1

Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on

her:

Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,2

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,3 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 ministering angel shall my sister be

When thou liest howling.

Ham.

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

What, the fair Ophelia?

[scattering flowers.

I hoped 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
Deprived thee of!-Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

[leaps into the grave.

1 Broken pots or tiles.

3 A mass for the dead.

2 Garlands

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 Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them

stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

[leaps into the grave.

The devil take thy soul!

[grappling with him.

Laer.

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 dangerous,

Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.
King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen.

All. Gentlemen,

Ho.

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 loved 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. Zounds, show me what thou 'lt do :

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?

Woul't drink up Esil?1 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,

Make Ossa like a wart!

I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen.

Nay, an thou 'lt mouth,

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 disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.

Ham.

Hear you, sir;

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I loved you ever: but it is no matter;
Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

[Exit.

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon [Exit Horatio.

him.

• Eisel is vinegar; but Steevens conjectures the Weisel is here meant, a river which falls into the Baltic ocean.

• Hatched.

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;

[to Laertes.

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A hall in the castle.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.

Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other:

You do remember all the circumstance?

Ho. 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 1 in the bilboes.2 Rashly,
And praised be rashness for it,-let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall; 3 and that should
teach us,

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

1 Mutineers.

2 The bilboes is a bar of iron with fetters annexed, by which disorderly sailors were anciently linked together.

3 Fail.

Rough-hew them how we will.

Ho.

Ham. Up from my cabin,

That is most certain.

My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
Groped 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,
A royal knavery; an exact command,-
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
With, ho! such bugs 1 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.

Ho.

Is 't possible?

Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more

leisure.

But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?

Ho. I beseech you.

Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, Or I could make a prologue to my brains,

2

They had begun the play;-I sat me down;
Devised a new commission; wrote it fair.
I once did hold it, as our statists 3 do,
A baseness to write fair, and labor'd much
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now