And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.

Then up be rofe, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt the chamberdoor;

Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.
King. Pretty Ophelia !

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.
By Gis, and by S. Charity,

Alack, and fie for fhame,

Young men will do't, if they come tot,
By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth fhe, before you

tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed:

So would I ba' done, by yonder fun, And thou hadst not come to my bed. King. How long hath the been thus?

1

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot chufe but weep, to think, they fhould lay him i'th' cold ground; my brother fhall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counfel. Come, my coach; good night, ladies; good night, fweet ladies; good night, good night.

[Exit. King. Follow her clofe, give her good watch, I pray [Exit Horatio.

you;

༢།།

This is the poifon of deep grief; it fprings
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude!
When forrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. First, her father flain;
Next your Son gone, and he moft violent author
Of his own juft Remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; (We've done but greenly,
In private to interr him ;) poor Ophelia,

Divided from her felf, and her fair judgment;
(Without the which we're pictures, or mere beafts :)
Laft, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in fecret come from France:
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With peftilent fpeeches of his father's death;
Wherein neceffity, of matter beggar'd,

Will nothing stick our perfons to arraign
In ear and ear. O my. dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me fuperfluous death!

Queen. Alack! what Noife is this?

Enter a Meffenger.

[A Noife within.

King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door.

What is the matter?

Mef. Save your felf, my lord.

The ocean, over-peering of his lift,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,

O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him lord,
And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, cuftom not known,

The ratifiers and props of every Ward; (60)
They cry, "Chufe we Laertes for our King."
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the Clouds;
"Laertes fhall be King, Laertes King!"

Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trail they cry!
Oh, this is counter, you falfe Danish dogs.

[Noife within.

Enter Laertes, with a Party at the Door.

King. The doors are broke.

Laer. Where is this King? Sirs! ftand you
All. No, let's come in.

Laer. I pray you, give me leave.

all without.

(60) The Ratifiers and Props of ev'ry Word;] The whole Tenour of the Context is fufficient to fhew, that this is a mistaken Reading. What can Antiquity and Cuftom, being the Props of Words, have to do with the Business in hand? Or what Idea is convey'd by it? Certainly, the Poet

wrote;

The Ratifiers and Props of ev'ry Ward;

The Meffenger is complaining, that the riotous Head had over-born the King's Officers, and then fubjoins, that Antiquity and Custom were for got, which were the Ratifiers and Props of every Ward, i. e. of every one of thofe Securities that Nature and Law place about the Perfon of a King. All this is rational and confequential. Mr. Warburtons

All.

All. We will, we will.

Laer. I thank you; keep the door. O thou vile King, give me my father. Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

[Exeunt.

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me baftard;

Crys cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

Even here, between the chafte and unfmirch'd brow
Of my true mother.

King. What is the caufe, Laertes,

That thy Rebellion looks fo giant-like?

Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our perfon:
There's fuch divinity doth hedge a King,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of its will. Tell me, Liertes,

Why are you thus incenft? Let him go, Gertrude

Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?

King. Dead.

Queen. But not by him.

King. Let him demand his fill.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with: To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackeft devil! (61) Confcience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation; to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come, what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Moft throughly for my father.

1

(61) To Hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackeft Devil!] Laertes is a good Character; But he is here in actual Rebellion. Leaft, therefore, this Character fhould feem to fanctify Rebellion, inftead of putting into his Mouth a reasonable Defence of his Proceedings, fuch as the Right the Subject has of shaking off Oppreffion, the Ufurpation, and the Tyranny of the King, &c. Shakespeare gives him Nothing but abfurd and blafphemous Sentiments: fuch as tend, only to inspire the Audience with Horror at the Action. This Conduct is exceeding nice. Where. his Agents Plays, a Circumftance of Rebellion is founded on Hiftory, or the of it infamous in their Characters, there was no Danger in the Reprefentation: But as here, where the Circumftance is fictitious, and the Agent honourable, he could not be too cautious. For the Jealoufie of the Two Reigns, he wrote in, would not difpenfe with lefs Exactnefs. Mr. Warburton.

3

9

King.

King. Who fhall stay you?

Laer. My will, not all the world

And for my means, I'll husband them fo well,
They fhall go far with little.

King. Good Laertes,

If you defire to know the certainty.

Of dear father, is't writ in your revenge,
your
(That fweep-ftake) you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and lofer?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King. Will you know them then?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms, And, like the kind life-rendring pelican, Repaft them with my blood.

King. Why, now you fpeak

Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltlefs of your father's death,
And am moft fenfible in grief for it,
It fhall as level to your judgment pierce,

As day does to your eye. [A Noife within, Let her come in.
Laer. How now, what Noife is that?

Enter Ophelia fantastically dreft with straws and flowers.
O heat, dry up my brains! tears, feven times falt,
Burn out the fenfe and vertue of mine eye!
By heav'n, thy madness fhall be paid with weight,
'Till our fcale turn the beam. O rofe of May!
Dear maid, kind fifter, fweet Ophelia !

O heav'ns, is't poffible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love; and where 'tis fine, (62)

(62) Nature is fine in Love,] Mr. Pope feems puzzled at this Paffage, and therefore in both his Editions fubjoins this Conjecture, Perhaps, fays He,

Nature is fire in love, and where tis fire,

I own, this Conjecture to me imparts no Satisfactory Idea. Nature is fuppos'd to be the Fire, and to furnish the Incenfe too: Had Love been

fuppos'd

It fends fome precious inftance of it felf
After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
And on his Grave rains many a tear ;
Fare you well, my dove!

Laer. Hadft thou thy wits, and didft perfwade Re

venge,

It could not move thus.

Oph. You must fing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a. O how the wheel becomes it! it is the falfe fteward that ftole his master's daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rofemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there's pancies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madnefs, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

fuppos'd the Fire, and Nature fent out the Incenfe, I fhould more readily have been reconcil'd to the Sentiment. But no Change, in my Opinion, is neceffary to the Text; I conceive, that This might be the Poet's Meaning. "In the Paffion of Love, Nature becomes more exquifite "of Senfation, is more delicate and refin'd; that is, Natural Affection, "rais'd and fublim'd into a Love-Paffion, becomes more inflamed and "intense than usual; and where it is fo, as People in Love generally fend " what they have of most valuable after their Lovers; fo poor Ophelia "has fent her moft precious Senfes after the Object of her inflamed Af"fection." If I mistake not, our Poet has play'd with this Thought, of the Powers being refin'd by the Paffions, in feveral other of his Plays. His Clown, in As you like it, feems fenfible of this Refinement; but, talking in his own Way, interprets it a fort of Frantickness.

We, that are true Lovers, run into ftrange Capers; but as All is mortal in Nature, fo is all Nature in Love mortal in Folly.

Again, in Troilus and Creffida, the latter expreffes herself concerning Grief, exactly as Laertes does here of Nature.

The Grief is fine, full, perfect, that 1 tafte;
And in its Senfe is no less strong, than That
Which caufeth it.

But Jago, in Othello, delivers himself much more directly to the_Purpofe of the Sentiment here before us.

Gome hither, if thou beeft valiant; as they fay, bafe Men,

bave then a Nobility in their Natures more than is nativing in Love,

them.

Oph.