away. The poifoner wooes the queen with gifts; she feems loath and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love. [Exeunt.

Oph. What means this, my lord?

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief. Oph Belike, this show imports the argument of the play.

Enter PROLOGUE.

Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counfel; they'll tell all.

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?

Ham. Ay, or any fhow that you'll fhow him: Be not you afhamed to fhow, he'll not fhame to tell you what it

means.

Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark the play. Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here fooping to your clemency,

We beg your hearing patiently.

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the pofy of a ring?

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.

Ham. As woman's love.

Enter a King and a Queen.

P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
Neptune's falt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen,
About the world have times twelve thirties been;
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual in most facred bands.

P. Queen. So many journeys may the fun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are fo fick of late,
So far from cheer, and from your former ftate,
That I diftruft you. Yet, though I distrust,
Difcomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:

For

For women fear too much, even as they love;
And women's fear and love hold quantity:
In neither aught, or in extremity.

Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is fiz'd, my fear is fo.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;
My operant powers their functions leave to do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind
For husband fhalt thou-

P. Queen. O, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In fecond husband let me be accurft!

None wed the second but who kill'd the first.
Ham. That's wormwood.

P. Queen. The inftances, that second marriage move, Are base respects of thrift, but none of love;

A fecond time I kill my husband dead,

When fecond husband kiffes me in bed.

P. King. I do believe, you think what now you speak; But, what we do determine oft we break.

Purpose is but the flave to memory;

Of violent birth, but poor validity:

Which now, like fruit unripe, fticks on the tree;
But fall, unfhaken, when they mellow be.

Moft neceffary 'tis, that we forget

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in paffion we propose,
The paffion ending, doth the purpose lofe;
The violence of either grief or joy

Their own enactures with themselves destroy :

Where joy moft revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on flender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange,
That even our loves fhould with our fortunes change;
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,

Whether love lead fortune, or elfe fortune love.
The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies;
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend:

For who not needs, fhall never lack a friend :
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly feasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begun-
Our wills and fates do fo contráry run,
That our devices ftill are overthrown;

Our thoughts are our's, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no fecond husband wed;

But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.

P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light! Sport and repofe lock from me, day and night! To desperation turn my trust and hope! An anchor's cheer in prifon be my scope! Each oppofite, that blanks the face of joy, Meet what I would have well, and it destroy! Both here, and hence, purfue me lasting strife, If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham. If the fhould break it now-- [TO OPHELIA.

P. King.'Tis deeply fworn. Sweet, leave me here a while; My fpirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with fleep.

[Sleeps.

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain;

And never come mifchance between us twain!

[Exit.

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen The lady doth proteft 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 jeft, poison in jest; no offence i'the world.

King. What do you call the play ?

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, howl Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife Baptifta; you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: But what of that? Your majesty, and we that have free fouls, 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 fee 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 damnable faces, and begin.

Come:

The croaking raven

Doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;

Confederate season, elfe 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 wholefome life ufurp immediately.

[Pours the poifon into the fleeper's ears. F 2

Ham.

Ham. He poifons him i'the garden for his eftate. His name's Gonzago; the ftory is extant, and written in very choice Italian: You fhall fee anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The king rifes.

Ham. What! frighted with false fire!

Queen. How fares my lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me fome light :-away!

Pol. Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO

Ham. Why let the ftrucken deer go weep,
The Hart ungalled play:

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

Would not this, fir, and a forest of feathers (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me) with two Provencial rofes on my razed fhoes, get me a fellow fhip in a cry of players, fir.

Hor. Half a fhare.

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 rhym'd.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the Ghost's word for a

thousand pounds. Did'ft perceive?

Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning

Hor. I did very well note him.

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

For