Ham. Nay, I know not.

First Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'a poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir,(83) was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

Ham. This ?

First Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.]-Alas, poor Yorick! -I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes 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.—Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my lord?

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion

i' the earth?

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah!

Hor. E'en so, my lord.

[Puts down the skull.

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

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 into 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 ?

Imperial (8) Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away :

O, that that 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 that they follow?
And with such maimèd 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.

Laer. What ceremony else?
Ham.

A very noble youth: mark.

Laer. What ceremony else?

[Retiring with Horatio.

That is Laertes,

First Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful ;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have 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, (85)

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done?
First Priest.

No more be done:

We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem, (86) 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 thee, churlish priest,

A minstering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.

Ham.

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

What, the fair Ophelia !

[Scattering flowers.

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;

I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.

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 flat 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
Cónjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,

I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
Yet have I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear: away thy hand!
King. Pluck them asunder.
Queen.

All. Gentlemen,

Hor.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

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 theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

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. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do:

Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?
Woo't drink up eisel? (87) 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 his pate against the burning zone,

I'll rant as well as thou.

Make Ossa like a wart!

Nay, an thouʼlt mouth,

Queen.

This is mere madness:

And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,

When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,
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, and dog will have his day.
King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.—

[Exit.

[Exit Horatio.

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;

We'll put the matter to the present push.—
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.—
This grave shall have a living monument:
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;

Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

[To Laertes.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A hall in the castle.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.

Ham. So much for this, sir: now let me see the other ;You 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: methought I lay
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,
And prais'd be rashness for it,-let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,

When our dear plots do pall: (88) and that should teach us
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor.

Ham. Up from my cabin,

That is most certain.

My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find 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, Horatio,
O royal knavery! an exact command,-
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
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?

Ham. Here's the commission: read it at more leisure. But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed?

Hor. I beseech you.

Ham. Being thus be-netted round with villanies,—(89)
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play,—I sat me down;
Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair :-
I once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman's service :-wilt thou know
The effect of what I wrote ?

Hor.

Ay, good my lord.

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king,-
As England was his faithful tributary;

As love between them like the palm might flourish;
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear,
And stand a comma (90) 'tween their amities;
And many such-like as's of great charge,—
That, on the view and know of these contents,