If one could match you: the scrimers of their

nation,

He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy.
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him.

Now, out of this, -
Laer.

What out of this, my lord?

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,

A face without a heart?

Laer.

Why ask you this?

110

King. Not that I think you did not love you

father;

But that I know love is begun by time;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a plurisy,

Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,
We should do when we would; for this 'would'

changes,

And bath abatements and delays as many,

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;

120

And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift's sigh,

That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the

ulcer:

Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,

To show yourself your father's son in deed,

More than in words?

Laer.

To cut his throat i' the church.

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanc

tuarise;

Revenge should have no bounds. But, good

Laertes,

129

Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. Hamlet, returned, shall know you are come home: We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, And set a double varnish on the fame

The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine,

together,

And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,

Requite him for your father.

Laer.

I will do't;

And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,

140

Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratched withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,

It may be death.

King.

Let's further think of this;

151

Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad per

formance,

"T were better not assayed: therefore, this project
Should have a back or second, that might hold
If this should blast in proof. Soft, - let me see :-
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, -
I ha't:

When in your motion you are hot and dry,-
As make your bouts more violent to that end, -
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, 161
If he by chance escape your venomed stuck
Our purpose may hold there. But stay! what

noise?

Enter QUEEN.

How now, sweet queen?

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel So fast they follow. - Your sister's drowned, Laertes. Laer. Drowned!-O, where?

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,

170

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come,
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,

But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call

them:

There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread

wide,

And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes.

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink.
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

Laer.

Alas, then, is she drowned !

Queen. Drowned, drowned.

180

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor

Ophelia,

And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet

It is our trick; nature her custom holda

Let shame say what it will: when these are gone,

The woman will be out. - Adieu, my lord!

191

I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze,

But that this folly douts it.
King.

[Exit.

Let's follow, Gertrude.

How much I had to do to calm his rage!

Now fear I, this will give it start again;

Therefore let's follow.

[Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE I.-A Churchyard.

Enter two Clowns, with spades and mattocks.

1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation?

2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

2 Clo. Why, 't is found so.

8

1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be

else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three