P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!

Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham. If she should break it now,

P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn.

[TO OPHELIA. Sweet, leave me

here a while;

My spirits grow dull, and fain 1 would beguile The tedious day with sleep.

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain;

[Sleeps,

And never come mischance between us twain! [Exit. Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i'the world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the Duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: But what of that? your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: Let the gall'd jade wince, our withers are unwrung.

Enter LUCIANUS.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.

Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my Lord. Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my Lord, you are keen. Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.

Oph. Still better, and worse.

-

Ham. So you mistake your husbands. Begin, murderer'; leave thy dainable faces, and begin. Come:

-The croaking raven

Doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecat's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magick and dire property, On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears. Ham. He poisons him i'the garden for his estate. His naine's Gonzago: the story is extant, and written in, very choice Italian: You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. Oph. The King rises.

Ham. What frighted with false fire!

Queen. How fares my Lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me some light: -a

Pol. Lights, lights, lights!

away!

[Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORAtio.

Ham. Why, let the strucken deep go weep,

The hart ungafled play:

For some must watch, while some inust sleep;
Thus runs the world away.

Would not this, Sir, and a forest of feathers, (if

the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, Sir?

Hor. Half a share.

Ham. A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
A very, very-peacock.

Hor. You might have rhymed.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?

Hor. Very well, my Lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,

Hor. I did very well note him.

Ham. Ah, ha! Come, some musick; come, the recorders.

For if the King like not the comedy,

Why then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy.

Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.

Come, some musick.

Guil. Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The King, Sir,

Ham. Ay, Sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distem

per'd.

Ham. With drink, Sir?

Guil. No, my Lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.

Guil. Good my Lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. Ham. I am tame, Sir:pronounce.

Guil. The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my Lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of my business. Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil, What, my Lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome auswer; my wit's diseased: But, Sir, such auswer as I can make, you shall command: or, rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: My mother, you say,

Ros. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? impart.

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

Ilam. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us? Ros. My Lord, you once did love me.

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. Ros. Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do, surely, bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your succession in Denmark?

Ham. Ay, Sir, but, While the grass grows, the proverb is something musty.

Enter the Players, with Recorders.

O, the recorders:

draw with you:

let me see one.

To with

Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?

Guil. O, my Lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My Lord, 1 cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my Lord.

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent musick. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me? You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much musick, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.