And that your Grace hath fcreen'd, and ftood between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce a me even here;
Pray you be round with him.
Queen. I'll warant you,
Fear me not: 'you withdraw, I hear him coming. [Polonius hides himself behind the Arras.
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?
Queen. Hamlet, thou haft thy father much offended.
Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended.
Queen. Come, come, you anfwer with an idle tongue.
Ham. Go, go, you queftion with a wicked tongue.
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet?
Ham. What's the matter now?
Queen. Have you forgot me?
Ham. No, by the rood, not fo;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
And (would it were not fo). you are my mother.
Queen. Nay, then I'll fet thofe to you that can fpeak.
Ham. Come, come, and fit you down; you fhall not
You go not 'till I fet you up a glafs
[budge:
Where you may fee the inmoft part you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me? Help, ho!
Ham. How now, a rat? dead for a ducat, dead.
Queen. Oh me, what haft thou done?
Ham. Nay, I know not: is it the King?
Queen. Oh, what a rafh and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed, almost as bad, good mother, As kill a King, and marry with his brother.
Queen. As kill a King?
Ham. Ay, Lady, 'twas my word.
(a) 'Sconce the fame as infconce: that is, to cover or fecure. The fame word is used upon the like occafion in The merry wives of Windfor P. 257. I will infconce me behind the Arras.
Thou wretched, rafh, intruding fool, farewel,
I took thee for thy betters; take thy fortune;
Thou find'ft, to be too bufie is fome danger.
Leave wringing of your hands, peace, fit you down,
And let me wring your heart, for fo I fhall
If it be made of penetrable stuff;
If damned cuftom have not braz'd it fo,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'ft wag thy
In noise fo rude against me?.
Ham. Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blufh of modefty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rofe
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blifter there; makes marriage-vows
As falfe as dicers oaths. O fuch a deed,
As from the body of contraction a plucks
The very foul, and fweet religion makes
A rhapfody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow;
Yea, this folidity and compound mass,
With triftful vifage as against the doom,
Is thought-fick at the act.
Queen. Ah me! what act,
That roars fo loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit prefentment of two brothers:
See what a grace was feated on this brow,
Hyperion's curls, the front of fove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command;
A ftation like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kiffing hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did feem to fet his feal,
To give the world affurance of a man.
This was your husband.Look you now what follows,
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,
(a) By contraction here is meant the fame thing as we understand now by contract: namely, a folemn promife or ingagement.
Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moore? ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this? what devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
O fhame! where is thy blush? rebellious 'heat,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no fhame,
When the compulfive ardour gives the charge,
Since froft it felf as actively doth burn,
And reafon panders will.
Queen. O Hamlet, fpeak no more.
Thou turn't mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I fee fuch black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank fweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nafty fty-
Queen. Oh fpeak no more,
Thefe words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, fweet Hamlet..
Ham. A murderer, and a villain!
A flave, that is not twentieth part
Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings,
A cutpurfe of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket.
Ham. A King of fhreds and patches
Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings, [Starting up.
3 hell,.. old. edit. Warb. emend.
You heav'nly guards! what would your gracious figure?
Queen. Alas, he's mad.
Ham. Do you not come your tardy fon to chide,
That laps'd in time and paffion, lets go by
Th' important acting of your dread command?
O fay.
Ghoft. Do not forget: this vifitation
Is but to whet thy almoft blunted purpose.
But look! amazement on thy mother fits;
Oftep between her and her fighting foul:
Conceit in weakeft bodies ftrongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham. How is it with you, Lady?
Queen. Alas, how is't with you,
That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your fpirits wildly peep,
And as the fleeping foldiers in th' alarm,
Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,
Start up, and ftand on end. O gentle fon,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
Ham. On him! on him!-look you how pale he glares!
His form and caufe conjoin'd, preaching to ftones,
Would make them capable. Do not look on me,
Left with this piteous action you convert
My ftern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
Queen. To whom do you speak this?
Ham. Do you fee nothing there? [Pointing to the Ghuft.
Queen. Nothing at all, yet all that is I fee.
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen. No, nothing but our felves.
Ham. Why, look you there! look how it steals away!
My father in his habit as he lived!
Look where he goes ev'n now out at the portal. [Exit Ghoft. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain,
(a) In this Author the Hair is often call'd an excrement. Theobald,
This bodilefs creation Ecftafie
Is very cunning in.
Ham. What ecftafie?
My pulfe, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
And makes as healthful mufick. 'Tis not madness
That I have utter'd; bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your foul,
That not your trefpafs, but my madness speaks;
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilft rank corruption mining all within,
Infects unfeen. Confefs your felf to heav'n,
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,
And do not fpread the compoft on the weeds
To make them ranker. Forgive this my virtue,
For in the fatnefs of thefe purfie times,
Virtue it felf of vice muft pardon beg,
Yea, courb, and wooe, for leave to do it good.
Queen. Oh Hamlet! thou haft cleft my heart in twain,
Ham. O throw away the worfer part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night; but go not to mine uncle's bed.
Affume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster cuftom, who all fenfe doth eat
Of habits 'evil, is angel yet in this
That to the ufe of actions fair and good,
He likewife gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night,
And that fhall lend a kind of eafinefs
To the next abftinence; the next more eafie;
For use can almost change the ftamp of nature,
And mafter ev'n the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!
And when you are defirous to be bleft,
I'll bleffing beg of you. For this fame Lord,
5 Devil, old edit. Thirl, emend.
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