Ham. 1 Clo. How long is that since? Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that. It was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that is mad, and sent into England. Ham. Ay, marry; why was he sent into England? 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, 't is no great matter there. Ham. Why? 1 Clo. "T will not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. | Ham. 1 Clo. Ham. 1 Clo. Ham. 1 Clo. How came he mad? Very strangely, they say. How strangely? 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. Upon what ground? Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man, and boy, thirty years. Ham. How long will a man lie i̇' the earth ere he rot? 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year. Ham. Why he more than another? 1 Clo. Why, Sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a scull now; this scull hath lain you i' the earth three and twenty years. Ham. Whose was it? 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was? Ham. Nay, I know not. 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, Sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. Let me see. Alas, poor Yorick! [Takes the Scull. 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 209 210 211 flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? 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. Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. | Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this fashion 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. 'T were 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 to 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? Imperious 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 t' expel the winter's flaw! Enter Priests, &c. in Procession; the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES The queen, the courtiers. Who is that they follow, Couch we a while, and mark. Laer. What ceremony else? Ham. A very noble youth: mark. Laer. What ceremony else? [Retiring with HORATIO. That is Laertes, 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her; Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Laer. Must there no more be done? 213 No more be done. We should profane the service of the dead, 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 When thou liest howling. Ham. Queen. my sister be, What! the fair Ophelia? I hop'd thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife. Laer. - Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Hamlet the Dane. Laer. [Leaping into the Grave. [Grappling with him. The devil take thy soul! Ham. Thou pray'st not well. I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; King. Pluck them asunder. All. Gentlemen, Hold off thy hand. Hamlet! Hamlet! 214 Hor. 215 216 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, Queen. O my son, what theme? Ham. I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? Queen. For love of God, forbear him. Ham. 'Swounds! show me what thou 'lt do; Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself? I'll do 't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? 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 a while the fit will work on him; When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, Ham. Hear you, Sir: I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, the dog will have his day. King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. [To LAERTES.] [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. An hour of quiet thereby shall we see; [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. Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us, Hor. Ham. Up from my cabin, That is most certain. My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark Is 't possible? Hor. Hor. I beseech you. Ham. Being thus benetted round with villains, I once did hold it, as our statists do, 217 218 |