Within a month,

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

She married – O most wicked speed: to post

With such dexterity to incestious sheets,

It is not, nor it cannot come to good,

But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

 

Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Barnardo.

 

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?

Marcellus.

MAR. My good lord.

HAM.

I am very glad to see you.

 

[To Barnardo.]

 

Good even, sir. –

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

HOR.

A truant disposition, good my lord.

HAM.

I would not hear your enemy say so,

Nor shall you do my ear that violence

To make it truster of your own report

Against yourself. I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink [deep] ere you depart.

HOR.

My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

HAM.

I prithee do not mock me, fellow studient,

I think it was to [see] my mother's wedding.

HOR.

Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

HAM.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funeral bak'd-meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!

My father – methinks I see my father.

HOR.

Where, my lord?

HAM.

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

HOR.

I saw him once, 'a was a goodly king.

HAM.

'A was a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

HOR.

My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

HAM.

Saw, who?

HOR.

My lord, the King your father.

HAM.

The King my father?

HOR.

Season your admiration for a while

With an attent ear, till I may deliver,

Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

This marvel to you.

HAM.

For God's love let me hear!

HOR.

Two nights together had these gentlemen,

Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch,

In the dead waste and middle of the night,

Been thus encount'red: a figure like your father,

Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,

Appears before them, and with solemn march

Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd

By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes

Within his truncheon's length, whilst they, distill'd

Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me

In dreadful secrecy impart they did,

And I with them the third night kept the watch,

Where, as they had delivered, both in time,

Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

The apparition comes. I knew your father,

These hands are not more like.

HAM.

But where was this?

MAR.

My lord, upon the platform where we watch.

HAM.

Did you not speak to it?

HOR.

My lord, I did,

But answer made it none. Yet once methought

It lifted up it head and did address

Itself to motion like as it would speak;

But even then the morning cock crew loud,

And at the sound it shrunk in haste away

And vanish'd from our sight.

HAM.

'Tis very strange.

HOR.

As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis true,

And we did think it writ down in our duty

To let you know of it.

HAM.

Indeed, [indeed,] sirs. But this troubles me.

Hold you the watch to-night?

[MAR., BAR.]

We do, my lord.

HAM.

Arm'd, say you?

[MAR., BAR.]

Arm'd, my lord.

HAM.

From top to toe?

[MAR., BAR.]

My lord, from head to foot.

HAM.

Then saw you not his face.

HOR.

O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.

HAM.

What, look'd he frowningly?

HOR.

A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

HAM.

Pale, or red?

HOR.

Nay, very pale.

HAM.

And fix'd his eyes upon you?

HOR.

Most constantly.

HAM.

I would I had been there.

HOR.

It would have much amaz'd you.

HAM.

Very like, [very like]. Stay'd it long?

HOR.

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundreth.

BOTH [MAR., BAR.]

Longer, longer.

HOR.

Not when I saw't.

HAM.

His beard was grisl'd, no?

HOR.

It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silver'd.

HAM.

I will watch to-night,

Perchance 'twill walk again.

HOR.

I warr'nt it will.

HAM.

If it assume my noble father's person,

I'll speak to it though hell itself should gape

And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,

If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,

Let it be tenable in your silence still,

And whatsomever else shall hap to-night,

Give it an understanding but no tongue.

I will requite your loves. So fare you well.

Upon the platform 'twixt aleven and twelf

I'll visit you.

ALL.

Our duty to your honor.

HAM.

Your loves, as mine to you; farewell.

 

Exeunt [all but Hamlet].

 

My father's spirit – in arms! All is not well,

I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!

Till then sit still, my soul. [Foul] deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

 

Exit.

 

 

[Scene III]

Enter Laertes and Ophelia, his sister.

 

LAER.

My necessaries are inbark'd. Farewell.

And, sister, as the winds give benefit

And convey [is] assistant, do not sleep,

But let me hear from you.

OPH.

Do you doubt that?

LAER.

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor,

Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

The perfume and suppliance of a minute –

No more.

OPH.

No more but so?

LAER.

Think it no more:

For nature crescent does not grow alone

In thews and [bulk], but as this temple waxes,

The inward service of the mind and soul

Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,

And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch

The virtue of his will, but you must fear,

His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own,

[For he himself is subject to his birth]:

He may not, as unvalued persons do,

Carve for himself, for on his choice depends

The safety and health of this whole state,

And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd

Unto the voice and yielding of that body

Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

As he in his particular act and place

May give his saying deed, which is no further

Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.

Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain

If with too credent ear you list his songs,

Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open

To his unmast'red importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,

And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Out of the shot and danger of desire.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough

If she unmask her beauty to the moon.

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.

The canker galls the infants of the spring

Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd,

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth

Contagious blastments are most imminent.

Be wary then, best safety lies in fear:

Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

OPH.

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep

As watchman to my heart.