Out, out, thou ftrumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power:

Break all the fpokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends,

Pol. This is too long. De¿E

Ham. It fhall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee, fay on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, oh ! who, had feen the mobled Queen,R

Ham. The mobled Queen ?

Pol. That's good; mobled Queen, is good.

Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames

རཎཱི

With biffon rheum; a clout upon that head, wood
Where late the Diadem ftood; and for a robe
About her lank and all-o'er teemed loyns,

A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up:
Who this had feen, with tongue in venom fteep'd,
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did fee her then,
When fhe faw Pyrrhus make malicious fport
In mincing with his fword her husband's limbs
The inftant burst of clamour that fhe made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heav'n,
And paffion in the Gods.

Pol, Look, where he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. 'Tis well, I'll have thee fpeak out the reft, of this foon. Good my lord, will you fee the Players well bestow'd? Do ye hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad Epitaph, than their ill report while you liv'd.

fert.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their de

Ham. God's bodikins, man, much better. Ufe every man after his defert, and who fhall fcape whipping?

ufe

use them, after your own honour and dignity. The lefs they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, Sirs.

[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a Play to mor

row. Doft thou hear me, old friend,

murther of Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my lord.

can you play the

Ham. We'll ha't to morrow night. You could, for a need, ftudy a speech of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down, and infert in't? could

Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Very well.

ye not?

Follow that lord, and, look, you

mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elfinoor.

Rof. Good my lord.

Manet Hamlet.

Ham. Ay, fo, God b' w' ye now I am alone.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I !
Is it not monftrous that this Player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of paffion,
Could force his foul fo to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his vifage warm'd:
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,

A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting,
With forms, to his conceit ? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba?

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

[Exeunt.

That he should weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for paffion,
That I have? he would drown the ftage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free;
-Confound the ign'rant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculty of eyes and ears.-Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can fay nothing.no, not for a King,
Upon whofe property and moft dear life

A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?

Who

1

Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-crofs,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nofe, gives me the lye i'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I fhould take it

-for it cannot be,

But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppreffion bitter; or, ere this,
I fhould have fatted all the region kites

With this flave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain !
Remorfelefs, treacherous, letcherous, kindlefs villain
Why, what an afs am I? this is most brave,
That I, the fon of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Muft, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a curfing like a very drab

(32)

A cullion,-fye upon't! foh!-about, my brain!-

I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a Play,
Have by the very cunning of the Scene
Been ftruck fo to the foul, that prefently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.

For murther, though it have no tongue, will fpeak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have thefe Players
Play fomething like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll obferve his looks;

Il tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my course. The Spirit, that I have feen,
May be the Devil; and the Devil hath power
T' affume a pleafing fhape; yea, and, perhaps,

(32) And fall a curfing like a very Drab

Stallion. -] But why a Stallion? The two old Folio's have it, a Scullion but that too is wrong. I am perfuaded, Shakespeare wrote as I have reform'd the Text, a Cullion, i. e. a ftupid, heartless, fainthearted, white-liver'd Fellow; one good for nothing, but curfing and talking big. So, in King Lear ;

I'll make a Sop d'th Moonshine of you; you wharfon, cullionly, Barbermonger, draw.

2 Henry VI.

Away, bafe Cullions Suffolk, let 'em go.

The Word is of Italian Extraction, from Coglione ; which, in its metaphorical Signification, (as La Crufca defines it) dicefi ancor Coglione per ingiuria in Senfe di balordo,is faid by way of Reproach to a stupid, good, for nothing, Blockhead.

Out

Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with fuch fpirits)

Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: The Play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the Confcience of the King [Exis.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofincrantz, Guildenftern, and Lords.

ND can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confufion,
Grating fo harfhly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang❜rous lunacy?

TA

Rof. He does confefs, he feels himfelf di-
ftracted;

But from what cause he will by no means fpeak.)
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded ;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to fome confeffion
Of his true ftate.

Queen. Did he receive you well?

Rof. Moft like a gentleman.

Guil. But with much forcing of his difpofition. Rof Niggard of question, but of our demands Moft free in his reply.

Queen. Did you affay him to any pastime?

Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain Players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did feem 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.

Pol

Pol. 'Tis moft true!

And he befeech'd me to entreat your Majefties
To hear and fee the matter. !!

King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him fo inclin'd,

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,

And drive his purpose into thefe delights.

Rof. We fhall, my lord. [Exeunt.
King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;

For we have closely fent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accidenty may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father, and my felf,
Will fo beftow our felves, that, seeing, unfeen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
Ift be th' affliction of his love, or no,
That thus he fuffers for.

Queen. I fhall obey you:

And for my part, Ophelia, Idó wish,

That your good beauties be the happy cause

Of Hamlet's wildnefs: So fhall I hope, your virtues

May bring him to his wonted way again

To both your honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

[Exit Queen.

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.-Gracious, fo pleafe ye,

We will beftow our felves-Read on this book;

That shew of fuch an exercife may colour

Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,

'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's vifage, And pious action, we do fugar o'er

The devil himself.

King. Oh 'tis too true.

How fart a lafh that speech doth give my confcience !

The harlot's cheek, beautied with plaftring art,

Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my moft painted word.
Oh heavy burthen!

[afide.

Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord.