Calls Virtue Hypocrite, takes off the Rofe
From the fair Fore-head of an innocent love,
And makes a blister there; makes Marriage vows
As false as Dicers Oaths. O fuch a Deed,
As from the Body of contraction plucks
The very Soul, and sweet Religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's Face doth glow,
Yea, this folidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage as against the doom,
Is thought-fick at the act.
Queen. Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the Index?
Ham. Look here upon this Picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two Brothers:
See what a Grace was seated on his Brow,
Hyperion's Curles, the front of Jove himself,
An Eye like Mars, to threaten or command,
A Station like the Herald Mercury
Now lighted on a Heav'n kissing Hill;
A Combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did feem to set his Seal,
To give the World assurance of a Man.
This was your Husband. Look you now what follows.
Here is your Husband, like a Mildew'd Ear,
Blafting his wholesome Brother. Have you Eyes?
Could you on this fair Mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this Moore? Ha! have you Eyes?
You cannot call it Love; for at your Age,
The hey-day in the Blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this? What Devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at Hoodman-blind?
O Shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious Hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a Matron's Bones,
To flaming youth, let Virtue be as Wax,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame,
When the compulsive Ardure gives the charge,
Since Frost it felf as actively doth burn,
As Reason panders Will.
Queen. O Hamlet, fpeak no more.
Thou turn'st mine Eyes into my very Soul,
And there I fee fuch black and grained spots,
As will not leave their Tinct.
Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous Bed,
Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making love
Over the nafty Sty.
Queen. Oh speak to me, no more,
These words like Daggers enter in mine Ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.
Ham. A Murderer, and a Villain!
A Slave, that is not twentieth part, the tythe
Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings,
A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule.
That from a shelf, the precious Diadem stole,
And put it in his Pocket.
Ham. A King of shreds and patches
Save me! and hover o'er me with your Wings [Starting up. You Heavenly Guards! What would you, gracious figure?
Ham. Do you not come your tardy Son to chide,
That laps'd in Time and Paffion, lets go by
Th' importing acting of your dread command? Oh say.
Ghost. Do not forget: this Visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But look! Amazement on thy Mother fits;
O step between her, and her fighting Soul,
Conceit in weakest Bodies, strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham. How is it with you, Lady?
Queen. Alas, how is't with you?
That thus you bend your Eye on vacancy,
And with the Corporal Air do hold discourse.
Forth at your Eyes, your Spirits wildly peep,
And as the fleeping Soldiers in th' Alarm,
Your Bedded Hairs, like life in Excrements,
Start up, and stand an end. O gentle Son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy Distemper
Sprinkle cool Patience. Whereon do you look?
Ham. On him! on him! ---- look you how pale he glares
His formand cause conjoin'd, preaching to Stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me,
Left with this pitious action you convert
My stern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
Queen. To whom do you speak this?
Ham. Do you fee nothing there?
Queen. Nothing at all, yet all that is I fee,
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen. No, nothing but our selves.
Ham. Why look you there! look how it steals away!
My Father in his habit, as he lived.
Look where he goes even now out at the Portal.
Queen. This is the very Coinage of your brain,
This bodiless Creation ecstasie is very cunning in.
Ham. Ecstafsie ?
My Pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful Musick. It is not madness
That I have uttered; bring me to the Test
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gamboll from. Mother, for love of Grace,
Lay not a flattering Unction to your Soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the Ulcerous place,
Whilst rank Corruption running all within,
Infects unseen. Confess your self to Heav'n,
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,
And do not spread the Compost on the Weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my Virtue,
For in the fatness of these pursie times,
Virtue it felf, of Vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb, and wooe, for leave to do him good.
Queen. Oh, Hamlet! thou hast cleft my Heart in twain.
Ham. O throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good Night; but go not to mine Uncle's Bed,
Assume a Virtue, if you have it not.
That Monster Custom, who all Sense doth eat
Of Habit's Devil, is Angel yet in this;
That to the use of Actions fair and good,
He likewise gives a Frock or Livery
That aptly is put on: refrain to Night,
And that thall lend a kind of easiness
To the next Abstinence, the next more eafie;
For ufe can almost change the stamp of Nature
And master the Devil, or throw him out
With wondrous Potency. Once more, good Night;
And when you are defirous to be blest,
I'll bleffing beg of you. For this same Lord, [Pointing to Pol.
I do repent: but Heav'n hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their Scourge and Minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him; fo again, good Night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
Queen. What shall I do?
Ham. Not this by no means that I bid you do,
Let the blunt King tempt you again to Bed,
Pinch Wanton on your cheek, call you his Mouse,
And let him for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or padling in your Neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft, 'Twere good you let him know,
For who that's but a Queen, fair, sober, wife,
Would from a Paddock, from a Bat, a Gibbe,
Such dear concernings hide? Who would do fo?
No, in despight of Sense and Secrecy,
Unpeg the Basket on the Houses top,
Let the Birds fly, and like the famous Ape,
To try conclufions, in the Basket creep,
And break your own Neck down.
Oueen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of Life: I have no Life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
Ham. I must to England, you know that?
Queen. Alack, I had forgot; 'Tis so concluded on.
Ham. This Man shall set me packing;
I'll lug the Guts into the Neighbour Room;
Mother, good Night. Indeed this Counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in Life a foolish prating Knave.
Come, Sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good Night, Mother. [Exeunt Hamlet tugging in Polonius.
Here's matters in these fighs, these profound heaves;
You must translate, 'tis we understand them.
Queen. Ah, my good Lord, what have I feen to Night? King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
Queen. Mad as the Seas, and Wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier; in his lawless fit
Behind the Arras, hearing something stir,
He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat,
And in his brainish apprehenfion, kills
The unseen good old Man.
King. Oh heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there:
His Liberty is full of threats to all,
To you your self, to us, to every one.
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
This mad young Man. But so much was our love,
We would not understand what was most fit,
But like the Owner of a foul Disease,
To keep it from divulging, lets it feed
Even on the pith of Life. Where is he gone?
Queen. To draw apart the Body he hath kill'd,
O'er whom his very Madness, like fome Ore
Among a Mineral of Metals base,
Shews it felf pure. He weeps for what is done,
King. Oh Gertrude, come away:
The Sun no fooner shall the Mountains touch,
But we will ship him hence, and this vile deed,
We must, with all our Majesty and Skill,
Both countenance, and excuse. Ho! Guildenstern!
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