Infects unseen. Confefs yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my
virtue:

For, in the fatnefs of these pursy times,
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg;
Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good.

Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart
in twain.

Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this;
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock, or livery,
That ptly is put on: Refrain to-night;
And that shall lend, a kind of easiness

To the next abstinence: the next more easy:
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either curb the devil, or throw him ont

With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!

And when you are desirous to be blest,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
[pointing to Polonius.
I do repent; But heaven hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him.

night!

So, again, good

I must be cruel, only to be kind:

Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
One word more, good lady.

Vol. VIII.

G

Queen. What shall I do?:

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:

Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you, his

mouse;

And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or padling in your neck with his damn'd
fingers,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in maduels,

But mad in craft. Twere good, you let him know:

For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do
so?

No, in despight of sense, and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top,
Let the birds fly; and, like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
And break your own neck dowu.

Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,

And breath of life, I have no life to breathe What thou hast said to me.

Ham. I must to Englaud; you know that? Queen. Alack,

I had forgot; 'tis so concluded on.

Ham. There's letters seàl'd: and my two school-fellows,

Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd,They bear the mandate; they must sweep my

way,

And marshal me to knavery: Let it work;
For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar: and it shall

go hard,

But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon: 0, 'tis most

sweet,

When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing.

I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room:
Mother, good night.

Indeed, this counsellor

Is now most still, most secret, and inost grave, Who was in life a foolish prating knave.

Come, sir, to draw toward an end with with

you:

Good night, mother.

[Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging in Polonius.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

The same.

Enter King, Queen, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDEN

STERN.

King. There's matter in these sighs; these profound heaves

You must translate: 'tis fit we understand

them:

Where is your son?

Queen. Bestow this place on
while.

us a little

[to Ros. and Guil. who go out. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night? King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both

contend

Which is the mightier: In his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,

He whips his rapier out, and cries, A rat! a

rat!

And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good, old man.
King. O heavy deed!

It had been so with us, had we been there:
His liberty is full of threats to all;

To you yourself, to us, to every one.

Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? It will be laid to us; whose providence

Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of

haunt,

1

This mad young man but, so much was our

love,

We would not understand what was most fit;
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath

kill'd:

O'er whom his very madness, like some ore,
Among a mineral of metals base,

Shews itself pure; he weeps for what is done.
King. O, Gertrude, come away!

The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, But we will ship him hence: and this vile

deed

We must, with all our majesty and skill,

Both countenance and excuse.

Ho! Guilden.