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that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was born: he that is mad, and sent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into Eng. land?

1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there.

Ham. Why?

1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?
1 Clo. Very strangely, they say.
Ham. How strangely?
1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Ham. Upon what ground ?

1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sexton here, man, and boy, thirty years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i’ the earth ere he rot?

1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we have many pocky corses nowadays, that will scarce hold the laying in), he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last you

nine year. Ham. Why he more than another? 1 Clo. Wby, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great wbile; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a scull now hath lain you i'the earth three-and-twenty years.

Ham. Whose was it?

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue, he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. This?

[Takes the Scull. 1 Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick!-I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he bath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung

1

those lips, that. I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gives now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap. fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. -'Pr’ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing,

Hor. What's that, my lord ?
Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander look'd
o' this fashion i' the earth?

Hor. E'en so.
Ham. And smelt so? pahı !

Throws down the Skull.
Hor. E'en so, my lord.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till be find it stopping a bunghole?

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As thus ; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer barrel?

Imperious Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away :
o, that tbe earth, which kept the world in awe,

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!
But soft! but soft! aside:-Here comes the king,
Enter Priests, &c. in Procession; the Corpse of

Ophelia, LAERTES, and Mourners, following;

King, Queen, their Trains, &c.
The queen, the courtiers ! Who is this they fol.

low?
And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken,
The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life. 'Twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile, and mark.

[Retiring with HORATIO. Laer. What ceremony else ?

Ham.

That is Laertes; A very noble youth: Mark.

Laer. What ceremony else? 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far en

larg'd As we have warranty: her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the

order, She should in ground unsanctified bave lodg'd Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown

on her, Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell, and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done? 1 Priest,

No more be done! We should profane the service of the dead, To sing a requiem, and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls. Laer.

Lay her i' the earth ;And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, May violets spring !-I tell tbee, churlish priest, A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. Ham.

What, the fair Opbelia! Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!

(Scattering Flowers. I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet And not have strew'd thy grave. (maid, Laer.

O treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of!-Hold off the earth awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

[Leaps into the Grave. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; Till of this fiat a mountain you have made To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.

Ham. (Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them

stand

wife;

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I, Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the Grave. Laer.

The devil take thy soul !

(Grappling with him.
Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
I pr’ythee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerons,
Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand.

King. Pluck them asunder.
Queen.

Hamlet, Hamlet!
All. Gentlemen,
Hor.

Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come

out of the Grave. Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this Until my eyelids will no longer wag. [tbeme,

Queen. O my son! what theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.-What wilt thou do for her?

King. 0, he is mad, Laertes.
Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do: Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't

tear thyself? Woo't drink up Esile, eat a crocodile ? I'll do't.-Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I: And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us; till our ground, Singeing bis pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou. Queen.

This is mere madness : And thus a while the fit will work on bim; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping. Ham.

Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, the dog will have his day..

[Éxit, VOL. VIII.

U

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.-,

[Exit HORATIO. Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;

[To LAERTES. We'll put the matter to the present pasb.Good Gertrude, set some watch over yourson.This grave shall bave a living monument: An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

[Exeunt. SCENE JI. A Hall in the Castle.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.
Ham. So much for this, sir; now shall you

see the other;
Yon do remember all the circumstance?

Hor. Remember it, my lord !
Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of

fighting,
That would not let me sleep: methonght, I lay
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rasbly,
Aud prais'd be rasbness fort,-Let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall: and that should
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.
Hor.

That is most certain. Ham. Up from my cabin, My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark Grop'd I to fiud out them: had my desire; Finger'd their packet: and, in fine, withdrew To mine own room again : making so bold, My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 'Their grand commission; where I found, Ho

ratio, A royal knavery; an exact command,Larded with many several sorts of reasons, Importing Denmark's health, and England's With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,That on the supervise, no leisure bated, No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, My head should be struck off. Hor.

Is't possible?

teach us,

too,

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