What is't, but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.

Queen. More matter, with lefs art.

Pol. Madam, I fwear I ufe no art at all:
That he is mad 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity it is, 'tis true; a foolish figure,
But farewel it; for I will use no art.

Mad let us grant him then; and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect,
Or rather fay, the cause of this defect;
For this effect, defective, comes by cause ;
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus,
Perpend-

I have a daughter; have, whilft she is mine,
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath giv'n me this; now gather, and surmife:
[He opens a letter and reads.]

To the celestial, and my foul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia. That's an ill phrafe, a vile phrafe, beautified is a vile phrafe; but you fhall hear-Thefe to her excellent white bofom, these

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?

Pol. Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful.
Doubt thou, the stars are fire,

Doubt, that the fun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt, I love.

[Reading.

Oh dear Ophelia, I am ill at thefe numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee beft, ob most beft, believe it. Adieu.

Thine evermore, moft dear Lady, whilst this
Machine is to him, Hamlet.
This in obedience hath my daughter fhewn me:
And, more above, hath his follicitings

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.

King. But how hath fhe receiv'd his love?
Pol. What do you think of me?
VOL. VI.

Ꮓ

King. As of a man, faithful and honourable.
Pol. I would fain prove fo. But what might you think?
When I had seen his hot love on the wing,

(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me,) what might you,
Or my dear Majefty your Queen here, think?
If I had play'd the desk or table-book,

Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb,
Or look'd upon this love with idle fight,
What might you think? no, I went round to work,
And my young mittress thus I did befpeak;
Lord Hamlet is a Prince out of thy fphere,
This must not be; and then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock her felf from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens:
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
And he repulfed, a fhort tale to make,
Fell to a fadness, then into a fast,

Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and by this declenfion
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for.

King. Do you think this?

Queen. It may be very likely.

Pol. Hath there been fuch a time, I'd fain know that,

That I have pofitively faid, 'tis fo,

When it prov'd otherwife?

King. Not that I know.

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwife;

[Pointing to bis bead and body.

If circumftances lead me, I will find

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed

Within the center.

King. How may we try it further?

Pol. You know fometimes he walks 7 'for hours together,

Here in the lobby.

Queen. So he does indeed.

7 four

Pol.

Pol. At fuch a time I'll loofe my daughter to him; Be you and I behind an arras then,

Mark the encounter: if he love her not,
And be not from his reafon fall'n thereon,
Let me be no affiftant for a ftate,
But keep a farm and carters.

King. We will try it.

SCENE V.

Enter Hamlet reading.

Queen. But look where, fadly, the poor wretch comes

reading.

Pal. Away, I do befeech you, both away.

I'll board him presently.

[Exeunt King and Queen.

O give me leave: how does my good Lord Hamlet?

Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my Lord?

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

Pol. Not I, my Lord.

Ham. Then I would you were so honeft a man.

Pol. Honeft, my Lord?

Ham. Ay, Sir; to be honeft, as this world goes, is to be one pick'd out of ten thousand.

Pol. That's very true, my Lord.

Ham. For if the fun breed maggots in a dead dog, Being a 'God kiffing carrion

8

Have you a daughter?

Pol. I have, my Lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i'th' fun; conception is a bleffing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.

Pol. How fay you by that? ftill harping on my daughterYet he knew me not at firft; he faid I was a fifhmonger. He is far gone; and truly in my youth,

I suffer'd much extremity for love;

8 good... Warb. emend.

Z 2

[Afide.

Very

Very near this. I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my Lord?

Ham. Words, words, words.

Pol. What is the matter, my Lord?
Ham. Between whom?

Pol. I mean the matter that you read, my Lord.

Ham. Slanders, Sir: for the fatyrical flave fays here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumbtree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, Sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honefty to have it thus fet down: for, your felf, Sir, fhall be but as old as I am, if like a crab if like a crab you could go

backward.

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in't: Will you walk out of the air, my Lord?

Ham. Into my grave?

Pol. Indeed that is out o'th' air:
How pregnant (fometimes) his replies are?
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which fanity and reafon could not be

So profp'roufly deliver'd of. I'll leave him,
And fuddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.

My honourable Lord, I will moft humbly
Take my leave of you.

Ham. You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal, except my life.

Pol. Fare you well, my Lord.

Ham. These tedious old fools!

Pol. You go to feek Lord Hamlet; there he is. [Exit.

Rof. My moft dear Lord!

[denftern? Ham. My excellent good friends! how doft thou, GuilOh, Rofincroffe! good lads, how do ye both? Rof. As the indifferent children of the earth. Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy; On fortune's cap we are not the very button. Ham. Nor the foals of her fhoe.

Rof. Neither, my Lord.

Ham. Then you live about her waste, or in the middle of her favours?

Guil. 'Faith, in her privates we.

Ham. In the fecret parts of fortune? oh, most true; fhe is a ftrumpet. What news?

Rof. None, my Lord, but that the world's grown honest. Ham. Then is dooms-day near; but your news is not true. Let me queftion more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that the fends you to prifon hither?

Guil. Prifon, my Lord!

Ham. Denmark's a prison.

Rof. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one o'th' worst. Rof. We think not fo, my Lord.

Ham. Why then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it fo: to me it is a prison.

Rof. Why then your ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your mind.

Ham. Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-fhell, and count my self a King of infinite space; were it not that I have bad dreams.

Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very fubftance of the ambitious is meerly the fhadow of a dream. Ham. A dream it felf is but a shadow.

Rof. Truly, and I hold ambition of fo airy and light a quality, that it is but a fhadow's fhadow.

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs