King. Dead.

Queen. But not by him.

King. Let him demand his fill.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with : To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackeft devil! Confcience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation; to this point I stand, That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come, what comes; only I'll be reveng'd Moft throughly for my father.

King. Who fhall ftay you?

Laer. My will, not all the world;

And for my means, I'll husband them fo well.
They fhall go far with little.

King. Good Laertes,

If you defire to know the certainty

Of your dear father, is't writ in your revenge, (That fweep-ftake) you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and lofer?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King. Will you know them then?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms, And like the kind life-rendring pelican, Repaft them with my blood.

King. Why, now you speak

Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltlefs of your father's death,
And am moft fenfible in grief for it,

It fhall as level to your judgment pierce,

As day does to your eye. [A noife within. "Let her come in.]

Laer. How now, what noife is that?

Enter Ophelia, fantaflically dress'd with straws and flowers. Oh heat, dry up my brains! tears, feven times falt, Burn out the fenfe and virtue of mine eye!

By

By heav'n, thy madness fhall be paid with weight, 'Till our fcale turn the beam. O rofe of May! Dear maid, kind fifter, fweet Ophelia !

O he'ns, is't poffible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
*Nature is fall'n in love; and where 'tis fall'n,
It fends fome precious inftance of itself

After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
And on his Grave remains many a tear ;
Fare you well, my dove!

Laer. Had'ft thou thy wits, and didft perfuade
Revenge,

It could not move thus.

Oph. You must fing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a. O how the weal becomes it! it is the falfe fteward that ftole his mafter's daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rofemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there's pancies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you, and here's fome for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daify; I would give you fome violets, but they withered all when my father dy'd they fay, he made a good end;

:

For bonny fweet Robin is all my joy.

Laer. Thought and affliction, paffion, hell itself, She turns to favour, and to prettiness.

*Nature is fine in love; and where 'tis fine,

It fends fome precious inftance of itself

After the thing it loves.] This is unquestionable corrupt.

pole Shakespear wrote,

Nature is fall'n in love, and where 'tis fall'n.

I fup

Warb.

Oph.

Oph. And will he not come again?

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed,

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as fnow,

All flaxen was his pole:

He is gone, he is gone, and we caft away mone,

Gramercy on his foul!

And of all chriftian fouls! God b' w' ye.

Laer. Do you fee this, you Gods!

[Exit Ophelia.

King. Laertes, I muft commune with your grief, Or you deny me right: go but a-part,

Make choice of whom your wifeft friends you will,
And they fhall hear and judge'twixt you and me ;
If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch'd, we will our Kingdom give,
Our Crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in fatisfaction. But if not,

Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your foul,
To give it due content.

Laer. Let this be fo.

His means of death, his obfcure funeral,

No trophy, fword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal oftentation,

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heav'n to earth,
That I muft call't in queftion.

King. So you fhall:

And where th' offence is, let the great tax fall.

[Exeunt.

HAT are they, that would fpeak with me? Ser. Sailors, Sir; they fay, they have letters for you

Hor.

Hor. Let them come in.

I do not know from what part of the world

I fhould be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.
Enter Sailors.

Sail. God bless you, Sir.

Hor. Let him bless thee too.

Sail, He fhall. Sir, an't pleafe him.

There's a

letter for you, Sir: It comes from th' ambassador that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Horatio reads the letter

H ORATIO, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give thefe fellows fome means to the King: they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at fea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chafe. Finding ourfelves too flow of fail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them: on the inftant they got clear of our fhip, fo I alone became their prifoner. They have dealt with me, like thieves of mercy; but they know what they did: I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have fent, and repair thou to me with as much hafte as thou wouldeft fly death. I have words to speak in thy ear, will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the matter. Thefe good fellows will bring thee where 1 am. Rofincrantz and Guildenstern hold their courfe for England. Of them I have much to tell thee, farewel.

He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.

Come, I will make you way for these your letters;
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them.

[Excunt.

King. NOW muft your confcience my acquittance

feal,

And

And you must put me in your heart for friend;
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he, which hath your noble father flain,
Pursued my life.

Laer. It well appears. But tell me,

Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and fo capital in nature,
As by your fafety, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly where ftirr'd up?

King. Two fpecial reafons,

Which may to you, perhaps, feem much unfinew'd,
And yet to me are firong. The Queen, his mother,
Lives almoft by his looks; and for myself,
(My virtue or my plague, be't either which,)
She's fo conjunctive to my life and foul,
That, as the ftar moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a public count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him;
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the fpring that turneth wood to ftone,
Convert his gyves to graces. So that my arrows,
Too flightly timbred for fo loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.

Laer. And fo have I a noble father loft,
A fifter driven into defperate terms,

Whofe worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age

For her perfections-But my revenge will come. King. Break not your fleeps for that; you must not think,

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,

That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it paftime. You fhall foon hear more.
I lov'd your father, and we love ourself,

And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine--
How now? what news!

Enter