But that I know, love is begun by time;"
And that I see, in passages of proof,7
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 hath abatements and delays as many

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh,

8

That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer : Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,

To show yourself in deed your father's son

More than in words?

Laer.

To cut his throat i'the church.
King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber:
Hamlet, return'd, 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 o'er your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,

The meaning

6 love is begun by time;] This is obscure. may be, love is not innate in us, and co-essential to our nature, but begins at a certain time from some external cause, and being always subject to the operations of time, suffers change and diminution. JOHNSON.

7

- passages of proof,] In transactions of daily experience. 8 And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh,

That hurts by casing.] A spendthrift sigh is a sigh that makes an unnecessary waste of the vital flame. It is a notion very prevalent, that sighs impair the strength, and wear out the animal powers. JOHNSON.

Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated', and, in a pass of practice,1
Requite him for your father.

Laer.
I will do't
And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,

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 scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death. 2

King.
Let's further think of this;
Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means,
May fit us to our shape3: if this should fail,

And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd: 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:

4

A sword unbated,] i. e. not blunted as foils are.

a pass of practice,] Practice is often by Shakspeare, and other writers, taken for an insidious stratagem, or privy treason, a sense not incongruous to this passage, where yet it may mean a thrust for exercise; or perhaps, a favourite pass, one he has well practised in.

2 It may be death.] It is a matter of surprise, that no one of Shakspeare's numerous and able commentators has remarked, with proper warmth and detestation, the villainous assassin-like treachery of Laertes in this horrid plot. There is the more occasion that he should be here pointed out an object of abhorrence, as he is a character we are, in some preceding parts of the play, led to respect and admire. RITSON.

9 May fit us to our shape:] May enable us to assume proper characters, and to act our part.

4

blast in proof.] A metaphor. taken from the trying or proving fire-arms or cannon, which often blast or burst in the proof.

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 preferr'd him3
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,

If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 6
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 drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where ?

Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the grassy stream; Therewith fantastick garlands did she make

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 pendent 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 indu'd

8

Unto that element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

5

Laer.

Alas then, she is drown'd?

I'll have preferred him-] i. e. presented to him. If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,] i. e. your venom'd thrust. Stuck was a term of the fencing school.

7

liberal-] Liberal is free-spoken, licentious in language.

8 As one incapable of her own distress,] As one having no understanding or knowledge of her danger.

QUEEN. THERE ON THE PENDANT BOUGHS HER CORONET WEEDS

CLAMBERING TO HANG. AN ENVIOUS SLIVER BROKE
WHEN DOWN HER WEFDY TROPHIES. AND HERSELF
FELL IN THE WEEPING BROOK.

Act IV. Sc..

London Published by EC.& J. Rivington and Partners. Feb 1823