Hamlet

Or rather say, the cause of this defect,

For this effect defective comes by cause:

Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.

Perpend.

I have a daughter,--have whilst she is mine,--

Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,

Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise.

[Reads.]

'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified

Ophelia,'--

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile phrase: but you shall hear. Thus:

[Reads.]

'In her excellent white bosom, these, etc.'

Queen.

Came this from Hamlet to her?

Pol.

Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.

[Reads.]

  'Doubt thou the stars are fire;

     Doubt that the sun doth move;

   Doubt truth to be a liar;

     But never doubt I love.

'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans: but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

  'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,

     HAMLET.'

This, in obedience, hath my daughter show'd me;

And more above, hath his solicitings,

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,

All given to mine ear.

King.

But how hath she

Receiv'd his love?

Pol.

What do you think of me?

King.

As of a man faithful and honourable.

Pol.

I would fain prove so. But what might you think,

When I had seen this hot love on the wing,--

As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,

Before my daughter told me,-- what might you,

Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,

If I had play'd the desk or table-book,

Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb;

Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;--

What might you think? No, I went round to work,

And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:

'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy sphere;

This must not be:' and then I precepts gave her,

That she should lock herself from his resort,

Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.

Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;

And he, repulsed,--a short tale to make,--

Fell into a sadness; then into a fast;

Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness;

Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension,

Into the madness wherein now he raves,

And all we wail for.

King.

Do you think 'tis this?

Queen.

It may be, very likely.

Pol.

Hath there been such a time,--I'd fain know that--

That I have positively said ''Tis so,'

When it prov'd otherwise?

King.

Not that I know.

Pol.

Take this from this, if this be otherwise:

[Points to his head and shoulder.]

If circumstances lead me, I will find

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed

Within the centre.

King.

How may we try it further?

Pol.

You know sometimes he walks for hours together

Here in the lobby.

Queen.

So he does indeed.

Pol.

At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him:

Be you and I behind an arras then;

Mark the encounter: if he love her not,

And he not from his reason fall'n thereon

Let me be no assistant for a state,

But keep a farm and carters.

King.

We will try it.

Queen.

But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.

Pol.

Away, I do beseech you, both away

I'll board him presently:--O, give me leave.

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.]

[Enter Hamlet, reading.]

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Ham.

Well, God-a-mercy.

Pol.

Do you know me, my lord?

Ham.

Excellent well; you're a fishmonger.

Pol.

Not I, my lord.

Ham.

Then I would you were so honest a man.

Pol.

Honest, my lord!

Ham.

Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Pol.

That's very true, my lord.

Ham.

For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god-kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter?

Pol.

I have, my lord.

Ham.

Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive:--friend, look to't.

Pol.

How say you by that?--[Aside.] Still harping on my daughter:--yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.--What do you read, my lord?

Ham.

Words, words, words.

Pol.

What is the matter, my lord?

Ham.

Between who?

Pol.

I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

Ham.

Slanders, sir: for the satirical slave says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.

Pol.

[Aside.] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.--

Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Ham.

Into my grave?

Pol.