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And fet a double varnish on the fame

The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together,
And wager on your heads. He being remifs,
Moft generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; fo that with eafe,
Or with a little fhuffling, you may chufe
A fword unbated, and in a pafs of practice
Requite him for your father.
Laer. I will do't;

And for the purpose I'll anoint my sword :
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no cataplafm fo rare,
Collected from all fimples that have virtue
Under the moon, can fave the thing from death,
That is but fcratch'd withal; I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him flightly
It may be death.

King. Let's further think of this,

Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit it to our shape. If this should fail,

And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not affay'd; therefore this project
Should have a back, or fecond, that might hold,
If this fhould blaft in proof. Soft-let me fee-
We'll make a folemn wager on your cunnings;
I ha't-when in your motion you are hot,
And make your bouts more violent to th' end,
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but fipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd tuck,

Our purpose may hold there. How now, fweet Queen?

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Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So faft they follow: your fifter's drown'd, Laertes.

Laer.

Laer. Drown'd? oh where?

Queen. There is a willow grows aflant a brook,
That fhews his hoar leaves in the glaffie ftream:
There with fantastick garlands did the come,
Of crow-flow'rs, nettles, daifies, and long purples
That liberal fhepherds give a groffer name,

But our cold maids do dead mens fingers call them :
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious fliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and her felf
Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths fpread wide,
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time the chaunted fnatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native, and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer. Alas then, fhe is drown'd!

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.

Laer. Too much of water haft thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears but yet

It is our trick, nature her cuftom holds,

Let shame fay what it will; when these are gone,
The woman will be out: adieu, my Lord!

I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.

King. Follow, Gertrude:

How much had I to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again,

[Exit.

Therefore let's follow.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT V. SCENE I

A CHURCH.

Enter two Clowns, with Spades and mattocks.

I CLOWN.

Is the to be buried in s

S fhe to be buried in chriftian burial, that willfully

"

2 Clown. I tell thee, fhe is; therefore make her grave ftraight, the crowner hath fate on her, and finds it chriftian burial.

1 Clown. How can that be, unless fhe drowned her felf in her own defence?

2 Clown. Why, 'tis found fo.

1 Clown. It must be fe offendendo, it cannot be else: For here lyes the point; if I drown my self wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches. It is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, fhe drown'd her felf wittingly.

2 Clown. Nay, but hear you, goodman Delver.

1 Clown. Give me leave; here lyes the water, good: here stands the man, good: if the man go to this water, and drown himfelf; it is will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that but if the water come to him, and drown him he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, fhortens not his own life.

2 Clown. But is this law?

1 Clown. Ay marry is't, crowner's queft law.

;

2 Clown. Will you ha' the truth on't? if this had not been a gentlewoman, fhe fhould have been buried out of christian burial.

1 Clown. Why, there thou fay'st. And the more pity that great folk fhould have countenance in this world to

drown

drown or hang themselves, more than other chriftians. Come, my fpade; there is no ancient gentlemen but gar deners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profeffion.

2 Clown. Was he a gentleman?

1 Clown. He was the firft that ever bore arms.

2 Clown. Why, he had none.

1 Clown. What, art a heathen? how doft thou underftand the fcripture? the fcripture fays, Adam digg'd; could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee; if thou answereft me not to the purpose, confefs thy felf

2 Clown. Go to.

I Clown. What is he that builds ftronger than either the mafon, the fhip-wright, or the carpenter?

2 Clown. The gallows-maker, for that frame out-lives a thousand tenants.

I Clown. I like thy wit well in good faith, the gallows does well; but how does it well? it does well to thofe that do ill now thou doft ill to fay the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, The gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

2 Clown. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

1 Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clown. Marry, now I can tell.

1 Clown. To't.

2 Clown. Mafs, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio at a distance.

1 Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull afs will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this question next, fay a grave-maker. The houfes he makes, laft 'till dooms-day: go, get thee to Yougban, fetch me a ftoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown.

He

He digs and fings.

In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet;

To contract, ob, the time for, a, my behove,
Oh methought there was nothing fo meet.
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his bufinefs, that he
fings at grave-making?

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of eafi

nefs.

Ham. 'Tis e'en fo; the hand of little imployment hath the daintier fenfe.

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And bath fhipped me into his land,
As if I ne'er had been fuch.

Ham. That fcull had a tongue in it, and could fing once; how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murther! this might be the pate of a politician which this afs o'er-offices; one that could circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my Lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier, which could fay, Good-morrow, fweet Lord; bow doft thou, good Lord? this might be my Lord fuch a one's, that prais'd my Lord fuch a one's horfe, when he meant to beg it; might it not?

Hor. Ay, my Lord.

Ham. Why, e'en fo: and now my lady Worm's, chaplefs, and knockt about the mazzard with a fexton's fpade. Here's fine revolution, if we had the trick to fee't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ake to think on't.

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