And these few precepts in thy memory

Look thou character.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou haft, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy foul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear it, that the oppofer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's cenfure, but referve thy judgement.
Coftly thy habit as thy purfe can buy,

But not exprefs'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft lofes both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,-To thine ownfelf be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou can't not then be falle to any man.
Farewell; my bleffing feafon this in thee!

Laer. Moft humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol. The time invites you; go, your fervants tend.
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have faid to you.

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd,

And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

Laer. Farewell.

[Exit LAERTES.

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath faid to you?

Oph. So please you, fomething touching the lord Hamlet.
Pol. Marry, well bethought:

'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late

Given private time to you; and you yourself

Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
If it be fo (as fo 'tis put on me,

And that in way of caution) I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself fo clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth.

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol. Affection! puh! you speak like a green girl, Unfifted in fuch perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ?

Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think, Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby; That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not fterling. Tender yourself more dearly; Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, Wronging it thus) you'll tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love, In honourable fashion.

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.

Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol. Ay, fpringes to catch woodcocks. I do know, When the blood burns, how prodigal the foul Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both, Even in their promife, as it is a making,You must not take for fire. From this time Be fomewhat fcanter of your maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, Believe fo much in him, That he is young; C 2

And

And with a larger tether may he walk,
Than may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers
Not of that die which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like fanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,-

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you fo flander any moment's leisure,

As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.

Oph. I fhall obey, my lord.

SCENE IV. The Platform.

[Exeunt.

Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS.

Ham. The air bites fhrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham. What hour now?

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; it then draws near the season, Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within. What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to night, and takes his rouse,

Keeps waffel, and the fwaggering up-spring reels:

And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenifh down,

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

The triumph of his pledge.

Hor. Is it a custom ?

Ham. Ay, marry, is't:

But to my mind,—though I am native here,
And to the manner born,-it is a custom

More

More honour'd in the breach than the obfervance.
This heavy-headed revel, east and weft,

Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes

From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for fome vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,)

By the o'er-growth of fome complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or, by fome habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plaufive manners;—that these men,
Carrying, I fay, the stamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,
Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo).

Shall in the general cenfure take corruption
From that particular fault: The dram of base
Doth all the noble substance often dout,

To his own fcandal.

Enter GHOST.

Hor. Look, my lord! it comes!

Ham. Angels and minifters of grace defend us!-

Be thou a fpirit of health, or goblin damn'd!

Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell!

Bethy intents wicked, or charitable !

Thou com'ft in fuch a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee! I'll call thee, Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me:

Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,

Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the fepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To caft thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corfe, again, in complete steel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpfes of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we, fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our difpofition,

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,

As if it fome impartment did desire,

To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action. It waves you to a more removed ground: But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

Ham. It will not fpeak; then I will follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not fet my life at a pin's fee;

And, for my foul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again;-I'll follow it.

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful fummit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his bafe into the fea?

And there affume fome other horrible form,

Which might deprive your fovereignty of reafon,

And draw you into madnefs? think of it:

The very place puts toys of desperation,

Without more motive, into every brain,

That