Shall in the general cenfure take corruption
From that particular fault; the dram of base
Doth all the noble fubftance of worth out
Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!
Ham. Angels and minifters of grace defend us!-Be thou a fpirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'ft in fuch a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearfed in death,
Have burft their cearments? why the fepulchre
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
To caft thee up again? What may this mean
That thou, dead corfe, again, in complete fteel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our difpofition,
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what fhould we do?
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it fome impartment did defire
Mar. Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground;
Hor. No, by no means.
lam. It will not fpeak; then I will follow it.
Hor. Do not, my lord.
Ham. Why, what should be the fear?
I do not fet my life at a pin's fee;
And, for my foul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself!--
It waves me forth again ;—I'll follow it.
Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my
Or to the dreadful fummit of the cliff,
That beetles o'er his base into the fea?
And there affume fome other horrible form,
Which might deprive your fovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it :
[The very place puts toys of defperation,
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks fo many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.]
Ham. It waves me ftill :-
Go on, I'll follow thee.
Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham. Hold off your hands.
Hor. Be rul'd; you
Ham. My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.-
Still am I call'd-unhand me, gentlemen ;
[Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:-
-I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Ghoft, and HAMLET. Hor. He waxes defperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Hor. Have after:-To what iffue will this come? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Hor. Heaven will direct it. C
Mar. Nay, let's follow him.
SCENE V. A more remote Part of the Platform.
Re-enter Ghoft, and HAMLET.
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? fpeak, I'll go
Ghost. My hour is almoft come,
When I to fulphurous and tormenting flames
Muft render up myself.
Ham. Alas, poor ghoft!
Ghoft. Pity me not, but lend thy ferious hearing To what I fhall unfold.
Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.
Ghoft. So art thou to revenge, when thou fhalt Ham. What?
Ghost. I am thy father's fpirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;
And, for the day, confin'd to faft in fires,
'Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the fecrets of my prifon-house,
I could a tale unfold, whofe lightest word
Would harrow up thy foul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes,like ftars,ftart from their fpheres;
Thy knotty and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood:-Lift, lift, O lift !—
If thou did't ever thy dear father love,-
Ham. O heaven!
Ghoft.Revenge his foul and moft unnatural murder.
Ghoft. Murder moft foul, as in the best it is; But this moft foul, ftrange, and unnatural. Ham. Hafte me to know it; that I, with wings as As meditation, or the thoughts of love,
May fweep to my revenge.
Ghoft. I find thee apt;
And duller fhouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf,
Wouldst thou not ftir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out, that, fleeping in my orchard,
A ferpent ftung me; fo the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd; but know, thou noble youth,
The ferpent that did fting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.
Ham. O, my prophetic foul! my uncle?
Ghoft. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beaft,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traiterous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to feduce!) won to his fhameful luft
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
0, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whofe love was of that dignity,
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch, whofe natural gifts were poor
To thofe of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So luft, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will fate itself in a celestial bed,
But, foft! methinks I scent the morning air
Brief let me be-Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my fecure hour thy uncle ftole,
With juice of curfed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whofe effect
Holds fuch an enmity with blood of man,
That, fwift as quick-filver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
And, with a fudden vigour, it doth poffet
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholefome blood: fo did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Moft lazar-like, with vile and loathsome cruft,
All my fmooth body.
Thus was I, fleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the bloffoms of my fin,
Unhousell'd, unanointed, unaneal'd:
No reckoning made, but fent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou haft nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou purfu'ft this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy foul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to Heaven
And to thofe thorns that in her bofom lodge,
To prick and fling her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm fhews the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me.
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