Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol. Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby,

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That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or-not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Running it thus-you'll tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me with love
In honorable fashion.

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Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young,
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
Not of that dye which their investments show,

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But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment leisure,
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.

Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

SCENE IV

The platform.

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[Exeunt.

Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS.

Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham. What hour now?

Hor.

Mar. No, it is struck.

I think it lacks of twelve.

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the

season

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within. What doth this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

10

The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.

Is it a custom?

Ham. Ay, marry, is't:

But to my mind, though I am native here

And to the manner born, it is a custom

More honor'd in the breach than the observance.

This heavy-headed revel east and west

Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations:

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They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.

So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,-

By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners, that these men,

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Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-
Their virtues else-be they as pure as grace,

As infinite as man may undergo

Hor.

Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: the dram of eale
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt

To his own scandal.

Enter GHOST.

Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

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Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from

hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulcher,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition

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With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,

Mar.

Hor.

As if it some impartment did desire

To you alone.

Look, with what courteous action 60

It waves you to a more removed ground:

But do not go with it.

No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham.

Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff

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That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!

I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after. To what issue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

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