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No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,


Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can decote me truly: these, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play :
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your
nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father:
But you must know your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term

To do obsequious sorrow: but to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of impious stubbornness; 't is unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven,

A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
An understanding simple and unschooled :
For what we know must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 't is a fault to Heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd, whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse till he that died to-day,



'This must be so.'


We pray you, throw to

This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And with no less nobility of love

Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire;
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.


Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,

I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 't is a loving and a fair reply: 121
Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come;
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit

Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Flourish. Exeunt all, but HAMLET,

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would


Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew;

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed


His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on 't! Ah fie! 't is an unweeded garden
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in


Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead,-nay, not so much, not two!

So excellent a king; that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, 140 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him

As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on; and yet, within a month,-
Let me not think on 't,-Frailty, thy name is


A little month; or e'er those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears;-why she, even she-
O God! a beast, the wants discourse of reason,


Would have mourn'd longer-married with my

uncle ;

My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules; within a month,
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galléd eyes,
She married:-O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!


Hor. Hail to your lordship!


I am glad to see you well:

Horatio, or I do forget myself.


Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant


Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— Marcellus ?

Mar. My good lord,—

Ham. I am very glad to see you.-[To BERNARDO.] Good even, sir.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;


Nor shall you do mine ear that violence
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow student;

I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked


Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio !—
My father, methinks I see my father-
Hor. O, where, my lord?



In my mind's eye, Horatio.-Hor. I saw him once he was a goodly king. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw, who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.



The king my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while

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