HAMLET - William Shakespeare

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hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages: those that are married already, all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.

       [Exit.]

       Oph.

       O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!

       The courtier’s, scholar’s, soldier’s, eye, tongue, sword,

       The expectancy and rose of the fair state,

       The glass of fashion and the mould of form,

       The observ’d of all observers,—quite, quite down!

       And I, of ladies most deject and wretched

       That suck’d the honey of his music vows,

       Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,

       Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;

       That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth

       Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,

       To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

       [Re-enter King and Polonius.]

       King.

       Love! his affections do not that way tend;

       Nor what he spake, though it lack’d form a little,

       Was not like madness. There’s something in his soul

       O’er which his melancholy sits on brood;

       And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose

       Will be some danger: which for to prevent,

       I have in quick determination

       Thus set it down:—he shall with speed to England

       For the demand of our neglected tribute:

       Haply the seas, and countries different,

       With variable objects, shall expel

       This something-settled matter in his heart;

       Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus

       From fashion of himself. What think you on’t?

       Pol.

       It shall do well: but yet do I believe

       The origin and commencement of his grief

       Sprung from neglected love.—How now, Ophelia!

       You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;

       We heard it all.—My lord, do as you please;

       But if you hold it fit, after the play,

       Let his queen mother all alone entreat him

       To show his grief: let her be round with him;

       And I’ll be plac’d, so please you, in the ear

       Of all their conference. If she find him not,

       To England send him; or confine him where

       Your wisdom best shall think.

       King.

       It shall be so:

       Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE II. A hall in the Castle.

       [Enter Hamlet and certain Players.]

       Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you avoid it.

       I Player.

       I warrant your honour.

       Ham. Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own image, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance, o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play,—and heard others praise, and that highly,—not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

       I Player.

       I hope we have reform’d that indifferently with us, sir.

       Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them: for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that’s villanous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.

       [Exeunt Players.]

       [Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.]

       How now, my lord! will the king hear this piece of work?

       Pol.

       And the queen too, and that presently.

       Ham.

       Bid the players make haste.

       [Exit Polonius.]

       Will you two help to hasten them?

       Ros. and Guil.

       We will, my lord.

       [Exeunt Ros. and Guil.]

       Ham.

       What, ho, Horatio!

       [Enter Horatio.]

       Hor.

       Here, sweet lord, at your service.

       Ham.

       Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man

       As e’er my conversation cop’d withal.

       Hor.

       O, my dear lord,—

       Ham.

       Nay, do not think I flatter;

       For what advancement may I hope from thee,

       That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,

       To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d?

       No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;

       And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee

       Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

       Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,

       And could of men distinguish, her election

       Hath seal’d thee for herself: for thou hast been

       As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;

       A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards

       Hast ta’en with equal thanks: and bles’d are those

       Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled

       That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger

       To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

       That is not passion’s slave,

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