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Laer. My dread Lord,

Your leave and favour to return to France; (17) From whence, though willingly I came to DenTo shew my duty in your coronation;

[mark,

Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again towards France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? what says
Polonius?

was the prototype of Crowdero in Hudibras; and if his position be considered with reference to what constitutes the throne of the true king, as introduced in figure 60, post; it will explain this passage of the play.

Fig. 56.

(17) Laertes, (in the moon,) I apprehend to be exactly the same as Talgol in Hudibras; his name being derived,

Pol. He hath, my Lord, by laboursome petition, Wrung from me my slow leave; and, at the last, Upon his will I sealed my hard consent.

I do beseech you give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes, time be thine; (18)

And thy best graces spend it at thy will. (19)
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.

[Aside.

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my Lord, I am too much i' th' sun. (20)

perhaps, from the strong resemblance to a lyre, (viz. the fiddle of Crowdero,) with which his head and shoulders are marked there. In the drawing of him given in figure 57, he is represented to be somewhat raised in rank, as consorting now with better company than Talgol, and he has a fencing-foil in his hand, with reference to a future scene.

(18) The head and shoulders of Laertes form the hourglass in the moon so often referred to in Hudibras: which serves to explain this passage.

(19) Graces and grace, passim. These expressions allude to the streaks of light referred to in the two last notes, which resemble oil, or shining grease: those readers who are aware how much Shakespeare is given to punning, will not think this interpretation improbable.

(20) It must not be forgotten, that in proportion as the

Fig. 57.

Fig. 58,

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids,

Seek for thy noble father in the dust;

[die,

Thou knowest 'tis common; all that live must

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, Madam, it is common.

Queen. If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee?

[seems:

Ham. Seems, Madam? nay, it is; I know not

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,

subject of this play is raised above that of Hudibras, so the several characters which may happen to correspond with those in that poem, are here to be supposed, in dress, in manners, and in every thing else, to be advanced in dignity. Thus Hamlet has the same prototype as Hudibras himself in the poem of that name; but as we must now suppose him to be the son of a king, it is endeavoured in the figure of him, numbered 58, to equip him accordingly. The allusions to clouds, nightly colour, and the like, refer to his person in the moon being made up almost altogether of shadows. Hamlet's expression of his being too much in the sun, refers to the moon's being only the reflected image of the sun.

Together with all forms, moods, shews of grief,
That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play :
But I have that within which passeth shew:
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na-
ture, 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 persevere
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness, unmanly grief.
It shews a will most uncorrect 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! 'tis 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 earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us

As of a father: for let the world take note,

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