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Ham. Bid the players make haste. —
[E.rit Polonius. Will you two help to hasten them?
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ham. What, ho; Horatio !
Both. Ay, my
. Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.
Hor. O, my dear lord,
Nay, do not think I flatter:
be flatter'd ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since
my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish her election, She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta’en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those, Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please: Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, ,
in my heart of heart, As I do thee.-Something too much of this.-
There is a play to-night before the king;
Well, my lord:
idle: Get you a place.
Danish march, A flourish. Enter King, Queen,
Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and
Ham. Excellent, i'faith; of the camelion's dish: I eat the air, promise-cramm’d: You cannot feed capons so.
King, I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are uot mine.
Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord,--you play'd once in the university, you say?
Pol. That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. Hum. And what did
enact? Pol. I did enact Julius Cæsar: 'I was kill'd i'the Capitol; Brutus kill'd me.
Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital a calf there.—Be the players ready?
Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by
Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
Pol. O ho! do you mark that? [To the King. Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet. Oph. No, my lord. Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my lord. Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids'
Oph. What is, my lord?
Ham. O! your only jig-maker. What should a man do, but be merry? for, look you, how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within these two hours.
Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
Ham. So long? Nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll haye a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: But, by’r-lady, he must build churches then: or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse; whose epitaph is, For, 0, for, 0, the hobby-horse is forgot.
The dumb show follows.
Enter a king and a queen, very lovingly; the queen
embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon, comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the king's ears, and exit. The queen returns; finds the king dead, and makes passionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three mutes, comes in again, seeming to la: ment with her. The dead body is carried away. The poisoner woves the queen with gifts; she seems loath and unwilling a-while, but in the end, accepts his love.
Oph. What means this, my lord?
Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.
Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of
Enter Prologue. Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all.
Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?
Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him: Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark
Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently. Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring: Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. Ham. As woman's love.
Enter a King and a Queen. P. King. Full thirty times hath Phæbus' cart
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed groạnd; And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen, About the world have times twelve thirties been; Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done!