HAMLET.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.- Elsinore.-A Platform near the Palace. - Night.—FRANCISCO at his post, R.

Enter BERNARDO, L.

Ber. (L.) Who's there?

Fran. Nay, answer me :-stand, and unfold yourself. Ber. Long live the king!

Fran. Bernardo?

Ber. He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.
Ber. (L. c.) 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed,
Francisco.

Fran. (R. c.) For this relief, much thanks ;-'tis bitter cold,

And I am sick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard?

Fran. (L. c.) Not a mouse stirring.

Ber. (R.) Well, good night.

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Frun. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! (L.) Who is there?

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS, L.

Hor. (L.) Friends to this ground.

Mar. (L.) And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good night.

Mar. O farewell, honest soldier!

Who hath relieved you?

Fran. Bernardo hath my place.

Give you good night.

Mar. Holloa! Bernardo !

[Exit, L.

Ber. Say,

What, is Horatio there?

Hor. A piece of him.

[Giving his hand.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus. Hor What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? Ber. I have seen nothing.

Mar. (L. c.) Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy!
And will not let belief take hold of him,

Touching this dreadful sight, twice seen of us ;
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
That, if again this apparition come,

He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.

Hor. (R. c.) Tush! tush! 'twill not appear. Ber. Come, let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story,

What we two nights have seen.

Hor. (c.) Well, let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Ber. Last night of all,

When yon same star, that's westward from the pole,
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one,-

Mar. (c.) Peace! break thee off: look where it comes again!

Enter GHOST, L.

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Hor. (R. c.) Most like ;-it harrows me with fear and wonder.

Ber. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form,

In which the majesty of buried Denmark

Did sometimes march? By Heaven, I charge thee,

speak!

Mar. It is offended.

Ber. See! it stalks away.

[GHOST crosses to R.

Hor. Stay; speak; speak, I charge thee, speak!

[Exit GHOST, R.:

Mar. "Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber. How, now, Horatio? you tremble and look.

pale:

Is not this something more than fantasy?

What think you of it?

Hor. (n.) I might not this believe,
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar. (c.) Is it not like the king?
Hor. As thou art to thyself:

Such was the very armour he had on,
When he the ambitious Norway combated.

Mar. Thus, twice before, and just at this dead' hour,

With martial stalk he hath gone by our watch.

Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know not;

But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Re-enter GHOST, L.

But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. [GHOST crosses to R.]
Stay, illusion !

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me !

[GHOST stops at R.
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me. (L. c)

If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, fore-knowing may avoid-
Oh, speak!

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life

Extorted treasure in the womb of the earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it!-[Exit GHOST, R.]-stay, and speak!
Mar. "Tis gone!

We do it wrong, being so majestical,

To offer it the show of violence.

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Hor. (R.) And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth, with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat,
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine.

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:

Break we our watch up; [Crosses to L.] and, by my

advice,

Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.

[Exeunt, L.

SCENE II.-The Palace.-Flourish of trumpets. Enter POLONIUS, the KING, QUEen, Hamlet, Ladies, and Attendants, L., LAERTES, R., and stand thus :

R. LAERTES. POLON. KING. QUEEN. HAM. L. King. (c.) Though yet of Hamlet, our dear brother's death,

The memory be green; and that it us befitted

To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;

Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we, with wisest sorrow, think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,
Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along for all, our thanks.-
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? ·
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
Laer. My dread iord,

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;

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 veiled lids,

Seek for thy noble father in the dust:

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

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 the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly these, indeed, seem;
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

King. 'Tis sweet, and commendable in your nature,
Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father :
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term,

To do obsequious sorrow: but to persevere
In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven.
We pray you, throw to earth

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,
Our chiefest courtier, consin, and our son.

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet;

I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall, in all my best, obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day,