King. The doors are broke.

Laer. Where is this King? Sirs! stand you

without.

All. No, let's come in.

Laer. I pray you, give me leave.

All. We will, we will.

Laer. I thank you, keep the door.

O thou vile King, give me my father.
Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

all

[Exeunt.

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me baftard;

Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chafte and unfmirch'd brow Of my true mother.

King. What is the caufe, Laertes,

That thy Rebellion looks fo giant-like?

Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our perfon :
There's fuch divinity doth hedge a King,

That treafon can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of its will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why are you thus incens'd? Let him go, Gertrude.
Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?