[Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.]
And can you by no drift of circumstance
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
He does confess he feels himself distracted,
But from what cause, he will by no means speak.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.
Did he receive you well?
Most like a gentleman.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
Niggard of question, but of our demands
Most free in his reply.
You assay him to any pastime?
Madam, it so fell out that certain players
We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him,
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it. They are about the court,
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.
'Tis most true,
And he beseeched me to entreat your majesties
To hear and see the matter.
With all my heart, and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclined.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge
And drive his purpose on to these delights.
We shall, my lord.
[Exit Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.]
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too,
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may there
Her father and myself, lawful espials,
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge,
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his love or no
That thus he suffers for.
I shall obey you;
And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honors.
Madam, I wish it may.
Ophelia, walk you here. [To Claudius] Gracious, so please you,
We will bestow ourselves. [To Ophelia] Read on this book,
That show of such an exercise may color
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this —
'Tis too much proved — that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.
Oh, 'tis too true!
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word.
Oh, heavy burden!
I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord.
[Exit Claudius and Polonius, as they conceal themselves. Enter Hamlet.]
To be, or not to be — that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep,
No more. And by a sleep, to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub.
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought.
And enterprises of great pith and moment —
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
[Hamlet sees Ophelia reading a religious book.]
Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! [To Ophelia] Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Good my lord,
How does your honor for this many a day?
I humbly thank you, well, well.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours
That I have longèd long to redeliver.
I pray you now receive them.
No, no, I never gave you aught.
My honored lord, you know right well you did,
And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made these things more rich. Then, perfume left,
Take these again, for to the noble mind,
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind,
There, my lord.
[She gives Hamlet the presents.]
Ha, ha! Are you honest?
Are you fair?
What means your lordship?
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should
admit no discourse to your beauty.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than
Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the
force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness.
This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives
it proof. I did love you once.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot
so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it.
I loved you not.
I was the more deceived.
Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a
breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet
I could accuse me of such things that it were better my
mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful,
ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have
thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape,
or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do
crawling between heaven and earth? We are arrant
knaves all. Believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.
Where's your father?
At home, my lord.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play
the fool nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
Oh, help him, you sweet heavens!
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy
dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou
shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go,
farewell. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for
wise men know well enough what monsters you make of
them. To a nunnery go, and quickly too. Farewell.
Oh heavenly powers, restore him!
I have heard of your paintings too well enough.
God has given you one face, and you make yourself
another. You jig, you amble, and you lisp, and
nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness
your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me
mad. I say we will have no more marriages. Those that are
married already, but one, shall live. The rest shall
keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.
Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword;
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mold of form,
Th' observed of all observers — quite, quite down!
And I — of ladies most deject and wretched
That sucked the honey of his music vows —
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh,
That unmatched form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. Oh, woe is me
T’have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
[Exit Ophelia, Enter Claudius and Polonius.]
Love? His affections do not that way tend.
Nor what he spake, though it lacked 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 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?
It shall do well. But yet, I do believe
The origin and commencement of this grief
Sprung from neglected love. [To Ophelia] How now, Ophelia?
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said,
We heard it all. [To Claudius] 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 placed, 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.
It shall be so.
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.