Laer. My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation; Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave, By laboursome petition; and, at last, Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: I do beseech you, give him leave to go. King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. [Aside. King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the sun. Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die, Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen. If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee? Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, To give these mourning duties to your father: To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; This unprevailing woe; and think of us As of a father: for let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our throne e; Than that which dearest father bears his son, Hamlet; Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, : [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. POLONIUS, and LAERTES. Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,— O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue! Enter HORATIO, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS. Hor. Hail to your lordship! Ham. I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget myself. Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— Mar. My good lord,— Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, sir. But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. My lord? Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. I shall not look upon his like again. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Hor. My lord, the king your father. Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear; till I may deliver, |