3NIDia3W JO ADVo ^ > S Cm NATIONAL LIBRARY OF MEDH X v-£ 3NIDI03W JO AaV«9n WNC ■o 3NIDI03W JO AeV»9n \VNOIlVN 3NIDI03W JO A»Va9n WNC NATIONAL LIBRARY OF MEDICINE vr NATIONAL LIBRARY OF MEDI IVVN0I1VN ff2> HAMLET, a>- DRAMATIC PRELUDE; IN FIVE ACTS. BY JAMES RUSH, M. D. AUTHOR OF 'THE PHILOSOPHY OP THE H0MAN VOICE PHILADELPHIA: KEY & BIDDLE, 23, MINOR STREET 1834. '$7'. 3 SO tgsA Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by James Rush, M. D., in the clerk's office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. J. Crissy A; G. Goodman, 4, Minor street. \ TO THE READER. Though no one cares why an author writes or pub- lishes his book, he is generally thoughtless enough to tell the motive. But as 1 here promise the reader a medi- cal preface to a Play, he may through curiosity alone be tempted to read it. At the close of a Avork of Physiological inquiry, on the subject of the human voice, conducted upon a rigid sys- tem of observative analysis, and printed more than seven years ago, I stated that I had been engaged in an en- deavor to apply the same strict method of philosophy to th,e subject of Practical Medicine ; with the view, if possibly, to obviate some of the evils of the wasted ex- perience, profitless logic, and changeful errors of my profession. Notwithstanding the favorable reception of that work, by those Avho perceive that an exact and practical system of Elocution must be founded on a definite division and description of the vocal elements;—I much regret, in reference to the design of future labors more than to the work itself, that the habit of theorizing in medicine has made the profession, either averse or indifferent to the strict method of inquiry which that Avork was intended to illustrate. I certainly did address it to physicians, as a pure instance of an Observative Logic, if I may so call it; and of its productive results, when applied to the investigation of those delicate functions of the voice, which some of the highest authorities in sci- ence, had incautiously pronounced to be utterly un- assignable by analysis or rule. I hoped that success in a research which had thus been considered one of the forlorn hopes of philosophy, might serve in this age of medical pretension and professorial trifling, as 4 TO THE READER. an examplary proof of what could be accomplished in Pathology, by directing the patient zeal of science to the labors of observation alone; and thereby to assist in turn- ing the current of inquiry and instruction from its present course of bewildered speculation and theoretic absurdity. Herein, however, I have been disappointed; for by making the sure and uncontentious Logic of the Senses, so to call it, the antipode to the fictional dialectic of the schools, I found I had set the happy result of that logic, entirely out of sight, on the other side of the medical world. It may indeed be true, as satirically said, that mankind are all weather-cocks:—but then they will turn in their own way; and their heads are not to be brought about, in the usual manner of a wind-gage, by directing the current of argument against the opposite end of their belief. They say,—if you would persuade a skeptic that black is white, you must begin by telling him it is gray. Under a necessity somewhat similar, I find that all my hopes of a favorable hearing by the medical pro- fession, in the work of strict observation which I have in hand, must rest on some contrivance of compromise between fancy and fact. For it seems to be one of the rules of faith in our art, that every truth must be helped into belief by some persuasive fiction of the school. And I here owe it to the general reader to confess, that as far as I know, the medical profession can scarcely produce a single volume in its practical department, from the Avorks of Hippocrates down to the last made text-book, which, by the requisitions of an exact philosophy, will not be found to contain nearly as much fiction as truth. This may seem so severe a charge against both the pride and logic of our art, that I crave a moment of di- gression upon it. There are tests for all things. Now, a dangerous epi- demic always shows the difference between the strong and the weak, the candid and the crafty, among physi- cians. It is equally true that the same occasion displays, even to the common observer, the real condition of their art:—Avhether its precepts are exact or indefinite, and its practice consistent or contradictory. Upon these TO THE READER. 5 points, and bearing in mind—that we have now in medi- cine, the recorded science and practice of more than two thousand years, let the reader refer to the proceedings of the medical profession, during the prevalence of the so called ' Asiatic cholera,' and he Avill find their history .every where exhibiting, an extraordinary picture of pre- fatory panic, vulgar wonder, doubt, ignorance, obtrusive vanity, plans for profit or popularity, fatal blunders, dis- tracting contradictions, and egregious empiricism:—of tAventy confounding doctors called in consultation, to mar the sagacious activity of one;—of ten thousand books upon the subject, Avith still an unsatisfied call for more; —of experience fairly frightened out of all his former convictions;—and of costly missions after moonshine, returning only with clouds. Now I do assert, that no art which has a sufficiency of truth, and the least logical precision, can ever wear a face so mournfully grotesque as this. In most of the transactions of men, there is something like mutual un- derstanding and collective agreement, on some points at least; but the history of the cholera, summed up from the four quarters of the earth, presents only one tumul- tuous babel of opinion, and one unavailable farrago of practice. This even the populace learned from the daily gazettes ; and they hooted at us accordingly. But it is equally true, that if the inquisitive fears of the community Avere to bring the real state of professorial medicine to the bar of public discussion, and thus array the vanity and interests of physicians in the contest of opinion, we should find the folly and confusion scarcely less remark- able, on nearly all the other topics of our art. Whence comes all this? Not from exact observation, which assimilates our minds to one consenting useful- ness:—But from fiction;—Avhich individualizes each of us to our own solitary conceit, or herds us into sects, for idle or mischievous contention with each other;—Avhich leads to continual imposition on the public, in as much as fictions, for a time, always draw more listeners than truth;—which so generally gives to the mediocrity of men, and sometimes even to the palpably Aveak, a lead- a2 6 TO THE READER. ing influence in our profession;—and which helps the impostures of the advertising quack, who being an una- voidable product of the pretending theories of the schools, may be called—a physician with the requisite amount of fictions, but without—respectability.* * The sketch of the medical history of the cholera given above, in illustration of the fictional and distrusted condition of our art, is true in most points, of the professional transactions in Philadelphia, during the epidemic of Eighteen hundred and thirty-two. And I presume it happened elsewhere as here, that the sanatory affairs were conducted by a chosen assemblage of the highest Municipal authorities, and the first intelligence, learning, and skill of the Fa- culty. I am thus reluctantly obliged to refer to these high official facts and examples, in order to show, a fortiori, what the entire condi- tion of our art must be. And I shall greatly regret if my argument should be otherwise regarded; since for many of the individuals who fell into the error and confusion of that period, I have much personal respect and esteem. If a distinction can be drawn, their faults were less their own than those of the system of medicine they follow;—a system of distracting words and notions, which, even with the warning recollections of the last epidemic, would not serve them better in a thousand to come. Other places may answer for the part they took in the fright and fatality of the Cholera; But I am inclined to believe that the then special empiricism of Philadelphia, as well as a general depreciation in the character of its medical emulation and success, that we all see and must suffer under, is ascribable, in part, to the manner in which our profession has, in this city, for more than twenty years past, been governed. The leading medical institution of Philadelphia, which by its lucrative professorships, must hold out rich temptation to the scrambling of interest and the intrigues of ambition, and which by the policies incident to such a state of things, is enabled to give the tone of intellect and morals to the mass of the profession, has, for a quarter of a century, been directed by a self-electing Board, composed principally of Members of the Bar; with an utter exclu- sion of physicians. Accident sometimes steps into folly,—folly into habit,—habit into the feeling of natural right. And so it is, that the Trustees of our medical school have really brought themselves to an advocates's con- viction, that physicians are not the best judges of the higher quali- TO THE READER. 7 But to return. It has been so long the habit of medi- cal faith, to receive the notions of theory together with the facts of observation, that it cannot even conceive the possibility of their separation. It was on the ground of this habit, so early fixed, that the Greek mythology as- signed the arts of medicine and poetry to the same tu- telary God. Yet Apollo himself seems to have fairly ties of teachers in their own art: and by long acting under this con- viction, it is not beyond possibility that they may at last bring about that degraded condition of the Faculty, which their contemp- tuous rule over it now presupposes. It often happens, that the most striking instances of the ridiculous are the result of unsuccessful at- tempts at the sublime. And certainly, the grave sittings and coun- sels of a body of eighteen Lawyers, four Divines, and two Manu- facturers, upon the affairs of medicine, without even one physician, merely to help them in technical pronunciation, must now and then turn a broad laugh into the sleeve of some among them, who have not by the gradual thievery of custom, lost all perception of this monstrous incongruity, between their ability and the duties of their office. Ignorance in office is an awkward thing,—a dangerous thing,— and a slavish thing:—for it aims to act what it cannot conceive;— it must frequently act wrong;—and knowing nothing of its duty, it may become the tool of Cunning, who always knows his. And thus in a presumptuous attempt to administer the affairs of medicine by incompetent agents, the ruling counsel may be some self-interested contribution, with the twofold consequence of a back-stair govern- ment.----The misleading counsellors escape responsibility, and the unconscious agents remain incorrigible. If I here speak unacceptably, it is with a right to speak on this subject. For though a quiet but contented devotion to labors, of future efficacy as I hope, in my profession, has placed me beyond the desire for its official honors, I am, through the exercise of daily duties as a practitioner, still within the influence of its common rights and its wrongs. And the total exclusion of physicians from even a part in the direction of their own schools of medicine, is a fla- grant and preposterous act of usurpation which might call for the light of further inquiry, if the glaring sense itself of the question, now it is broached, should not sufficiently illuminate it. Unfortunately for the precision and progress of medicine, it it a popular art. Colleges and such institutions can be no otherwise 8 TO THE READER. distinguished the branches of his patronage. Since we never find him risking the lives of his votaries, by calling the Muses into consultation at the high temple of Epi- daurus; nor shocking the good society of Immortals, by cautions against dyspepsia, in the court of Parnassus: thus signifying—that, physic added to fiction would make poetry nauseous; and that the fancies of the poet useful to it, than by exerting their senatorial influence, if I may so call it, in behalf of those, who being by originality and indepen- dence capable of effecting its reformation and advancement, are yet obnoxious to that popular favor which gives success to the mere po- litic and whim-watching practitioner. But if the patronage of chartered institutions is to be entrapped by the vulgar baits of ambition:—If any thing in a First-of-April suit, is likely to be caught up by mistake for the succinct enrobing of science:—If professor,—First,—Second,—and Third is to be chosen respectively from the North, the South, and the West, merely to secure, like political weight, the profitable pupilage of districts:—If professors are to be allured into service, for the purpose, if I may use the poacher's phrase, of crippling a rival institution:—If one is to be chosen because he votes the right side in politics;—another because he has the support of a religious sect;—a third to prevent the desertion of an indispensable myrmidon;—and last but not least, —a fourth, because his cousin's wife is the favorite niece of an in- fluential manager. If all this should be done, it may indeed be no more than the worldly way and means of so many other undertak- ings that evade their promises implied, and slip their obligatory duty. But such medical patronage can do no more than entrench beyond all means of dislodgment, except ultimate self destruction, the mer- cenary interests and maneuvering policies of the every-day ambition and ability of our art. I may be wrong in the event, yet I am willing to make myself re- sponsible to time, by the following conditional prophecy. There are now some eight or ten medical schools in the United States; severally varying in their annual classes from thirty, to three hundred and fifty. Without valuing here, the youthful pu- pils' admiration of the unparalleled talents of their respective mas- ters ; and apart from that especial slang of the day about ' splendid genius,'and 'gigantic minds;'—it seems, from the dead level of scho- lastic medicine, that the intellectual character, with regard to scien- tific originality and to the accomplishments of learning, is about the TO THE READER. 9 added to physic, would make the delirium of science dangerous. But as the present fashion of the medical schools will have both facts and fictions, whilst good taste and safety forbid the union, I am not unwilling to try to reconcile the difference between them. In the execution of this purpose, I shall strictly adhere same in all: the fancy and the fact of each being compiled from the same common materials of the art. Thus there may be very dis- tinguished teachers of medicine in Boston: yet I believe it must be allowed that there are quite as good in the four schools of Philadel- phia. Indeed the disinterested and intelligent admit the like equal- ity among the whole. And so, I venture to predict, they will re- main, whilst that mode of special policy and general supervision, which has made them equal, shall continue. But the first of those ten schools, which by design or accident shall employ professors, and a better taste will breed such, whose powers of observation can penetrate to the unrecorded phenomena, and compass the broad relationships of science;—who can find so much newness in nature, that they need not ape originality by per- petual vaccilations in opinion;—who have not served so long at the table of the times, that they cannot relish, and dare not offer un- savory truth;—who can hold their stedfast—No, for a public bene- fit, when that public would set them in golden honor for saying— Yes, to its injury;—who have grown into respect with the wise, by steady reliance on themselves; and who are not, when summoned to the all-requiring labors of fame, already half eaten up in charac- ter, by cancerous schemes for reputation.—I say, the first school that shall have the cunning forecast so to endow itself, though it may be at present the very dog-tail of them all, will soon be raised on high, as the Cynosure of American medicine. And like Aaron's ser- pent, as an emblem of our art, shall swallow up the serpents of those popular magicians, who in emulation, shall continue to play their theoretic sleights of instruction on the world. There never has been a school distinguished for strength or bril- liancy of fame, without one or more professors of this character; and there cannot be. The multitudinous and lower house of the world, which yet contains 'many mansions' of rank and learning, will never advance such men to medical stations. But if there is yet a senate in science, and if it has not in truckling policy, gone down to a joint sitting with the popular branch,—that senate should. 10 TO THE READER. to my own resolution, by endeavoring, in its proper place, to fulfil the duties of philosophic exactness; whilst I consent to humor the dreaming of medical sectaries, by giving them my mode of fiction too : showing however so much respect to good order, as to keep the fancy and the fact entirely distinct from each other. Thus perhaps the Thousand-and-one lecturers of the day, with their Arabian tales of medicine, by finding I have furnished my quota of fable, may be induced to put off the doom, that Avould otherwise await any unromantic history of nature which I may hereafter offer to them. In thus separating the hitherto indissoluble compound of medical instruction, I have chosen to form the amount, corresponding to its fabulous portion, into a Drama; that as I elsewhere, with the accuracy of observative science, shall endeavor to describe the works of nature, I may, Avith contrast both of matter and means, here em- ploy my imagination upon the virtues, the vices, and the follies of men. I now separately publish first my imagi- nations ; in hopes that the placable members of the pro- fession, through this antedating of an equivalent for its customary fancies, may be the better disposed to receive from me hereafter, the otherwise revolting novelty, of a System of Medicine which shall profess to teach, only what the cultivated senses can appreciate. I am aAvare that what I am here doing, may be con- sidered by some greater puritan in philosophy than my- self, as a sacrifice of better employment. But I live with the world that can outvote me: and as I thus bow down, in my OAvn manner of dramatic pastime, to the poetical state of medical opinion, I must plead the ne- cessity of the submission, Avhilst I endeavor to evade its mischievous abasement.—Like the case of that Theban Ambassador at the Court of Persia, who to accomplish his object and to save the disgrace of prostration, dropped his ring in the royal presence, as an apology to himself for stooping. Philadelphia, October 18th, 1834. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. Hamlet, King of Denmark. Prince Hamlet, son to the King. Claudius, brother to the King. Polonius, Lord Chamberlain. Osric, a courtier. Marcellus, an officer, friend to the Prince. Snudor, a creature of Claudius. The Magister of Wittenberg school. Horatio, T Rosencrantz, I Students at Wittenberg. GuiLDENSTERN, J Occleve, a Danish poet. Arno, a foreign poet, creature of Claudius. A Gipsy. Bernardo, an officer. Francisco, a soldier. Furloe, a demagogue. Gertrude, Queen of Denmark. Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. Lords, Ladies, Students, Citizens, Orators, Dema- gogues, Gipsy, Officer of Justice, Boy, Child, Ser- vant, and other attendants. Scene. The first act at Wittenberg; the rest at Elsinore. The time, indefinite. REMARK. The rythmus of this play does not altogether conform to the strict rule of iambic measure: but I have adopted the differences, because their effect is more agreeable to my ear. It has been a disputed point, whether the lines of English blank verse should be marked in reading, by what is called the final pause. When the cur- rent of versification is thus arrested, each line being in extent a similar prosodial clause, the repetition must produce a monotonous elocution. To obviate this ef- fect, even as it might arise from the too frequent occurrence of a just grammatical pause at the end of the line, I have connected the syntax of successive lines more closely than is usual with dramatic writers. I have nevertheless regarded the rule of linear equality: but have endeavored to give syllables their measure in quantity, rather than their counting in accent. Hence the reader will often observe more than ten syllables in a line: Yet if time, and not mere ictus be kept in view, such lines will not be found of undue length. Though I have freely used other prosodial feet that mingle agreeably with the iambic current, I have generally, except at grammatical pauses where the harsh- ness is less perceptible, endeavored to avoid the shock produced by the reverse impression of the trochee. I have also avoided that customary, but unmeaning and awkward use of an iambus at the beginning of a line, after a supernume- rary unaccented syllable at the end of a preceding line. Thus the reader will perceive that where the sentence is continuous, the order becomes trochaic, and is so carried on until the use of some trissyllabic foot restores the measure to the iam- bic succession. Though, to the ear, the whole is essentially iambic. In short, I have, upon the broader view of rythmus, aimed to please myself by a smooth but varied arrangement of syllabic Time and Accent, together with a con- struction of Clauses entirely distinct from the formal limitation of lines . Nay, were itnot for the familiarity of the eye with the linear irregularity of versification, I would perhaps have made a solid page of the whole print of this play: Indeed, in a few of the scenes I have done this. HAMLET, A DRAMATIC PRELUDE. ACT FIRST. SCENE FIRST. IVic Library of the school at Wittenberg. A Student discovered. Enter a second Student. Second Stu. When came Idleness, that hang-hand vi- To thee? [siter, First Stu. Nay, 'tis the theme o'ermasters quite My timeless industry. • Second Stu. And but for our Lord Hamlet, whose intelligence is as A star upon the bosom of his princely Quality, I Avould needs be truant too. First Stu. . What Baiting of the task hath noble Hamlet Set, to catch thy time-starved memory? Second Stu. Who shortens Difficulty lengthens time; thus Hamlet hath, With height of scholarship that ne'er o'erlooks His heart, helped me out to less study, and our Author to more sense. B 14 HAMLET, Act I. Enter a third Student. Third Stu. Have you heard the news ? [since First Stu. That question was for time's beginning: With common memory of this age-worn world, Its news had well be painted thick, to set off All his wrinkles. Third Stu. Hear him then with his fresh Childish face.—Lord Smatter, now high chancellor Of learning, orders straight our Wittenberg To strike that golden motto from her portal:— Who teaches slow and deeply, teaches shortly best. Second Stu. Why, how comes this ? Third Stu. Of an offensive league Between unspeedy hurry and ambition, at Whose order, old Instruction has declared Annihilating war on time; and the first Act of his lean generals—Abridgment and Epitome, has been to seize and make a Perfect scare-crow crop of knowledge. First Stu. But will Not this marching age of intellect take up The cause? [ments Third Stu. How can it march ? The mind's equip- Serve it now but for Reviews, wherein the . Pen rides cock-horse ; and whilst all the mob of Letters shout, he has Inspector-General's Pay. The age has found, that with its empty Magazines, it cannot war of darkness; And enlisted by a penny-whim, forsooth, Is ordered now to tip with light the common Ear of ignorance; unmindful that such Myriad stars are faint indeed, to the full Day of intellectual brightness. First Stu. In birthright Wit, if not created equal,—this, the mind's Agrarian, is perhaps to make us so. Bring letters down, they say, to fill the business Pocket of the world ; and banish then your Drone-aristocrats of Thought and Genius. [ing globe, Third Stu. Though knoAvledge should canal the trad-; Scene I. A PRELUDE. 15 It must, from higher grounds, have freshening feeders Still;—else all will dry or breed corruption. Let us remember that this natural earth, Through doAvntrod virtue, once was sunk within a Deluge-depth. The world of Art, Avith its high Places gone, may yet be drowned in shallowness. Years may prove, that teaching all, as they would Teach, is but to scatter scraps, and call up flocks Of ill-digesting fools ; whose leanness, starved At last, may Aveep in vain for wisdom's aid,— Ah, then gone by. Let learning's higher seats Be cleansed of Puffs and Pensioners, and then Be choicely filled, and that alone will spread Cheap schooling: for our modes of mind are catching, And thus they who set beneath upon life's Footstool, seeing that the goodly robes of Knowledge are not cloak to something else, Avill Each as suits his place and means, take on the Intellectual fashion. That rare mastership Of mind which makes example fit, must come Of time and toil, and various knowledge, deep And laid to heart. But learning spread for trade Or show, and smoothed, as now, to easiness, Is but veneering science to a skin-deep Surface ;—cheap contrivance of the age, to Hide the mean material both of pedagogue And dunce. Second Stu. Yet to credit men's own tongues, at Rent within the praises of their partizans, We've giants of the mind among us still. Third Stu. Yes, Atlantean intellects,—so based on Nothing. Like the light too of the world they Shoulder, called up from obscurity by some Almighty effort of a Speech : o'er good, As it would seem, for this vile earth they're lent to; Since by disappearing ere they die, they Give blank proof of being translated. Great men, Now-a-day, remind us of the jugglers ; You know not what becomes of them, when they Are done exhibiting. 16 HAMLET, Act I. Enter a fourth Student. Fourth Stu. Throw down your tasks, and Take your troubles up. Lord Hamlet holds his Letters of recall to Denmark: So at once, With hard unprefaced sorrow, we must meet, For hasty parting with the Prince. It is our Magister's command. First Stu. Then break we here the Argument, and straightway to the hall; that Choice in our regret may find us there, ere Cold obedience hit his punctual time. [Exeunt. Enter Hamlet and Horatio by the door in flat. Hor. I do believe you, my good Lord. Ham. Yon may Horatio, for this subject-hand is yet Great king of his own unprevented choice ; And thus by seal, confirms thee first in office Near my heart. Hor. Sudden misfortunes catch on Disbelief; and this thy condescension Makes e'en sorrow soother of itself, in Some hope-whispered argument—that yet thou Wilt not leave us ; or that once thy duties Done at Elsinore will give thee back to Wittenberg again. Ham. I would as thou, that Our regrets were fashion-maker to our Wills ; but serious certainty, that frowns on stay, Looks from these orders, which at leisure Thou mayest then peruse. [Gives him letters. Hor. Thy growing confidence, My Lord, makes larger still the gratitude It made. Ham. Thou'lt learn therein, the urgency of My departure with th' appointed courier Of the King,-—one Snudor, as I read it. Hor- Knew You e'er the name in Denmark? Scene I. A PRELUDE. 17 Ham. It does seem To me I heard it once ; but in such sort, Or he was much belied, that show'd the fellow's Soul was fashioned loop-like, ready to catch Upon temptation's hook. Yet now he's said, at Court, where many services are in demand, To be a very useful gentleman. Hor. He Bears a title either fair or foul: if fairly He should use himself, why fair; but foul, if Foully he should be misused of others. Ham. Business of self-account, as I conclude, Some gainful episode to his main mission, Yet detains him at the neighboring village. Hor. Ay, a useful gentleman ; the very breed Of such; twice useful,—to himself in serving Others. Ham. Thus a Avay-side lameness in his Duty, makes a borrowed speed the bearer Of his trust;—Avith word, that he'll be%ere anon. Hor. And by his haste, my Lord, away as soon: A guest of doubtful welcome—he who only Comes, to go. Ham. This new acquaintance breaks friendship, So his visitation comes unluckily; how It will go, old witness Time, the note-taker, Shall tell, and I, his copier, will re-word To thee. Hor. Time, of all travellers my Lord, Sees the most strangest things. Ham. Therefore Horatio, To be least a stranger to this most strangeness, 1 have bethought me, on our riven ground Of fellowship, to 'bate that sorrow Avith some Hope-sought fancies of the future: a mere Picture I may say. Well, as mere picture We will hang it up. You must remember, For I noticed then, sly print Avas made on Thy credulity, that in our walk of late, b2 18 HAMLET, Act I. We chanced to meet a gipsy-group. Some simple Peasants, seeking love's futurities, or wealth, Stood wasteful there of time and earnings, for Prophecies of nothing worth, but that they matched The well-guessed hopes of the consulter. Hor. Would You to them again, my Lord ? Ham. Think you, they Loiter in the neighborhood ? Hor. They have so Little purpose in their change, that it would Far out-presage all their tricks of oracle, To draAv the chart of e'en their own tomorroAv's Wandering. Ham. But Horatio, we might walk Abroad, and thus chance-catch them as before. Methinks I'd find them sooner now ; for when The heart hunts, then the foot treads everywhere. Hor. Since faith, to thee my Lord, has come of late In self-submissifn ; my surrender, if So seen at all, being forced bondage to the World's great captor Solemn Mockery: I pray Thee give thyself, who now sits patient in The stocks of thy confessed conviction, some Such friendly jeers, you gave that day to me. Ham. As the persuasive time now weighs, Horatio, I have that sober whim about me, Avhich The then facetious moment made but jest of. And thus it is, that great, great man is ruled By little, little humor. The meek unforward Tongue of Destiny, though oft provoked, still holds A kind forbearing silence ere fulfilment: Therefore only did I chide, if friendly Mirth could chide, thy scholar-ear, intently Listening to the present-speechless future, In all tenses dumb except its own. Yet Faith, that often plays submissive bondman To the Avill, groAvn viler as things do by Servitude, turns spy upon the close-sealed Issue of our separation ; put by plea of Scene II. A PRELUDE. 19 Dear temptation, thus to peep between the Folded sheet of time. Hor- Ay, but my Lord, you Do forget your jest,—that from such grimy Lips, the prophecies had needs be washed, ere Pure expectants might afford them hope-room Till completion. Ham. In time's familiar walks, The vulgar-shunning eye looks upward most, To make its lowest courtesy; but let come Cross-roads in life, vexation winks at vileness ; And bewildered pride, with his obsequious Question of the way, is grateful even to The beggar's favor. So my good Horatio, Look upon thy friend as but a pattern, cut at Random from the world; and though a jester In his pride, yet still the creature of his Needs, and needful now of any lips of Prophecy. Then let him pair with thee, as long In love, so now in thy late-gibed credulity. Hor. Though I, my lord, might ask the'aid of thy Equipt philosophy, to convoy this my Much o'errated weakness ; yet Avith thy so Well defended faith alone, we'll seek these Wanderers out. Ham. I follow thee Horatio, But Avill not be behind thee in the errand. [Exeunt. SCENE SECOND. The Country. A rude hovel partly concealed. Wittenberg College in the distance. Enter Snudor. Snu. Here will I pause. They say—repentance is The child of pain : mine comes noAV of Aveariness ; So I repent me of my Avasteful mercy To yon breathless pair, that Avith strained traces 20 HAMLET, Act I. And with frequent halts, are yet but midway Of the hill. Here, where no gossip-tale counts Feigned humanity the largest fraction of Fame's integer, what can it profit me, to Be a hypocrite in tenderness to things With speechless gratitude ? There lies Wittenberg,— Young Hamlet's school; more welcome, when the heart, Taught merciless, may con its task of higher Obduration, set against the princely Inmate of those walls. I bear an Uncle's Foul commission, wrapped within a Royal Father's unsuspecting trust—more foul for That—to call his son to Court. It is my Agency, to tempt the youth to casualties That may be fatal.—There's my needful pause ! I have ere now, done service of all sorts, And put all faces on: have been a high-place Pharaisee at meek alms-meetings : kept an Almanac of power for timely note of Risings and of settings, stitched to the manual Of expedients for these, and other things That these may be the sample of. Yet never Have I whet my interests to the edge that Might draw out for blood. The voice that sometimes Dialogues with self, now asks me what I Am. I may indeed say—knave, yet add, how This old coin of character, worn smooth by turns Of give and take in craftiness, slips through the Careless fingers of the world: But then—to Be a murderer; or Avhich is no less—make Chance the villain, Avould be such new coinage In my sins, that laid close home on conscience, Might strike-in a fearful image there, and Press sharp edges on the public palm. If I Could think so long, as deeply, on this damned Affair, I should not do it: but clutched conscience Oft plays shiftful harlequin, and slips his Condemnation.—Once more to my business. This seems a Avoodman's hut. If I can find Scene II. A PRELUDE. 21 A tenant here, I'll make the fellow serve My purposes, as I have answered others'. [Enter ^ a Gipsy on the back ground, leading a child, which he gives to an other Gipsy, at the door of the hovel. Gip. Take secret care of this. Our gipsy-trade And haunt are known, and that will lend suspicion Argument. [They converse together. Snu. [Aside.'] In congress with the great, I Have a voice, by nature moved, by nurture Seconded, and by engrossing interest Carried through, with loud self-acclamation, To servility. Here I'll wear the awkwardness Of freedom off; and give my tongue, upon This Avretch, a trial of authority. [The other gipsy enters the hovel. This way, Slave ! Art thou a vagrant here, or what ? Gip. Thou'rt Nearer in thy guess of trade than title. Snu. Well Then, fellow to the trade and tribe of misery, I call thee. Gip. Try again. Snu. For some such name Thou earnest into the world; an unlike title Would quite wrong thy christening. Come hither then Without a name. Gip. Thy lack of grace puts liar On thy garb; and makes the ear's presumption Bold to tell the eye, it holds no commerce With a gentleman. Snu. [Aside.] Why, he has somehow learned Respect, or has a soul that claims it. New Authority ill fits me, so I'll try my Customed suit of serving. Thy pardon, sir. A stranger to this ground, and so to thee, Was not unapt to read proud qualities, though ScraAvled so rudely, on thy outAvard character; 22 HAMLET, Act L He therefore gave thee salutation's "blunt Regard, as Avith a fancy, caught of thy Odd excellence, to knoAV thee better. Gip. To know Me well, is but to know mankind and find My sort. To knoAV me better, let inquiry Put his smoothest on. Now I, not knowing thee, Here have thee witness 'gainst my ignorance ; And knoAV thee all. Snu. Thyself art more a riddle Than thy words. Abroad in speech, where many a Tongue would crouch. Unwilling to authority, Where thousands less bereft, would ask opinion's Very yes and no in alms. Gip. Thou 'rt new to me In thy particular; yet recognized by Old sagacity's few private marks, to be Of those who'll smile beneath the rod of some Necessitous civility: but who as nature Rules, put on another face, and show a Weariness of decent discipline, by yawning With their inborn grossness. Snu. [Aside.] Good temper is A winning helpmate to ambition; so I'll shake resentful honor off. Already I'm a debtor to reproof; yet if thou'lt Grant the grace of answer, I will make my Needful questions double debtor to thy Favor. Gip. [Aside.] There's something in us sets the rule Of give and take in courtesy. Then say, with Brief decorum. Snu. Goest thou oft to Wittenberg ? Gip. As occasions serve, and will is master. Snu. What knowest thou of the University ? Gip. It May seem strange, but I have there, yes, many Friends. Scene II. a prelude. 23 Snu. As knowledge mingles, sure thou might find Companions every where; companions should Be friends ; so 'tis not strange. Gip. No more of this. Snu. That school of Wittenberg is plumed afar, By depth of scholarship, and grace in arts. Gip. It is so famous—that it cares not for Its fame. It pays no pens for praise ; yet with Unconscious cunning, sends good works abroad To buy up eulogy. Snu. Then, as the world goes Down of late, it Avould be well if all our Princes, priests, and windy senators were entered There; that wisdom in high places, merely From its novelty, might wake the sense and be The choice of nations. Gip. That same reformation Seems begun. One Prince they have already; Who takes less honor from them than he gives. Snu. What star is this of Royalty's dull night? Say ! Gip. Hamlet the Dane. Snu. Why then thou knoAvest him ! Gip. Who Know him not they shall: for his youthful promise Has something of the morning in it; and The high day must folloAv. Snu. Has he not special Friends among his school-felloAvs ? Gip. Ay, truly: But, as the temperate and elective soul Would have the dishes that it feasts on,—few But choice. Rare spirits go by pairs ; and he Has found a mated heart in one Horatio. Your flocks of friends with earnest amity, are Birds of prey, sharp set for something: or if Grouped of good will merely, are as sheep, that Follow-on they know not Avhy, and turn their Backs as motiveless. Snu. What of his courage ? Gip. As 24 HAMLET, Act I. Self confidence and honesty should always Be,—ready and persisting righteously. Snu. Is he Suspicious ? Gip. Yes, Avith caution bred in evil Times : eying your shopmen-friends that weigh out Benefits ; and scenting far, the dead cold air Of selfishness that cannot echo them. Of keenest ear, to brush a fool away Upon the slightest buzzing of him : and So counter-wary to the plots of villany, That he at need, might fire the mine upon The workers. Snu. Is he true to his designs ? Gip. If he should eversoAv his purposes, and Then not reap them, 'tis with wilful stay, to Let them run on to full-seasoned ripeness ; Which, should they fall ungathered, argues less 111 husbandry, than some o'ersight of wisdom's Harvest time. Snu. Besides Horatio, come other Danish youth to Wittenberg ? Gip. Yes, Rosencrantz And Guildenstern. Snu. How sorts the Prince with these ? Gip. That thou mayest ask of them. They keep their actions For occasion's eye, and as he Avinks, do Hold things right or wrong; taking quick thereby The cue of thrift, in enmity or friendship. Snu. Howe'er thy knowledge comes, thy answers More questions than they satisfy. I have [prompt Much else to ask, as native to my theme:— But see ! the Post has gained the height and waits. Here, take this for thy need. Gip. 1 asked but for Civility; and thus give thee mine, for nothing. Snu. I'll treasure thy unvalued words ;—Farewell. [Aside.] He holds them lightly; I their weight can tell. [Exit Snudor. Scene II. A prelude. 25 Gip. Now is some cursed wind of mischief up, And there the feather flies, some vulture's moult Perhaps, that tells its kind and quarter. I Am not altogether what I seem : My Outcast fortune, taking prideless refuge With yon vagrant crew, has shown dumb scholarship In that dog-ear'd lesson of the world,—to serve Myself,—titled by prudence to a virtue. How comes it then, that Avith those vices, so By cold untempted caution called, which thus Have brought me to my ruin, there should join Unwasted goodness still,—to serve another. Both name and kin of mine hold rank and rule, At an abandoned home. It is not pride In these, which even the discarded cherish, That still honors duty: since all human Glory, valued but when waited for, has long Gone by with me. 'Tis fellow man, more felloAV Then, when stripped of his dissocial interests Down to self, that stirs this sympathy ; and in The lees of an untoward bosom, shows us There the unconsumed pearl. Prince Hamlet Seems a special mark ; it cannot be fair Aim. A traveller here, of no undestined Guise, shows ignorant, yet knows, unprompted, How to ask so much : and asks of him whom He would not, if this same case were one of Way-side idleness ; or he believed, the questions Might not die Avithin a peasant's memory. He has taught his oracle. Report has told me Of this Royal youth : and my responses now May suit another side as Avell as his. [As the Gipsy retires into the hovel, Enter Hamlet and Horatio. Hor. There, my Lord ! Ham. I said, Horatio, zeal does Mostly make quick mastery. Hor. 'Twas a hungry Scent, and so came short upon the game. I c 26 HAMLET, Act I. Well remember him; he is the Chief of them. Ham. Then if he's wise he will remain the chit Being of a kind, unfavored by the world. The world abhors free minds, Horatio. They Come at times, to agitate the stagnant Pool of its formality; and then instead of Dipping in, to cleanse its leprous errors, It drowns the very angel that gives virtue To the waters. Hor. 'Tis even so. Ham. And 'tis The cause that such a one as this, will live In roofless fellowship among those righteous Elements, which uncompelled by man, war Not upon his freedom. Here Fire, that God Reluctant made to light itself on man, Does not, for piety's grim glory, compass Him in cruel martyrdom. The down-packed Earth up-heaves not at the random sentence Of speech-worried law, to lay the measuring Heap on him before his time. The Air sits Not as goaler on his lips, to slam his Honest utterance back. Nor does he find the Pure and free-spread Water of the heavens, by Wrangling sophisters caught up, to wash both Him and all to one tyrannic color of Opinion. Hor. Though God's four kingly elements Frown not, my Lord, this freedom is ill manners To the world. Ham. It is not so Horatio. The world's Blind State first rudely runs himself Against your Free Inquiry ; and as weakest, Fearing most, calls up his servile Posse, Lifts his gilded baton, and cries out,—you Jostled me, you Vagabond. But Freedom of Opinion only laughs: and whether in The world's mad-staggering way or not, still walks Around the great terraqueous slave-market; Scene II. a prelude. 27 Not to purchase, but to pity men. [The Gipsy re-enters from the hovel. Hor. There see, My Lord, our wizard likes not to be cooped At all, and seeks the unlimited air again. Ham. Though liberty of life has given him neither Wings, nor broom to ride by night, I will avouch That it has gathered up some rarities of Counsel. Shall I speak to him Horatio ?— Hor. Do, my Lord. Ham. Good greeting to thee, stranger; What art thou ?— Gip. Thou dost well to ask, by—Avhat, As if a thing transmuted from the—who, Of man. Ham. Thou must not judge me altogether By the million. I took thee for no less Than man: far greater would I hold thee, than The scores that so miscall themselves. Who art Thou then ? Gip. More like perhaps, in quality, to Thee, than show of poverty and rank would Riddle of me. Ham. Thy looks, confronted with thy Boasted quality, though that were poor as mine, Are riddle-like indeed, and mock our guess by Contradiction. Then, resolve our doubt of This cross-meaning. Gip. Why I am, what I am, Concerns not thee ; so for the prying—wherefore, Take the—what. Thou beholdest here, the exile Of a noble house ; one who has tried the safe Extremes of life. First, upmost rank that cares Not for opinion ; and noAV this thou seest, That by opinion is not cared for. Ham. Thy Change is then no change : thy exile but the Coming home unto thyself. Gip. In one thing, 'Twas a change. I left that costly pride,—of 28 HAMLET, Ad I. Making others do whate'er I pleased, for ^ That cheap luxury,—to think and do Avhate er I please myself. Ham. Fair usage then to thy Perpetual mastership. But how accords The needful knowledge of that pride-borne rule, With this thy unproud vacancy ? Gip. Where there is Knowledge and fair use of it, there is no Vacancy ; and the free paths of thought, which the Free conduct follows, shows strange registers Of things. Ham. Then thou art whom we seek, if thoughts Unloosed from custom, ever Aving thee back A leaf from vast and deep futurity. Gip. The Future in the ways of men, if such is What you seek, is but the past well noted. Time is too full of cheap and marketable Work, to try fresh clay upon the by-gone Art of human novelty. New forms in man Can never be the mode ; and when they singly Come, they hide as though they were not; or if Caught abroad, a cruel war is set upon Their strangeness. Thus the eternal multitude Are but identical reprints from nature's Standing type, to cheaply serve the readers Of fore-knowledge :—for what has been, and who,— Are only Avho will be, and what. Then say, How wouldst thou question me of this past future ? Ham. We have tAvin-wishes good Horatio; whose Tongue shall take the birth-right ? Hor. Yours my Lord, speak You for us both. Ham. You here behold two friends About to part; being, if thy augury ask Names, Horatio this, and Hamlet. Their fortunes Cannot be the same, nor can their happiness Be well disjoined. Since then thou hast unveiled The cunning of thy palmistry, I need not Scene II. A prelude. 29 Hold you out my hand, to be the mirror Of my stars ; but of thy record, beg the Pages of our destiny. Gip. The wishful heart Oft leads in fortune's council, and directs The event. You two shall meet again ; for come The season may, within the fitful climate Of humanity, that shall compel the troubled Soul to wrap itself beneath the shelter Of a friend. Ham. This is the common lot: what's mine ? Gip. It may be singly thine,—hard and uncommon. Ham. Full fault to thee ; thy future does not tell the Past in this. Gip. If griefs should come, thy outcast Memory of all joy, may be as if that Joy had neA'er been. Ham. Should I need friends, are They all such that seem so now 1 Gip. There are some Who'd put their hands on thee, in blessing, that At crafty calls, might hear temptation to the Laying of far other hands upon thee. There is one Avho'll be that blessing truly. Ham. Where is he ?—that 1 may antedate him On my heart. Hor. He's in thy eye, my Lord. Ham. Our Oracle, Horatio, should in that eye have Read the hope of thee,—and made thy answer. Hor. Let its truth my Lord, be thy content, and His example. Ham. Well, what counsel wilt thou Give ?—to be thy service in our fearful Need of it. Gip. Beware of those whose heart runs More abroad than suits, for thrift, their home-breAv'd Love and loving cunning ; Avho would root thy Purpose out, Avith planting deep their own ; and Make thy unlatched shoe of careless honesty, c2 30 HAMLET, Act I. The means to tread thee down at heel, and put A shuffling stop to thy advancement.—Be So just, that resolution cannot fail thee : Deal suspiciously, for pharisaic goods are Now-a-days by far too cheap.—Be thinker For thyself; since spongers on opinion Ever so abound, that falling to their Fashion, thou mayest have a borrowed heap of Purposes, and not decisive hands enough To do them. Ham. Thy cautions catch the ear of Confidence. But wisdom, of thy sort, has Now so long and loudly preached, that knaves, for Self defence, have gathered up her texts of Honesty; and therewithal, prescribe to fools Such antidotes against suspicion, that Empiric fraud, with his upholding host, too Oft is master of us. Should such fate be Mine, how canst thou teach the disappointed Soul to join endurance with affliction. Gip. Enough is said. I'm not thy peer, to make Thy grief or joy: yet all unlike, as seems, I've ties, unknown of rank, to hold Avith thee In either. —So, farewell. [Exit Gipsy. Ham. • He's gone, and I Hold here his fee Horatio ; for methought His soul looked down upon it. Hor. My Lord, he might Perhaps have taken it, of his need. Ham. His need Is thriftless then; since there was something in Him, that forbid our most insinuating Gift the hinting of it. Hor. Now, my lord, thou mayest Have no credulity ; but as I watched thee, I grew less ashamed of mine. Ham. If I was Serious, it was thinking then,'—that wisdom, With her skill in cause and consequence, knows— Why, and—what, and—when: whilst sly imposture, Scene III. A PRELUde. 31 Tearing out a leaf of presage from her Book, makes up the wondrous little trick of Prophecy. Herein Horatio, I'm not yet Resolved, though touched perhaps with favor to Your prophet, by his kindly voice. Still, Time, The grand inquisitor, must judge my heresy. I'll send thee after trial, my most full Confession, if 'tis due: for though truth be As Hangman to our pride, still pride should die Unangered at his duty ; vouching then a Last forgiveness, and the peace between them, By some bequeathed acknowledgment.—But come, Impatience, from the Hall, looks out on our Delay, and beckons us to speed. [Exeunt. SCENE THIRD. A road side. Enter Hamlet and Horatio. Hor. They said he was in haste. Ham. Did you mind Horatio, they both told first of the cloak: the strangeness of its fashion here, set it at the top of memory. Hor. Here comes misery my Lord; he knows most of the world; we'll ask him. Enter a Boy. Ham. Poor child! Like the rest of us, his large acquaintance has not bettered him. He looks as if he lived upon the unbought favor of the many. Hor. Did you meet the traveller's Post, my boy ? Boy. Yes, sir, just as a gentleman got in, at the top of the hill. I opened the gate for him that goes short to the college. Ham. What did he give you? Boy. Nothing, sir. I held out my bonnet, so;—but 32 HAMLET, Act I. he shook his head. Then I ran along side, and told him, it Avas'nt for me, but my sick mother. So he shook his head again, and said,—he was in haste to Witten- berg from the King of Denmark: and then the gentle- man said,—drive on. Ham. Take this for thy mother, and quick to her. Boy. Oh, sir, she'll bless you. [Exit boy. Ham. The gentleman! And his commission too, preaching its consequence to a child! I suppose he had no charity: where was his wastage then. My letters tell me he is a physician. By the polluted trade of Escula- pius, Horatio, but I shall have a picked fellow-traveller. He keeps his compassion, as Sampson did his last feat of strength,—for the crowd. His soul, if he has one, is no witness for him : nor is self-approbation ever his pay- master. [Exeunt. SCENE FOURTH. The Hall of Wittenberg School. The Magister, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and two other Students. First Stu. And Avhere are all the rest? Second Stu. So much dispersed, That even hurried time could not get through The errand of their summons. Mag. The messenger From Denmark, though so newly come, yet makes His stay short measurer of our conference Here. Where is Prince Hamlet? He was never Wont to cheat engagement, even in his Tasks; and with his very idle promises, So servile to the point, that every menial's Dues in time, were master still of his. First Stu. He Is at hand; and paying now with hasty Scene IV. a prelude. 33 Breath, the forfeit of a lingering kindness To an aged pensioner of his; whose prayers— But see! He comes. Enter Hamlet and Horatio. Ham. Your purpose here, enough Rebukes me for delay; so spare your words My friends. Mag. I cannot name it, when Prince Hamlet Had the need of pardon that he feigns. In Duty, ever Avatchful of authority's Mute look, to stay the useless breathing of Command. Bred up to expectation's proudest Height; yet by an earlier covenant with his Generous condescension, voiding thus the Lofty rule of likeness-seeking royalty, To be the equal of the least of these. Ham. The eye of the cause hath fullest scope of the Effect. Whate'er thou kindly seest, thyself Hath made. Mag. The virtues thus free followed of thy Will, where will so oft rebels, pair preciously With thy born graces. Ham. Nay sir, if I may Speak, these graces are but children of your Flattery: born, if born at all, to find a Cradle here in Wittenberg. Mag. What else is Due to thy kind heart young Prince, we'll keep in Record here. Whilst eldership, with more of Custom's reverence in its rank, than fairly Marshalled o'er thy age's excellence, bestows These words of parting counsel on thee. Ham. My Memory waits as penman of thy precepts. Mag. There is no grace that does become thee as A man, but Avould be crowned to greater honor, In that king Avhich thou mayest be hereafter. Wisdom and Worth have value still to all; 34 HAMLET, Act I. But wisdom's sentences grow golden in the Book of royalty:—and worth when kindled up Of majesty, sheds more than beams of glory Round the throne. Ham. They say, that on the topmost Hills the air is frozen; and humanity So chilled and selfish there, that travellers Have been murdered, merely for their hood and cloak. How are the dangers of the eminent throne ? Is breathing cold about it ? And what—of the Robe and crown? Mag. There are two small, yet busy Parts of man, that make the plague, and oft the Fall of kings. BeAvare of each;—that ruinous Instrument, a fool's place-honored tongue, of Either species, solemn or smart:—and that Sly Dionysean ear of malice, which May magnify too much for thee. Ham. They best know The dangers of the throne, who are not madly Heartened by its glory. But how should safe And waieniui majesty, think, speak, and act? Mag. In Acts of sovereignty, let Time be always One to give thee counsel; for his slowness Often is most quick.—Let thy speech be like The idiom of the many:—thy understanding Ordered as the few. So shall the ears of All mankind have open doors for thee ; and Authority who sits within, shall call thee To his highest seat. Go Hamlet to thy Father; shining visibly upon his day, A star of younger lustre, near to that Bright sun of Denmark. Ham. Here let recording Gratitude set down to me youth's double Debt; not more for all the heavy counting of The past, than now for thy preceptive care, Scene IV. A PRELUDE. 35 To be life-lasting favor to me. To first Student. Take A long-enduring print of friendship from This palm; that memory cannot grow so dim, But she will read the heart of Hamlet there. To second Student. The Muses early joined our hands; and whilst They to the heart that courts them, lover-like In secret, whisper surer words of favor And content, than ever swelled th' inequitable Trump of Fame, I answer for it, we shall Not forget each other. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, lads of a class with me; when Together thus I give you each a hand, What will you say to Hamlet? Rosen. If blessings Be the work of friends, I speak for two; we Ask of heaven to bless thee. Ham. [Aside.] To bless! The Gipsy Warned me of these consecrating tongues. Hear That Horatio,—how the future thus steps Backward on the Avords of prophecy. Pardon Sir, this silent gathering up of gratitude, That still wants measure in her words, for all The good you wish me. Or more or less, I Cannot, will not offer; to return thee Back thy OAvn, is robbing thee to do it, and Would thus deserve false friendship's halter. [Hamlet waves Horatio to withdraw.] Come Horatio; that a parting grief may take, To feel, thy hand of sorrow last.—Again, To each in all, farewell. [Exeunt Hamlet and Horatio. END OF ACT FIRST. 36 HAMLET, Act II. ACT SECOND. SCENE FIRST. An Apartment in the Royal Palace at Elsinore. The King, Queen and Hamlet. King. Noav Gertrude, since Prince Hamlet here, our And Denmark's young reserve in royalty, [son, Hath, in his answering duty to our wish, Outstript the speed of expectation; perching On the hand of our recall, ere we had Looked up for the wings of his compliance ;— It therefore, of our royal faith, becomes Us to bestir the thoughts of preparation, For the appointed congress of our Peers At Arvic. So with time between, of love To thee and to our Prince, we shall tomorrow Set our course to Norway. Come then Hamlet; Words of welcome have till now so eagerly Devoured thy time, that craving thus deferred, Grows clamorous to hear the due adventures Of thy way from Wittenberg. You show us Health indeed, but ransomed from its dangers; Whereof headlong Rumor, over-anxious In thy favor, brought but broken pieces Of the story: giving them o'er to fancy With her wondrous joinery, to make a fearful Strangeness of the whole. Ham. In charity, I did Bestow the interest of the tale upon my Therein ambitious guide; that he might buy An hour of consequence, by retail profit On the words of this so wild adventure. King. If he had need, 'tis well. He was a stranger j lo us; but to serve thee homeward, our good Brother Claudius, who in duty to thee, Scene I. A PRELUDE. 37 Triples its regards, by borrowing of his Love to us and to our Queen,—set forth as All adroit in trust, this smoothly Snudor; Joined to him by that subservient hand of Under intimacy, that so oft avails The wants of greatness. We approved his choice. Queen. And I, dear Hamlet, took thy uncle's word Alone, as warrant for his faithful service. Ham. He did his part with all officiousness. King. It gives me joy, with thanks to him, that by a Watchful kindness Hamlet here is rescued. But tell us straight, how came this chance that now We smile upon, which had been nigh to tears. Ham. Not many hours from Wittenberg, as our Fleet horses made it, lies a solitary Place almost beyond all record: travellers Scarce speaking of it; through duress of horror, Giving hard bond of silence to their fearful Memory. Each kind of life, that elseAvhere might Find root or breath, seem'd gone; except that there, Like some forced sentinel of solitude, a Strange but ravenous fowl watched on a dreadful Summit; crouching close and ruffled, as if Chilled at such an utter desolation. Yet at uncertain intervals that startled The forgetful ear, still screaming our so Lonely thoughts, to thoughts of drearier loneliness. King. The spot Avas surely skipped in old creation's Reckoning, when he saw that all Avas good. Ham. Some Things are too appalling to be looked at. This was one that could not bear to look upon Itself. For thitherAvard a stream, which through its Fairer region, wore a summer gentleness That doubled all between itself and heaven;— Here forced precipitous beyond a dismal Edge it Avould have shunned, broke up its mirror Into shineless foam; as if on second Trial, flinching nature, who at first stood D 38 HAMLET, Act II. Fearless over this, her single workmanship, Now dared not, even in the picturing pool, Behold another scene so savage as Herself. ... Queen. Your words, my son, transgress this will Of Nature; giving us a picture yet More fearful, when parental care, that nature Still, beholds thee in it. Say what madness Hamlet, thus o'erruled the frowning of thy Fancy ? Ham. To this spot, that faithful messenger Of yours, drew me to view, as he had heard, Strange doings of the outlaw'd elements. For Here, besides unlikened forms of High, Huge, Rough, Deep, Black, and Bleak, and Imminent, he Told especially—of sundered rocks, down which The mid-day sun showed night's perspective still ;— With yet unfathomed wells, bored by the spouting Stream, whose edge is worked by its eternity. But chief of wonders there,—a giant Demon's Track, fetlock and cloven horn, stone-stamped; as If at time's beginning, some out-prowling Or lost devil, scenting wicked works, had Lighted on the unhardened soil, for place or Prey. King. This seems like mischief tempting. Ham. Then was The Fiend well foiled; if his split hoof and rocks That gaped to hell, were stories baited to our Ruin. For, yet upon the confines, creeping Cautiously, there being at such a place no shame In fear,—sudden my guide, whose heel I linked Avith, At I knoAV not what, recoiled.—So struck, I Fell. Queen. Oh Hamlet! Ham. Nay, but still found frightful Foothold. There stood your messenger, Avith looks Beyond the warrant of his risked security, Yet far this side the craving of my peril,— Wasting needful time in interjective Scene I. A PRELUDE. 39 Wonder at my preservation. He would Have urged me further; but the loud content Of our escape, outcalling curiosity, We turned to seek our finished safety here, Within your royal favor and protection. King. A double welcome, Hamlet! One, all-loving To thyself. Queen. And let thy mother give—the Thankful greeting to thy rescue. King. But of thy Safety sure; noAv of our love. Our purpose Being on a quest of foreign policy, and Ordering all our public duties to their Several confidential trusts, has called thee Home, to be as if ourself in private Royalty; with grant of every seal of playful PoAver, that should ordain the world-watched pastimes Of a prince. Ham. This favor finds a twofold Gratefulness in Hamlet; due to Sire no Less than King. Queen. Than King? Ham. Nay mother, do not Look on me with jealousy, before my love Confess his equal debt to thee. King. Hold thy Mother, Hamlet, not alone as Queen; for There are many queens: but give her love past Love, as being our only Gertrude. Yet should E'en thy service to her sacred quality, Bow down thy reverential heart to worship; Still all else than mine Avill seem like mockery Of adoration. Stand thou at her side, Like Ganymede, to make her cup of life A heaven of happiness. Ham. My duty Avaits in Thy appointed livery:—care, laced easily To love's unchanging habit, by the filial Fastening of affection. Will our mother Have her son so clad, her page? 40 HAMLET, Act II. Queen. So sha11 our Son, page, consort, king, be one in name, as By high qualities confounded. Yes, Hamlets All. King. [Putting his miniature around Hamlet s neck.] Wear thou this; as though I would be close Beside thy heart, to teach thee, to thy mother, Ceaseless love. Ham. This is my nature; what else Should I learn? King. Our honored brother too, has His full trust of duty to our queen; no Less in closest tie of blood to us, than by Respect's own making. Whatsoever else Thou owest, of this regard alone, be ever Gracious with thy uncle. Ham. He's the prudent Seamster of his Avords, who only bastes a Promise on futurity: watching well the Fitness, ere he sews it fast. Thy wishes Are my written contract, which my mother's Satisfaction shall make good. King. All will be Good in thee, that's kind to her. Come Gertrude, Time is short: tomorrow I must leave thee. Let us forget tomorrow's wrong;—the day Shall come when we will think,—we meet tomorrow. [Exeunt the King and Queen. Ham. To which of these, is my debating heart the most a son! There is no choice, where each still lives the greater blessing to the other. In love's outdoing com- pliment, striving each for mastery; whilst the last is still the foremost in the other's praise. Two by the arithmetic, and but one in the counting of affection; since each comes first. The guardian each, and each the ward of the other. The more their lives lengthen in love's perspective, joining more to one.—Now, if happiness come not by the blood, it may be catching; and I have been in the contagious way of these. The king has given the palace to my rule: and Taste Scene I. A prelude. 41 shall counsel how to use it.—As household monarch then, I'll plan my empire. I will appoint a secretary to each Sense : whose trusts fulfilled, shall show the mind to be the Premier of the cabinet. The Ear shall have her Actors speak the speech of un- outrageous passion, right intoned with conscious voice :* and call for Melody of a master's making, when the spi- rit of song is upon him, and the world away. The Eye shall summon forms of Grecian grace;— with colors dipped ideal: All so choicely gathered from diffusive Nature, that she herself shall smile upon her thus presuming daughter, taste-taught Art; and straight avow her own reproved and winnoAved carelessness. The hand shall Touch the palm of friendship ; and the arm infold the preciousness of beauty. He who Perfumes the air, shall minister the general incense of the fields ; Avhich heaven's all-gracious self, without the sacred censer and its priest, of earth's pure piety accepts. Whilst tongue-appointed Taste, Avhose service lies within the vulgar suburb of delight,—Avith menial en- trance, bringing just his needful fare, shall make his due despatch. * This description of speech, as if it were one of the Fine Arts,— founded indeed in Nature, but raised by Taste, upon the analysis of its constituents, and a definite purpose in their use,—will, I fear, be unintelligible to Chief Speakers of the present day. Another age will acknowledge its laconic truth;—when that strange dis- tinction shall have passed away, which upon every subject, but that of the Intonation of Speech, assigns the excellence of art to a mas- tery over its elements, and to their mind-directed application. Man ascribes his intellectual superiority to the possession of a lan- guage, that proudly, as he boasts, surpasses the passionate voice of brutes. Yet he attempts to raise the intellectual art of Elocution upon the sufficiency of his instinctive feeling alone.----Let the blind votaries of such a system, under the conflicting caprice of all their individualities, remember Guido's satire upon a like ignorant vanity in the singers of his day:—Quifacit, quod nonsapit, dtfinv- tur bestia. D2 42 hamlet, Act II. But hold! These are pleasures, planned as if one knew the art's enduring essence;—which the soul- bleared gropers after it about the court, that prick their fingers in the search, and stumble into discontent, might misinterpret to insanity; and shut me up from all enjoy- ment. . God gave man hearing, smell, taste, touch, and sight, That he might live through them, by natural right: Yet dare to use those senses as your own, And with your natural rights, you'll live and die alone. [Exit Hamlet. SCENE SECOND. An Apartment in Polonius' House. Enter Polonius and Ophelia. Pol. The king, Ophelia, held last night his final Audience; and therein, upon especial Word to me, made wilful entrance of thy Name, with gracious compliment. And then, as Neighbour to his thought, spoke of Prince Hamlet. Ophe. Hamlet hath himself been here my lord. Pol. It Shows the thrifty packing of his heart,—that In those crowded hours, so close between his Late arrival and the king's departure, He should still find time for thee. % Ophe. When was the Time, of his returns to court, that Hamlet Has forgot Ophelia? Pol. Therefore, cloud no Memory in him now. Rather with all seemly Favor, paint more brightness on it. For, what Is Friendship!—but our oft-revived and happy Memory of an other. And what, Love!—but That same memory, on one ceaseless round of Meditation, happier still. Scene II. a prelude. 43 Ophe. I have no Tongue-taught ways, my lord, for what a babbling Nature here, so thank you, born, could never Hide. Pol. Thy nature, child? Psha? That's thy mother's Weakness. Never speak of who created Us. This, indeed, is nature's doing, in her Vulgar factory; where patterns of all sorts Have but one maker and material. We Should learn our purpose,—whether formed for noble , Services, or common use; and thus be ! Marked and sorted. Ophe. But my lord, if nature Makes the Prince, who then knows better how to Fashion those who serve him ? Pol. I'll tell thee. Hamlet Hath his last best making in the court; where Unspared wages keep the choicest hands to Finish. Ophe. And this gives his judgment seal, when He, at court consents, nay wills, to be what Nature meant him. Pol. This is against all rule, Ophelia. Argument gives soil to breeding, And is often mischievous. We reason where We doubt: but what that proud logician, Form Lays down, is proof; or time winks at it, which Is equal surety. Argument is only Good at court, that serves it: thus—kings are God's Anointed; nature but the child of God; So nature, when she's noisy, should be whipped At court. Ophe. What arts then, since I'm here at court: Where sly ill-nature, smooth in other hate, Knits up her brow at reason. Pol. Let reason Slap thee thrice for thy transgressions, ere old Usage shake his silver hairs at thee, for Slight irreverence to him. For though the Prince 44 HAMLET, Act II. Make naught of this ;—yet would our cousin Osric, Sick of thy good sense, spread other taints, more Apt to his persuasion. Ophe. Nay, let good sense Borrow harder hands to strike, if he, in Double duty, thus might flap our insect Cousin from about me. Pol. Peace, dear Ophelia, Nor reverse his better thoughts of thee. Ophe. His Wavering thoughts are so akin to lunacy, That their tide, as creature of the moon, leads Either way alike. Pol. Thou dost forget that He now holds chief courtier's rank. Ophe. I knoAV full Well, my lord, that Osric has the courtier's Post, behind the teeth of him he speaks Avith ; There to watch word-making; thence stepping out So quickly to the air with them, that more than Half their real owners think them his. Pol. Oh! Fie! No more of this, or thou wilt here at Court, undo thy fortune; and worse still, will Do no more for mine. Therefore, Ophelia, Give no turning to the current, if it flow, Of Hamlet's love; but use obstructive arts, Which SAvelling up the height, but make it stronger In o'erleaping them. Ophe. If I well knoAV the Prince, my lord, his favor would shine most on Honesty. Pol. Think as you please for that. But stand Thou tiptoe on thy heart and reach; there's Royalty Upon the bough. Ophelia, come.—I say Again, do not forget thyself nor me. [Exeunt. Scene III. A PRELUDE. 45 SCENE THIRD. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter the Queen and Claudius. Claud. Dear Gertrude, though our quiet loves may Have crept unwatched ; yet still distrustful of [long Himself, security has held his sentinel Ear, and propped his eyelids towards suspicion. Now comes the truce of fear, if not his lasting Peace. Queen. And yet there seems the adverse noting Of a spy, within this care-invested heart. [science Claud. Raise higher up thy misplaced hand, for con- Keeps his office in the brain; and is mere Thought, which schools make right or wrong. Come Truant of the past, this is love's holyday,— [fearful And our master gone. Queen. But not his monitor; Who loiters still at home, to note unseemly Vacancy. Claud. You told me, Gertrude, once, the first Of all thy free confessions,—that cross-thinking Twixt thy duty and temptation, had worn Conscience out. It was not love that spoke, but Fear communing with contrition. Queen. Conscience, Claudius, is that slack eye-servant,—who yet Does his duty when we look to him. Claud. And, Must I doubt? Queen. For me to scruple only, And not war outright, upon the very Thought of thee, is in itself the sealing Of submission. Where'er I try revolt From that uneasy love, the cause comes up, And fills my heart with loyalty to thee. Claud. Then, 46 HAMLET, Act II. This in pardon;—if thy troubled love has Stirred such mutiny. Queen. I hear a step. The air, The virtuous air,—that kisses all things else, With heaven's consent,—blows threats about me. Yet One moment, and I will return. [Exit the Queen. Enter Hamlet. Claud. Good Hamlet! Ham. And so too, I hope, my uncle.—Went not Now, the Queen from here in haste ? Claud. She did. Ham. Why Should the footsteps of a son alarm a Mother ? Claud. Wert thou Hamlet, e'en that fearful Thing, thy mother could not shun it; since her Thoughts are now, as ever, full of thee ; with Words of praise that set thee up, the idol Image of thy father. Ham. And sir, how look You upon this worship? For that dear and Absent brother's sake, you cannot quarrel With her favor. Claud. 'Tis like favor makes thy Father and myself hold frequent council, On thy fortune. Ham. If such double kindness Turn the Avheel, my thread of destiny must shoAV Fair spinning. Claud. Scarce two days gone by, Avith eulogy That did enthrone thy worth, he noted thee For empire: mindful still of Denmark's rule,— That makes the crown, besides of Royal word, An offering of the general voice. Knowing Well thy backAvardness to stooping policy, I did propose a scheme. Ham. A scheme, good uncle X What said my father to a scheme ? Scene III. a prelude. 47 Claud. A courtier's Sudden entry broke our conference up,— Ham. Or, Be assured, the king's command of honor Would have done it. Claud. Why Hamlet, art thou blind To thy success ? Ham. Not blind, but sharp of sight, To see black mischief hid in dark contrivance. Claud. All living glory comes of managed means. Ham. Then, let such means keep hidden corners still, To hatch their glories: I'd far rather beg Humility than find their nest. Claud. Young Prince, oh ! This is quite apart from prudence. Ham. Yet, Avith Better company I hope, than in your cunning Parliaments, Avhere virtue is in masquerade. So uncle, when your council has a mind To join us, come by daylight, and Ave, Hamlet And fair-dealing, will be glad to see you. [Exit Hamlet. Claud. I could not tempt him to my trick of ruin: But I'll make that honesty, which ever has Lean credit of the world, curtail his slender Gains to bankruptcy. [Exit Claudius. Re-enter the Queen. Queen. Contrition brings me Faltering back, to counsel on my crime, AVith him who bears its half at least.—He's gone! At mercy's call, perhaps, that I might counsel With myself. Safe dialogue in sin !—Avhere Foul resolves may still draAV back unheard ; and Each self-governed side be mistress of both Arguments. So here 1 singly stand, in Tongue divided. Speak then, Hamlet's Avife and Queen, to Claudius' sister, and his laAvless 48 HAMLET, Act II. Love. Noav let the warmest voice, as fits its Eagerness, say first. Why speak you not ? Does Dread of my cool umpirage, freeze up your Words ? Or do the brandished edges of your Mutual arguments, compel each other Back? Then, I'll be both your advocate and Judge. I plead for Hamlet first; since I it Was, stirred up his cause. Well then, wrong heart, this Should not be.—What else ? Why, should not. There The heavy argument: for this is all [sticks In all.—No more then of enough. I plead For Claudius now : and Claudius moves new pleas Of love with me.—There lie the odds against thee, Hamlet: for love is but persuasion's slave. Thus plays awhile the balance-hinge of doubt; And passion's heart-felt weight lifts up deficient Duty:—for duty is the wife's cold passion; Whilst passion is the duty of the heart. [Exit the Queen. SCENE FOURTH. An Apartment in Polonius' House. Ophelia entering by the door in fiat, advances towards Hamlet, who enters, thoughtfully, from the side. Ophe. Has o'er-expectant zeal pushed on the hand Of time, that I have trod too soon upon the Hour? • Ham. When she Avho rules all Hamlet's !ife, but Comes, it makes the moment glad and punctual Too. Scene IV. A prelude. 49 Ophe. Love's least suspicion strikes a shuddering Through the heart. My haste, I feared, had brought me, Like a forward bird of spring, that sometimes Lights on frost. Ham. What can Ophelia mean ? Ophe. This Greeting marks me for affection's fool,—Avhen Hamlet gives no warmer salutation To Ophelia. Ham. Nay ! thou first and only Hearer of my secret worship,—know, that In my hermit cell of contemplation, there, Where I have graved the saintly image of My love, Ophelia ever has the kneeling Heart of Hamlet. Whensoe'er we meet, my Soul's demurring courtesy, by thy unkind Interpretation, cold, stands dumb of choice; If rather then,—to hail thy gracious presence, Or,—to say farewell to fancy's copy Of perfection, fading at thy living Brightness. Pardon then a moment's worthless Length, if it offend; when Hamlet's dearest Visions, give eternal salutations To Ophelia. Ophe. And does Hamlet's faith so Live, as true and lasting as it dreams? Ham. I Have not here those holy leaves, that give otir Mortal words their wings to heaven; but still on This so sacred type of beauty,— [Taking her hand, which she withdraws.'] Nay, not Set lip-sealing to my oath? Ophe. Love's hasty Will sometimes o'erruns his duty. Ham. Why, the Common rose, with only perfume's vulgar Quality, exacts a careful kindness from The hand. Think not of rudeness then, Ophelia, E 50 HAMLET, Act II. When both eye and touch, each love's selectest Sense, are full of arguments to show thee Gentleness. Ophe. I've known the wise refuse a Gift, whose richness set too deep a care on Keeping. I have not the value to make Good so great a loss. 'Twere then a prudent Part in love, to pause ere he receive the Precious jewel of" thy oath. Ham. The bond I Give of constancy, is Avritten on the heart; Securely there, till blotted out by thy Unkindness, or, if such can be, some blacker Fate. But since thy hand holds back in doubt,— [Giving a book.] ----read These memorials of my pen, through years of Silent love. Shouldst thou read them twice, thou'lt then Believe me true,—because thou'd haAre it so. This for conviction. [Giving a case of Jewels.] These are vainly meant,— For thy adorning: if Ophelia can Forget her beauty's high sufficiency, and Hold them needful; or so flatter Hamlet, as To feign a use for his superfluous gifts. Ophe. Ophelia wants not these, which thy contented Heart of compliment calls useless: and thus, Only takes them of thy hand,—to give her Willing hand to thee. Ham. Oh ! why am I, at This my need, so cursed with poverty of speech ?— That my tongue-tribute pays thus far beloAV A tithe, of all the dues to thy deserving Quality. Ophe. A tithe of compliment from thee, My lord, is ten times more than this wide earth, With her unnumbered altars of vain praise, Can give of incensed favor. Do but say, In heartfelt brevity,—I love,—and I will Paraphrase the words, to endless terms of Happiness. Scene IV. A PRELUDE. 51 Ham. Alas ! to shut my soul's abundance Up within a moment's breath.—Love thee?—Ay! If that brief voice of passion can intone My heart's exulting vow. I love thee—for That passing excellence, which, joining worships, Makes thee idol both of sight and soul: and Which, as palm of praise to thee, might claim, but Never asks the homage of the world. Ophe. Why Not let the world be voucher to thy choice? Ham. That voucher's constancy would be like his, Stirrupless should try a slippery globe : thou [who Canst not say, how long he'd sit, or which side Fall. The world, Ophelia, has no freehold In opinion; but still lives at rent,—tenant At will of a capricious landlord; looking On all that passes, through the windoAV6 of Another's eyes: so whiff on its authority ! Ophe. Then let there be no witness in the court, Where both the principals have made confession. Enter a Servant. Serv. My Lord Hamlet,—the king's officer, Marcel- lus, begs audience of your highness. Ham. Marcellus is my friend, by youth's unpur- chased love. May he have entrance ? Ophe. As Hamlet's friend, he finds his freedom here. Tell him the Prince waits. [Exit Servant. Ham. [to Ophelia going.] Farewell Ophelia, till our deferred happiness shall come again. [Exit Ophelia by the door inflat. Enter Marcellus. What now Marcellus. Mar. If, my lord, the words of My commission may Woav off the lingering Air of softer speech, then let thy mother's, Joined with Denmark's voice, be yet a kindly Call, though urged obtrusive. 52 HAMLET, Act II. Rumor, who but Speaks to make his duplicate, has spread loud Credit of one Arno of Provence, now Newly come to Elsinore; and offering Challenge to all Denmark,—here to meet him On the trial of deliberate verse. Ham. Thou knowest, Marcellus, that by the very bravery of our language, the last syllable of—defiance, is the first of—answer. Therefore, his own word helps us to a quick acceptance. Mar. 'Tis a proud jest, my lord: and thus to give Proud matching to this boaster; and withal Gay pastime to the court, the Queen invites Thy threefold state of—Scholar, Dane, and Prince, To be the ruler of this prize contention. Wherein, Denmark's general voice has named her Laureate Occleve, so to strive in song, as May receive your lordship's approbation. Ham. If called—as Scholar, Dane, and Prince, to do This tripled task of playful justice; then— As son, we here obey. So tell our honored Mother. But Marcellus, where's our champion ? I would have a word of preface with him. Mar. Occleve, through thy princely favor, has his Frequent welcome by the Lord Polonius Here: and just at hand he comes, to join with Harp the fair Ophelia's voice. Ham. Ophelia Then shall to the court, and there, her harper In his conquest crown. I Avill this moment To her for compliance: so Marcellus, In all haste, fareAvell. [Exeunt Hamlet by the door in flat, Marcellus by the side.] Enter Occleve. Occ. Why give an arrow to young Love, when voice And string can do his errand sooner to the Heart? Sly music hath a stealing footstep Scene IV. A prelude. 53 On us; then most sly, when woman lays the Stratagem of harmony. Thus hath Ophelia pained, entreated entrance here; herself in This, unconscious of her soft prevailing Artifice.—But die all Avords, and help not Hopes to live: since mutual favor seems to Smile between Ophelia and the Prince, my Patron. Re-enter Hamlet, hearing Occleve's last words. Ham. No, the Prince will be thy judge: Denmark Thy patron: and Ophelia waits to crown thee. Occ. My judge is just: my patron watchful: and Let come the time of trial for the croAvn; Since even those Avho Avear OpheUa's chains, Still hold them next their heart. Ham. A poet never Should endure a chain, but that which links his Fancy out to endless combination. Yet alone for thy youth's sake, I'd serve thee With some ripened rules, plucked choicely from old Pages of success; both fitting for thee now,— And ever, for thy fame. Occ. My lord, I'll dip My pen in thy good Avords of counsel. Ham. Then Occleve,----Do not Avrite too early; lest thy Childish noise of authorship be taken For a rattle : nor yet Avrite too much ; lest time In hurrying to posterity, full fraught with Lasting merit, leave thy weight of works behind. Reach not thy hand too eagerly for fame : but Join thy heart to all good things that make it. When thou Avouldst paint, ask not the covetous Trade—what colors, please its Avorship, noAv will Suit the market: but let Nature sit, though It should cost thee dearly. She will survive Thee, and hereafter show herself beside Thy priceless picture. e 2 54 HAMLET, Act II. Occ. Nature is of every Age my lord; yet each will have her of its Fashion. What should I do? Ham. Be not the age's Ape; but be thyself the master of the mode. Give every sentence salt; and to thy style, The true complexion of thy thoughts. God made Our thoughts—the seal to stamp all else in us : Thus self-accordant, shall not imitation, With a ragman's charity, dress out thy needy Page with patches ; but thy pen throughout shall Wear, in one complete, the livery of thy Genius. See that thy poet-flight resemble Not the issue of the lawyer's hive,—that Swarms off its redundant words; obscuring Thus the queen-bee of its argument, by the Thick clustering of the mouth's multitude. Let Thy thought-packed metaphor burst unexpected Fulness on the ear: making the phrase mere Catch-word for thy audience ; that fancy thus May seize her part, and each delight his taste With his own finishing; thus pleasing all Who vainly please themselves. Occ. You'd have, my lord, The poet's choice of thought made vivid by Generic handling; and allot a waste Specification to law contracts, wills, and Title-deeds in prose; for litigants to prove That costly doubt may still be copious. Ham. Though These are wordy and o'er-speechful times, the Like of which had made a Spartan orator Loll out his tongue for breath,—I still would have The conscience of thy pen, e'en under custom's Oath, so slight the sacred dues of truth, as Not to speak the whole of it. For mark it Well; that style's shrewd paradox, and the long Since forgot economy of ink, lie here,— Scene IV. A PRELUDE. 55 To tell the most with least. So was Parnassus, That famed Grecian mount, decreed the poet's Home ; that he might sketch from thence, the striking Hill-tops of description. ®cc' We now are called To live in meads, my lord. Ham. Then do not count The grass there, Occleve. For, this painting nature's Twigs, and tinting hair-split feelings, makes the Muse turn mystic : and by dipping in, for what A vain and washy age calls nicer shades, Oft lays-on groping darkness. Our still fresh And zesty authors of old time, held life Too short, and mites of thought too cheap, to call The endless roll of fancy's atoms. "But Those of modern date, appear to make their Note-book by the little vision of a fly; Which still upon the flat-worn surfaces Of things, finds crevices to peep into:—and who, O'erlooking nature's broad distinctive marks, Do advertise her like a thief; telling of Garments, goods, hair, height, age, artifice, and All. Let thy ambition be,—to satisfy the Best; and go to thy contention; mindful That thou'lt be rare-worthy, shouldst thou escape The shouting crowd,—to be embalmed by wise Discernment: spreading through futurity, the Savor that preserves thee. Occ. My gracious lord, I'll keep thy counsel, though this critic age, On doubled wages, write me down to ruin. [Exeunt. END OF ACT SECOND. 56 HAMLET, Act III. ACT THIRD. SCENE FIRST. The Banqueting Room of the Palace. The Queen, Hamlet, Claudius, Marcellus, Polonius, Ophelia, Osric and Attendants. Osric officiously making arrangements. Osric. Ceremony is the court's guardian, and keeps it to itself:— • Whilst fashion lends his dandy flowers, To deck its rosy-posy hours. Ham. If this is your tune, you shall have a sugar- loaf cap; and be Laureate to the court confectioner. Osric. What me, my lord? Ham. Ay, me, my lord!—But to your ceremony, sir; or 'twill charge you, for this lost tittle of its time. Ophelia, how like you this upholsterer of the Show ? Ophe. Osrie's taste, my lord, is like a jeweller's day- book ; it takes chief note of color and cost.----What say you to his occupation, Marcellus ? Mar. I've heard him called the tailor's example. For any of the trade would clothe him at half-price as model-fool. He has an amount of shoes, to serve a Centipede; more coats than chilly Yerkes, the grave- digger, wears at Christmas; and enough neck-chains, girths, and other harness, to furnish a caravan of Spanish asses bound to a fair. Ham. What think you, Ophelia, is the Avorst bond- age a man may suffer ? Ophe. That which he wills himself: for the very wishing frowns upon all hope of freedom. Ham. Then by this prisoner, fashion is that willing slave. Ophe. But how say you, my lord, who are «the glass Scene I. A PRELUDE. 57 of fashion;' where fashion still may see how much it lacks beside itself. Ham. The glass of fashion should be like the sea; which if it shows in brilliants, yet adopts them of the stars, that are not bright alone, but high : whilst he who holds the glass, should seem to be an ocean-isle,—sur- rounded by the glittering motion, yet above it: fashion's slave being as a shoal, whereon sense, heart, and taste, life's precious freight is wrecked, and nothing but the clothier's package saved. Queen. Yet Hamlet, see how Osric hath most loy- ally appointed Color, king of decoration. Mar. Your Majesty must mean the King of Day; for through our Osric's misty sense, he gives us some- thing of his rainbow. Ophe. At least, we have the latest painting of the fashion. Ham. One later still I hope. With a true Knight of Instability, his blade once breathed on by admiration, grows rusty. Osric has always something newer than fashion: which, as good Taste would say, is a fool's originaUty. Queen. Spare our court-pet popinjay, my son. Ham. Nay, mother, being the first swallow of the fashion, no wonder if Jack-Cold should pinch him a little. The gentle spring does no less with her birds, when she borrows a winter's wind, to nip the first comers. Mar. The icicle of your wit, my lord, smarts not him, who never flinches from the brand of red hot vanity. Ham. True enough. The chemists say, that frost and fire, by the likeness of their sharpest tooth, are of a family; so 'twere folly to bite him twice the same way, for nothing. Queen. Remember he hath breeding, Hamlet. Ham. For his good breeding, madam, you shall hear. One question to thee, Osric.—Canst thou use— Sir, that civil syllable, to a gentleman ? Osric. My Lord ? 58 HAMLET, Act III. Ham. I mean, with all your undropped servilities of—My Lord, and Your Highness, and Your Right Honorable,—have you not music enough in your ear, to give some ekeing out of grace to your blunt cadences of—Yes, and No ? Osric. I learned in England, my lord, that—Sir is the tailing of a phrase, to suit life's whipper-in. 'Tis a vile Avord, my lord; a dog's Avord, my lord. Ham. Then—Sir—though I have not four legs, nor a snout; I say—Sir—if we must have English staple, show us Earth's Chief Excellence, all over itched with Affectation. But 1 advise you—Sir—to travel next to France, for rules of unelective civility. There, a gen- tleman is knoAvn from his groom, by inequality in the rest of his syntax, not by the lack of a monosyllable. Osric. La! my lord. Ophe. Come hither, Osric. Thou art fond of look- ing at thyself. Osric. I,—I, — Ophe. Yes thou art. Osric. Yes I am. Ophe. Then Avill 1 set thy glass within a riddle.— Why art thou like Sinbad, in the eastern story, bearing the Old Man of the Sea on his shoulders ? Osric. St. Bade? Peut-etre le Chevalier St. Bade? Oui.'—Oui.' a French crusader. For his bearing,— a propos: [consulting the book of Peerage, which he carries suspended around his neck,] Le viola.' Mantle, and shield. Ophe. Leave thy deep reading. Thou art like him, because thou always carriest thy tyrant on thy back; being, as it were, incorporate of master and slave,— fashion and thyself. Osric. Very like, very like.----Those lights are wrong. Ham. Let him go to his supper of ceremonies, or the pap Avill be cold.----When Yorick once was asked to give quaint titles to the court, he called the father of this Fashion-Sneak,—the Steward of his mind's In' Scene I. A PRELUDE. 59 firmary: and methinks the office has become hereditary in the family. J Pol. Here are the poets. Enter Occleve and Arno. Osric receives them, and assigns them their places. Ham. [To Osric] Come, sir, must we be further dialogue-makers, to help out your preface ? What trifle- Aveaving will you now ? Osric. All is ready, my lord. Ham. Then fall back and extinguish; for thy use has burnt to its socket. Marcellus, be thou the herald of the Trial. Mar. [Reads from a scroll.] This is the argument and Proclamation. Arno of Provence, unmastered yet in song, gives challenge to all Denmark; subscribing to her justice. Occleve, the Dane, has harp and voice, to meet that mastership. Our Royal Mistress and the Court look on: Hamlet gives Princely judgment: Ophelia the reward. So live the sacred faith of Denmark. Queen. The stranger has our courtesy. Come Arno, Let the attendant air do its first service To thy song. Arno. If place gives poAver, then Arno, Gives to place her odds against him: Thus, that Favor shall be courtesy,—which grants my choice Of last. Ham. There's a brave fowl for you! Thus much for confidence: that's one hit of the game. The best song shall be two. Noav Occleve, Avinnow thy voice of all unpreparation ; and show us the Avay of Elsinore. Crowing, Avith thy modest breed, comes afterwards. [to serve Occ. My Prince but wastes command, where choice Is older than my homage. Then with plighted Honor to my rival; craving only this Enheartening stay beside our mistress here,— 60 HAMLET, Act III. I sing for Denmark. [He stands near Ophelia.] Ophe. Occleve here shall find Ophelia's favor—justice. So deserve The wreath she holds. Occ. I dare not think upon Thy favor: yet I venture for the crown. [He sings.] Why should the love-forbidden heart, Be like its last cold place of rest ? The grave ?—in what resembling part, An image of the burthened breast ? Arno. These are my verses. Occ. Thine ? Arno. Before this fair assembly,—they are mine. Occ. He's madly false, my lord: or Avhat of untied truth is his, must hope him guiltless-mad in this. Ham. The Rule,—the Rule. What Arno claims, leaves Occleve worse than loser. Still, by the faith of Denmark, her unchoosing justice shall between them cast.fair-falling lot of proof. Arno. Will you have memory, my lord; or copy, scratched to its completion? Occ. I say—he has no memory, nor blotted record of my song. Ham. Arno, repeat thy proof. [Arno speaks the stanza Occleve had sung.] Why should the love-forbidden heart, Be like its last cold place of rest? The grave ?—in Avhat resembling part, An image of the burthened breast? Occ. Did I hear ?—It cannot be. Ham. Hold, Occleve.—What says the general voice to this ? Mar. It seems so strangely fair, that it may still Be foul. There are some memories so limed for Catching, that no flitting words light on the ear, But straight are held joined prisoners. About this Scene I. A PRELUDE. 61 Strife, I move,—that Arno now retire, whilst Occleve gives his yet unfinished song. Arno. I Do consent; but still aver the song is Mine. [Exit Arno. Ham. Occleve, we nothing 'bate our trust in Thee. E'en seeming miracles are sometimes Avrought For honesty's escape, when hedged about by Unresolved appearance. Noav then, memory's Tricks at least cannot outwit thee. Denmark Stands by thee still. Occ. And Denmark shall but hear Me, in my own. [He sings.] 'Tis not indeed that—free from care; Nor yet because—the heart is cold; But 'tis in—equal secrets there, That never, never can be told. Ham. Bring Arno in. [Exit Attendant. Pol. Occleve shall Avin, my lord. His verses have a double essence: different, yet not contradictory. Of the high breed of Pegasus ;—the Avings of Fiction, with the four steadfast feet of Truth. The heart that loves and tells nothing, is like the grave.— Ham. Without its head-stone. Queen. Why Hamlet, you jest on the poor man's grave. Ham. Hoav, madam? For my good will to poverty sees not that. Queen. The poor man has no head-stone. We give him ground-room, to be rid of him: thus it seemed thy mockery. Ham. Believe me, by our coffined equality,—not so: for as in these oration-days, no one heeds eulogiums on the great, it is as if their epitaphs spoke nothing. Re-enter Attendant with Arno. Now Arno for thy sequel. F 62 HAMLET, Act III. Arno. To hear me for my story, gracious Queen:— It chanced, the fairest Fair of southern France, My home, but hateful now, too careless of Her compliments, passed Avords of favor on This harp and voice. Vain hope that gave them meaning, Gave me misery : since heart and hand of her's Were hand and heart, a young Imperial Lord's. With hunted flight, from still pursuing care, Through previous realms,—I here at last stood back At bay. And more for desperate match with soitoav, Than to out-face Denmark's pride, proclaimed this Pageant-strife. Yet still the worrying pack hung on My thoughts : and thus o'ermastered quite, I asked— Why should this burthened heart be like the grave ? Let this then answer for me:— [He speaks the stanza Occleve had sung.] 'Tis not indeed that—free from care ; Nor yet because—the heart is cold; But 'tis in—equal secrets there, That never, never can be told. Occ. [Aside.] What wicked image of myself is this ? He steals my song, and tells my story too. Arno. Now let my rival find good reason,—why these words, if his, are not also mine. Queen. This is mysterious, and gives the court much wonder. Pol. Please your Highness, I would that Arno sub- mit to the church trial. He is a wizard. Osric. I fear much Avorse, my lord; for the Devil hath Corinthian skill in changing his Fashion. Claud. It would be well, for safety, to look, which side of the question the devil holds to. Ham. By the world's Avay of friendship,—but he has made a cunning pick-pocket of one of them. What say you noAV, Marcellus, to memory Avithout a hearing? Mar. Did I not know our poet Avell, I wou'.d affirm some Avinking trick in both. And had 1 childish fancies, I should say—that Arno wore some fairy veil among us. Scene /. A PRELUDE. 63 Claud. Speak not too sure of Occleve. Suspicion must be on him. Occ. My lord, and this assembly. I shot my in- dignation in the first attack: now voice gives Avay to wonder. For myself I have no argument: a conscious certainty o'ersteps the need. But for this same pre- judging lord, I do propose that each, by well watched separation, on some sudden theme, give unprovided verse. Ham. Is Arno willing ? Arno. Not to agree, my lord, Avould make my fear my condemnation. Ham. Let Ophelia say the theme. [A noise without and voices.] 1st Voice. You cannot enter. 2d Voice. I'll see the Queen. Lord Hamlet too, he'll hear me. Ham. Let them pass in. Enter an Officer of Justice, with a Citizen in charge. Osric. Bid that fellow begone, my lord, he smells of industry. Ham. Then sir, in contempt of yourself, pinch your own nose; and down on your knees to him. 'Tis such as he that keeps your helplessness from feasting the rats.----Speak to thy purpose, officer. Officer. Please your Majesty, to pardon my intrusive duty. This man is in arrest, upon a charge of ill in- tent about the palace. Citizen. Most mighty Queen, I am your liegeman, and no spy. Two nights ago, as passing by the eastern tower, I caught the sound of neighboring voice and harp. And staying merely for the oft repeated song, I was by some bad eye itself, false noted, as it seems, for evil: But Avould, that for my innocence, I now could find a fellow-listener; who being a stranger, as he said— Occ. Here's justice Avith her two-edged blade!---- I'll help thee to thy fellow-listener, friend, as thou hast helped me to my absolution. There. [Pointing to Arno.] 64 HAMLET, Act HI. Ham. Speak man, to the proof,—and Denmark's re- joicing. Citizen. He has the night's best notice of his sta- ture ; Avith but a dimmer record of his face. Mar. Occleve has lodging at that self-same spot: Denmark's palm is green again: and Arno's improbable claims noAv prove this story true. Queen. And this arrest must be some wrong-gone cunning of the scheme. Discharge your prisoner. [Exeunt Officer and Citizen. Claud. This seems o'erhasty. Ham. Uncle, his own lawyer—Sly Trick has aban- doned the cause: and he is condemned. The wreath, Ophelia. Occ. My lord, I had no distrust; and need no tri- umph. Ophe. Occleve shall have this crown when he out- does a rival. Here, he has only foiled a robber. Pol. A robber and no wizard! Then forward to the gallows,—rather than a prayer said backwards. Mar. Yes, my lord: grant Genius, in this half-done Avorld, but law—for fools who steal its property and place,----itself Avill do the rest without a conjuration. Osric. An eves-dropper and no devil! Then instead of making a cross on the forehead,—Ave must alter.our heraldry, by putting a bar on the mouth. Ham. I was appointed judge, but have no duty to fulfil, except it might be hangman. ' Then should Ophe- lia, for respective dues, have been provided both Avith Avreath and rope. [Arno retires.] But see, at the bare mention of the cordage, how our un-noosed poet skulks. Adjourn we then the court; and cry three times—O yes. Let rogues who dress in bran-neAV cunning learn,— Though first suspicion no dropp'd stitch discern; That rents at last, by time and tear are made, Through Avhich the whipped and branded skin will be betrayed. [Exeunt, Scene II. A PRELUDE. 65 SCENE SECOND. A retired part of the Palace Orchard. Enter Claudius. Clatul. I find, indeed, I am but half a villain. Though ambition, like an oiled wrestler, glib At his escape from conscience, holds his contests Here ; still the chalked hand of virtue grips on his Slippery skin, to cast the reaching spirit Down. My soul seemed braced to evil: yet a Word, the weakest hint of poetry—unbolts My wicked resolution. Occleve is the Favored friend of Hamlet. Then, I fear that Hamlet hath been watchful of his mother: And that fiction may have Avinked suspicion On me. Occleve sang of speechless purposes,— And such are mine: of graves,—but whose, I yet Scarce whisper to myself: and then, that wrong The sufferer cannot tell,—untimely death. Oh ! how this word brings back the fearful hue Of thoughts, grown pale by thought. What color will The act lay on my soul ?—Why, crime is but The painting of our passion; and by giving Thinking time to e'en its last deep blood-red Picture,—that will fade out too. 'Tis an ill Wind, straight up from hell, that does not serve some Sail. I knoAV that Arno may be purchased : Noav, disgrace Avill make him cheap. This pageant Gave me hopes to ruin Occleve; and thus To split his pen of eulogy on Hamlet. Since that has failed,—what next? Arno should bear His rival deadly hate; and I must turn That malice on the Prince. f2 66 HAMLET, Act III. Enter Arno. Arno. 0ur failure le*ves Me naught, but sly and packing speed to quit The kingdom. Claud. Why this haste ? Jimo. There is a vessel In the roads, for England: and I am lost To credit here. Whilst there, they say, that tricks Of authorship, and words outwitting thought, Have mastered all renown; made trade procurer: And where incense fills the place of ink, give Oftentimes to him who dips his quill therein, A premium-feather from the tail of her Nobility. Claud. But for that proof so damning, I'd have made thee Laureate : yet that loss may Be redeemed. . Arno. The late mischance, my lord, still Writes my duty down thy debtor; but the Outcry of the court mars all my hopes of Due discharge. 'Gainst single hooting, shame may Stare a brazen face; but universal Hisses set e'en Impudence himself aghast. Claud. Till time shall give us note, I grant the court Suits not for thee. But still to be at call, Go to my suburb villa. There sit watchful In unguessed retreat: whence at picked season, Thou by secret foray, may redemption Do for thy mis-cunning. Arno. My Avillingness Walked on before your wish, my lord; my service Shall close follow your commandment. Claud. Then hear. I need not say, that Occleve, iioav so high O'er thy disgrace, is Hamlet's favorite ; and Makes rumor busy with his grateful praise. Arno. The praises of your Prince, Avhoe'er the first To breathe them, by the road-side peasantry, more Scene II. a prelude. 67 Than their border-speech or dress, declared my Entrance into Denmark. Claud. You saw the Prince Propitious to your rival? Arno. I did; and Therein marked the unequal balance of his Honor. Claud. I have often known him merry at Misfortune. Arno. That's cruelty. Claud. When he but thought That jest of—hanging, his compassion should Have smiled; and spared thee. Arno. 'Twas a lesson; and if Foes Avill teach, 'tis scholar-like that foes should Profit by it. Claud. What then—if I give thee Opportunity ? Arno. I'll try revenge upon him. [hopes Claud. You now must know, that here you have no But come from me : and yet you have the poAver To help my hopes. The throne of Denmark is In part elective: the people by their Wavering voices, giving, so or not, a Sanction to the kingly choice; and Hamlet, By his father named, already stands in Expectation. Royalty has many, many Favors for its friends: but come that Hamlet To the seat, there is no place for you. Now Here's your hopeful trust. Change right-about, this Wind of fair opinion on the Prince, by Means I'll tell thee of: yet mindful here,—that Wisdom will do less, than art Avell served. Thus On the altar of thy interest, wilt thou Make thy bitterest foe an offering to thy Friend. Arno. Such victims send up mingling savors To revenge; when hate alone had made me Zealot in thy purposes. 68 HAMLET, Act III. Claud. Then hear me for Success. First, find yourself assistants.—Truth Works best without a croAvd of minions, or Their means: and makes her all-perfect circle Merely with a centre and a line. But Frauds have business all about; and use the Whole battalion, sapper and miner too, Masked battery, scout, sentinel and spy. Arno. I Know it well, my lord, that in these days of Linked exertion, Argus is the sign: so if One eye should ever serve a purpose, it Must be a giant's. Claud. There are thousands, Arno, Who dare not by their own responsible but Single tongues, claim ownership, when questioned In assessment of their souls; who yet, when Stuffed of courage, by a party, bellow Forth their herded spirit, like a thousand souls In one. Arno. 'Tis not alone that bold-faced numbers Drive, by mutual trust, the Avheels of management. They grind up danger into dust; that, should It fall upon them, they but bear some harmless Atoms each. Claud. So much for thy mates in mischief. As for thyself,—be circumspect. Arno. My lord, I'll join myself in league. Societies will Furnish me a muster-suit: for they are Keepers of the wardrobe of Briareus; And when each member gets his wrapper, with Its hundred sleeves, he feels as if he had As many arms within them. Then, my lord, For circumspection;—my surmise shall keep Night-watch, before the dawning of suspicion On me. Claud. My purpose is, that Hamlet must be Scene III. A PRELUDE. 69 Wronged among the people. Go then—change thy Name; and do the rest of thy oAvn fashion. Arno. My acts shall wear the cloaking of thy counsel. Claud. Remember still, how near to mine, your own Advancement sits. [Exit Arno. See what ambition does ! It casts the unwary doAvn in its foul service ; And then makes a service of pretending Zeal, to set them up again. By seeming Thus to work his own revenge, he scarcely Thinks Avhat I would have; and yet is gone to Do it. I feared to tell the whole. There is a Soul-mocked apeing of the poet in him, Avhich Must not be trusted on Avorse errands.----1 Want instruments of several tempers. Arno May deceive the people. He has syntax Just enough, to keep redundancy of speech Within the rule of sanity: and thus may Serve as foremost orator at clubs, elections, And commemoration-feasts, to talk young Hamlet down. Snudor shoAvs by willing sin, That he's a tool whose edge would not be turned By pity. Poetry dropped nothing on the Hone that set him to my purpose. Such are My instruments : but what the heart that works Them may have need to do, itself as yet KnoAvs not. [Exit Claudius. SCENE THIRD. A Public Place, with a rostrum in the background:—the Populace crossing near it. Enter Hamlet and Marcellus. Hani. What have Ave iioav? Mar. 'Tis a general meeting of the people, my lord. Ham. Then Ave will look and listen here, 70 HAMLET, Act III. Mar. These are the voices that gave us thy Royal Father: and will, we hope, give thee his throne here- after. Ham. But voices change, Marcellus; and break or falter as age creeps on the state. Yet if their authority and thy good will, should smile agreement on each other,—condition would but brighten friendship's eye on thee, and show no pride above acknowledgment to them. Mar. Thou art already in their hearts: they only wait the time, to seal their choice upon thee. Ham. This will be favor undeserved.----Let me ask you one question, Marcellus. What is the world's opinion ? Mar. My lord, I see not how to answer that. Ham. It's plain enough : and you might say,—'Tis the opinion of those who know nothing about you. Mar. As the unweighing times keep score, this is reputation, and gives high place. Ham. And Avhat is popularity ? Mar. Ay, my lord,—that's a riddle. Ham. To most, 'tis the child's riddle of the candle :— The longer it stands, the shorter it grows. Whilst fame, of the great man's making, so to confront the phrase, is as a perpetual lamp in the sepulchre of merit: looking on name and relics with unwavering light. [A huzza at a distance.] That's the way a thousand mouths together say- well done. I warrant you, it was for the end of a speech, or the Avorst part of it. Mar. It was for neither. Most of the shouters did not hear a Avord of it: they only wanted to hear them- selves. But they come : let us be aside. Enter a crowd of the Populace, who confer variously, near the rostrum. Ham. Who are those few, so busy with their con- sequence ? Mar. They are the Leaders, my lord, the Leaders. Scene III. A PRELUDE. 71 The people must have Leaders; being that their wills are sovereign and uncontrollable. Ham. Then must the leading-strings be like the hairs that move Punch and his company, in the show : so invisible, that even the puppets might think, if they could think, that they moved of themselves.—But look you! There's one who seems to have had his eyes from different parcels ; and a mouth to suit neither. His enmity never sits in the shadow of his brow: and his smile answers not at the nick of time, when his fawning calls upon it. Where all the children of the face, Marcellus, thus disagree at play, 'tis a sign their father, the soul, is a bad fellow himself. Having so little favor from God, can he hope any from the people. Mar. There are some who have an emptiness of sense, that yet will hold their cup, and drink the stream of it in others. But this felloAV has a double lack in vacancy :—neither brain, nor the borrowing of it. Yet he too, asks a place, and will get one. Ham. I'll make a memorandum here, Marcellus.— The difference with ambition is, that,—the world puts weak and thanking vanity in honor: whilst greatness puts, and therefore thanks, himself. Mar. Which dost thou count the harder task, my lord,—to receiA'e honor, or—to take it? Ham. To take honor, as we call the success of him Avho deserves it, requires you—to suffer much from yourself. To receive honor,—you must bear more from others: so choose between penance and a packsad- dle.----Now there's a leader striving to fill his panniers with good opinions, by shoAving a ready-made acquaint- ance with every one on the ground. Mar. Ah ! he has seen them once at least before; and that's enough. For he always carries about him, the some-day-or-other purpose of a knave's memory:— he never forgets a face. [A leader appears in the rostrum, and goes through a dumb show of mouthing and gesticulation.] Ham. See that orator: he mouths it as if he had 72 HAMLET, Act III. been caterer to a chameleon; and Avas now trying to feed the people in the same Avay,—Avith breath. Mar. If you had heard him yesterday, you'd say the chameleon had requited him, Avith the secret for changing his coat. He lives on the Avindy side of poli- tics ; and Avhirls about at such a rate, than even double- pen short-hand cannot keep a diary of his shifting. Ham. Who's that? Mar. What, he Avho seems to be putting his hand into a wrong pocket ? Ham. No, Marcellus : I count such a one honest, to some of his neighbors. I mean him, Avho is drawing a roll of paper out of his oavii. Mar. It's pretty much the same, my lord. He only poaches on the political pocket. He's what they call— a Pick-office. That paper is a petition for his friend's place. A long list of creditors have signed for him, in hopes of liquidation. But they say his date is nearly out; for his tricks have become like an old case-knife, that often sharpened, gets an edge on the back, and cuts the mouth it feeds. Ham. Who is he noAv mounting the rostrum ? Mar. He's the president of twenty-nine societies. Listen, my lord. 1st Orator. I say again, combination's the watch- word. Let a man stay by himself, and he's like one loose stone on the pavement of policy: he's kicked about, but neArer gets into place. God makes man: and Societies magnify him.-----1 move that Ave unionize. Alar. This is—holding by the hands, indeed. Ham. Ay! Marcellus, and the rest of the proverb too : it's—running Avith the hounds. Mar. Hoav is it, that Avhen God created man to jump the rope of his existence, and find himself alone in the oval,—lie should use the string to thread himself, Avith fellow-beads, to hang around the bigoted neck of example ? Ham. It is, because the minds of most men are as unshaped goblins; and they dare not be alone with them.----Who is he peeping in the distance; Avhose Scene III. A PRELUDE. 73 itch for looking on, seems to be rubbing itself around the corner of the house ? Mar. He's one they talk of making Grand Provost. But he himself knows nothing of it: though they say, he has a perfect pig's eye in politics,—he can see the wind a-com ing. Ham. Then give me the brute, for making a snug nest. A hundred to one against the man's shifty in- stincts, that some day or other, he will be caught in the political squall, before he can get under cover, with the straw in his mouth. Mar. Look at that Leader on the left. Would you think it, my lord,—that fellow in his honest days, himself upon the beast, sold a patched-up spavin in the rabble horse-market! Ham. And now he's up astride the people. Believe me, Marcellus, for 'tis the eye of scrutiny, and the heart of trust that speak,—the people of their natural blood are sound, till such mounted jockies of the state do ride them to their ruin. The people always have a whole- some wish; their opinions only are corrupt: and the rottenness comes of the demagogue. Thus he prepares the soil, and up springs the toad-stool of popularity.____ Who is he scattering pamphlets among the mob ? Mar. He's a political scribe; who being apt to forget Avhat he has written before, is sure to be reminded of the difference. Ham. Ah, the pen! the pen! the pen! He seems to run but lighUy o'er the field, yet shoAvs a track that never leaves the villain safe. All wicked thoughts should go out but in breath. Witches, ghosts, devils, and such unholy things, are Aviser than men who write; they for their safety vanish into air.-----Hark, Avhat's that? 2d. Orator. Education, fellow-citizens, is learning. And learning is education. 1st Citizen. Here's a great speech: his fore-foot's on new ground. The Mob. A great speech ! Bravo ! His new foot's on the fore-ground. G 74 HAMLET, Act III. 2d Citizen. And it's all true ; for it's told both ways, in the expositor. 1st Citizen. Then he's a cobler. The Mob. Out with him; he's a cobler; down with him. [^e.V Putt him from the rostrum.] Mar. What! up and down in a breath ? This must be what they call----the tact of influence. Govern- ing men by popular eloquence is a wonderful thing, my lord!! Ham. That depends on, whether the spouter stands at the top or bottom of the people's opinion. A thimble full of argument, mouth upwards, measures more than the great bell of Muscovy, with its tongue t'other way. Mar. What will become of this talented speaker, if his schools succeed ? Ham. He'll be hanged upon his own tree of know- ledge. Mar. Then his stir for education, is a SAvimming with the current, after the pig's fashion of suicide: he tries to save his life of popularity, by cutting the throat of his cunning. Ham. He's as foolish as the ideot-boy,—Avho cried for light, to count more stars: but found at day-break, that his hoped arithmetic was all subtraction. Mar. There's one, Avho, if you ask him a question, will first run over the thirty-tAvo points of prudence, to be sure, whether the wind of his answer will be for or against himself. He's of the kind that always peeps through the key-hole of his conduct, before he dares to open the door. Ham. Oh ! I know his genus. If that fellow, Mar- cellus, could, by the miracle of a double sun, get rid of his own shadow, he might let his opinions enjoy more day-light. For he has such a calculating, peeping, whis- pering, and monosyllabic caution in his life, that he is afraid of the very ground-plot outline of himself; as if it were the copied spy of his own watchfulness.----What is that little fidget about ? Mar. He's persuading an almanac maker, to add seven more days to the year. He so generously gives Scene III. A PRELUDE. 75 the old three hundred and sixty-five to the concerns of state, that the condoling of his spare-ribs with his ragged elboAvs has hinted,—he ought to take one week to him- self. Ham. Who taught him this patriotism ? Mar. He was for a while, leg-flapper to a shoeing- smith; and learned from the flies, the art of being trou- blesome, Avithout getting much to eat by it_____Look, my lord, hoAV he in the rostrum resembles the discarded Arno. Ham. Were that miscreant still Avithin the kingdom, I should think 'twas he. Let us hear him. 3d Orator.----Now 'tis well to have your leaders— think for you. And therein I must say,—the rule of Royal Nomination much insults your sovereignty, with sly reproach, that you want sense to think yourselves. 'Twere Avell then that our future kings, should be, with one voice, named and chosen by the people. Mar. There's news for you, my lord. 'Tis enough that thou art half thy father's son; thou shalt it seems, be—all—the people's king.----There goes thy uncle Claudius. Hum. Perhaps he means to second this reformer's motion.----Art thou my true friend, Marcellus ? Mar. As true, my lord, as uncompelled allegiance to my Prince, and private love to him can make me. Ham. Then are my thoughts, first, words to thee. I have of late observed my uncle's mood. He hath a brooding subject, or my eye has no notice of occupation. It seems askance to me: and I might think it half un- fair ; but that his daily homage to my mother, gives as- surance of regard. Tell me, of thy gathering, Marcel- lus,—Avhat means that mingling with the crowd, whom 1 Iuioav his rank pride despises ? Why hears he coun- sels, thus unmoved, which must be ill towards the king? Mar. Upon thy confidence, I sure may speak. The court, my lord, have seen in Claudius, that more than natural service to the Queen; Avith less than would be- come him, towards thy father and thyself. Last night, at a quick turn of the terrace, I broke unwarned upon a 76 HAMLET, Act III. group of courtiers; and ere I was perceived, I heard these words:----Heaven still preserve the throne. For he would pluck his nobles up so freshly from the earth, that the green and umvashed style of court, would be the scornful jest of ancestry. High visitations of respect would be forbid the Palace : and the caution of her gates be all unhinged, for every vulgar hoof to trample down the velvet sward of royalty.—With that they ceased: and my obtrusion barred my asking. But by yon social meeting, one may guess at much more than he hears. Ham. Did not Claudius speak to that last orator? Mar. He did. Ham. To what purpose ? Mar. I heard him say—Prince Hamlet. The rest was lost. Yet this I saw,—that one who stood behind him made contemptuous mouths; at which others laughed. Ham. 'Twould be an unlucky visage, should he ever come to authority. But there's some help for that; for his picture taken thereafter, in needful flattery, with a back-dated pinxit, showing an unbought friendship to his days of nothingness, might find forgiving. Mar. There, my lord, Avhile he speaks, do you see that crooking of the face at him ? Ham. I see. Ah! thou hadst better let thy ugly mouths alone. Such simple provocation has ere now, put bloody thoughts within revenge. Mar. See, where thy uncle Claudius has drawn off with that Arno-looking orator, who spoke for the people's right of nomination. There's something in the wind, my lord. Ham. Let it be a whirlwind carrying him straight up to sceptered power, I almost care not. Methinks I should not waste a world of peace and blood, for what might cost more sin to keep.—But see, they are depart- ing. Let us go. These have been sorry sights: and sounds that bear them company. [Exeunt the populace. . Mar. Sad enough! Avhen the sovereignties show, \ that there is no exception to their universal sway, by Scene I. A PRELUDE. 77 thus becoming servile to themselves.—Still, my lord, they are all great men. Ham. Wisdom and vote, Marcellus, once were joined, To raise man's greatness up, to rule mankind: But now, my friend, the monstrous difference note, BetAveen—the great in wisdom, and the great by vote. [Exeunt. END OF ACT THIRD. ■•-e©©-©- ACT FOURTH. SCENE FIRST. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Claudius. Claud. Nature employs no servants. But art's a Time-tied cripple, who must borrow haste, and Find assistant hands. So, I have got my Hirelings, and must trust their dangerous faith. Yet Difference breathes some hope. For Arno has the Book of tricks by heart: while Snudor's copy Bears a rubrick title,—hinting he might Dip Uiose tricks in blood. The one has set his Crafty edge on speech,—to cut off Hamlet's Favor with the people. T'other could—a Surer stroke, to cut off Hamlet's self. This Certainty shall have my wink of approbation. There's wind-taught shifting in the people's vote : But Death—yet never altered what he wrote. g2 78 hamlet, •£& IV. Enter Snudor. What from the people, Snudor? Snu. Five men of Influence, my lord,—by all thy gold, so Much the heavier now, strain might with Arno. Still the general voice o'errules.—I fear it Too, Marcellus, Hamlet's friend, suspects the Scheme. Claud. I've had misgivings on it: and this Transient look of failure, frowns like finished Ruin. Snu. Further urgency therein, at least Might breed suspicion. Claud. No, this plan is too Much chance-like. We must take the narrow path of Certainty; where if two counter-steps should meet, They cannot pass; but one must fall. Snu. I thought, By this I had the odds of Hamlet, at The rocks; yet he escaped. Claud. But, Snudor, then It was for Hamlet's self to make his fate; And this is tedious doing. Snu. Thy hastiest Hope, my lord, shall spur my duty. Claud. I would Have no slippery catching at contingencies. Let Arno try his round-about of speech:— For straight assurance of the act, we should Remove the Prince. Snu. We should. Claud. Knowest thou, The man-defining difference 'twixt—Should be, And—Shall ? Snu. Let promptness listen. Claud. It Should be,— Stands as waiting-man on time and means ; and Often misses both. It Shall—is always Thorough master: and sees done, or does it. Snu. It shall, my lord, be mastery then. Among Scene I. a prelude. 79 The Prince's sports, is now at hand a quaintly Masquerade: and here lays my design.----1 Have a hasty drug, the which if once let Loose on life, there is no counter-speed that Can outrun its mischief: die life must. Now At this pageant, in some droll disguise, I'll Do its purpose. Claud. It will tax thy art, to Give a bond of surety to concealment. Snu. I purchased once at Nuremberg, for sport, But fitting noAv for serious work,—a toy, To be concealed beneath the vest; and so Divided in contents, that with a poignard's Varied thrust, some several liquors may be Spilt; as if the blood were harlequin, and Played his rounds in parti-colored life. One Shall be drugged: the rest, by your conniving Taste, my lord, and the odd temptation, harmless Served among the masks, shall quiet every Doubt of Hamlet's cup. So shall his certain Death join burial—with suspicion. Then Believe me, that the king, in soreness kind, And Avon to thee by well played grief, shall give His choice, thus deep bereaved, to thy succession. Claud. Should Arno fail, that choice would save much tribute, Which, Avhen votes are valued, pride must pay, but Hates to pay the people. Snu. If greatness can But save his pride, he may o'erlook transgression. Claud. You've learned in humble schools, the task that high Ambition sets.----Go do the work. Reliance Prophecies it well of thee. Snu. The deed shall thank The trust. [Exit Snudor. Claud. Here's a new mode of mastership! I undertake to teach this fellow my Purposes; and he pays down his entrance, by Teaching me the surest method of them. 80 HAMLET, Act IV. The better part of me revolts this damned Instruction; scholar all beside. And Avhy? The lesson-book has pictures in it,—map and Portrait fair; a Kingdom and a Queen. Then I will stand at head or foot, in this great Emulation. Enter the Queen. Queen. I fear, my lord, intrusion Brings unwelcome visit to your secrecy. Claud. Did Claudius ever keep from thee a thought, But with love's thought,—of apter time for telling ? Queen. Is aught unsafe ? Claud. Within the secret of Another sleeps our answer. Queen. Whom should we Fear? Claud. Whom should we not ? There is no eye in Denmark, but that seems to have its more than Proper business, when it turns upon us: Not an ear, but catches at the less than Whispering of our looks. Queen. I know not who can Be the spy. The—Would-be—is away: and Our young Prince dims all suspicion by Swift rounds of pleasure; or but sees Ophelia In his serious thought. Claud. Nay, Gertrude, thou shalt HaAre the proof, that Hamlet is not rovingly Intent on pastime: for the eyes of cunning Often bear a closing likelihood to Mirth. Nor think, the hours he gives Ophelia Court not other purposes. Note well that he, The Chamberlain, her father, may, between Infirmity and pride, be hopeful partner In some watchful scheme of Hamlet's. Then dear Gertrude, look you fearfully upon your son. Queen. The eye of nature will be guardian to me. Claud. Alas, if it should not! For time, who never SaAv the sword, how drunk so'er with blood, yet Scene II. a prelude. 81 Sleeping, tells of no such woful war, as— Love-lost children, turned with weaponed hate against A parent. Surely Hamlet could not come To this: but I would have thee mark, if any Lapse shoAV vacancy between himself and duty. Queen. Should Hamlet turn his evil eye on thee, Let angry love provoke the mother.—But I'll bring occasion to the proof. FareAvell. [Exit the Queen. Claud. 'TwiUdo! 'Twill do! 'TwiUdo! Nay, what As if to ask, could teach me to forget. [will do ?— Some demon touches up my memory with Deeper ink; and there I read,—that one who Wrongs a husband, lays the hellish scheme, to Set a mother 'gainst her son. Though this were Crime of crimes, her heart may never see it Such: and my ambition is as blind as love. StiU I've an other care. The Prince regards Ophelia: and that breeds good will to him In old Polonius: whose consenting weakness Is itself, where weakness rules,—court-weight. In this Great Avorld of means and end, aU things have use. With some persuasive toy, I will enlist The dotard; that his service in my cause, May prove—his weakness was not made in vain. [Exit Claudius. SCENE SECOND. An Apartment in Polonius' house. Enter Polonius, Ophelia and Hamlet. Ham. Has Osric made all ready for the Masque ? Pol. He has, my lord. Ham. It is indeed a freak Of youth, that may not suit the gravity of 82 HAMLET, Act IV. Years: then let becoming absence be—thy Presence in disguise. p0\ My lord, it shall. 1 Was a famous masker once, as our good King would say. I played the seasons, at the Pageant of his marriage ; and in as many Hours, went through the four. Ham. Then come, with even White December on thy brow, so that it Threat no frost upon this Rose of Spring. Pol. [Aside.] Those Words hold something of advancement. Ophe. And say, What mask should Hamlet's be? Ham. [Aside from Polonius.] Hamlet, mindless Of all rule of Princely title, would be Summer; that this spring might lose her name in His. Pol. Ophelia, thou wilt go ? Ophe. Yes, my lord; If for no more,—to find good taste of music There. Ham. Then must good sense go there before us: For as noAv the ear takes note of Song, the Voice has quite forgot her neighborhood to The heart. Pol. My lord, thou shouldst not fall so far Behind the fashion, as to make the soul A partner Avith the ear.—These five things mayest Thou do with music:—Patronize it—gape A.t it,—encore it,—be made deaf by it,— And pay for it:—but good society has Taught us for the sixth,—thou shalt not feel it. Ham. I Avas not born, however bred, to have So small a part of me, as e'en this little Ear the slave of words: so if your court thus Plays cross purpose with the other senses, As with this, I'll try life's luxuries elsewhere; And Avill again to Wittenberg. Ophe. Thy taste, Scene II. A PRELUdE. 83 My lord, hath purest parentage. Bred of Good feeling, knowledge, and free thoughts, it must Be neAV, broad, various, and graceful: having Full merits, Avhich the more they're thought on, still Bear heaping up. Ham. Thyself, Ophelia, hast That charm of song,—the goodliness of nature, With her keenest sense, put to their highest Place by art. Come, words make wishes craving. We have time to hear thee now. Ophe. Indeed, my Duty and my Avish sit at the back of my Mistrustful powers, and will not let me off. Shall our song be grave or gay ? Pol Ophelia,— Gay. Say gay, my lord. Ham. I Avould it might be Gay, if for no less,—to please this aged Gentleman. Still have I, yet I know not Why, obscurely here, some heart-hid root of Soitoav ; Avhich God grant, may never grow and Ripen bitterly. So please Ophelia, Ave Will fit this clouded humor, with the fiction Of a grief. Give us the graver mode. Ophe. Thy Memory, my lord, holds sorted treasure in The art. Thy search has travelled, and uoav gives Thee choice from foreign stores, of choir-leading Italy; and all the rest. Though thou hast set The mode,—the mode has still her favorite: Avhat Shall it be, that's of my power, and to thy Preference ? Ham. There is a song, that was the Fashion for a season here, among those Slaves to reputation, Avho are bid to Choose, by each neAV master-name, that comes to Sing for them. But to me, it ever Avas With song as with all exceUence—once fashion, And for e\rer. You may remember that 84 HAMLET, Act IV. Some sixteen years ago,—for the blest ear That's born of song, oft keeps scrap-record of its Cradle melody,—that, crossing from the North, Some Scottish minstrels on a tour, made stay At Elsinore. And then so charmed the general Ear, that courtier and poet, peasant, nurse And artizan, caught up their several airs As suited best their temper, plaintive, sIoav Or gay. To make a choice, the song I most Preferred was called " The Flowers of the Forest." I heard thee praise it once, as if thy heart And dignity were unisoned with its August and simple pathos. But the furbished Times have cast it off: and glosses of conceit Make oldness quite uncurrent. If then frosty Fashion, sparkling, but stiU cold, has not, Avith Thee, subdued the gentle color of its Melody, come, join the early grace of nature To thy later years of skill. Ophe. The memory Is miser with the thing it loves; and so Has kept thy song.—Thus then, my lord, I'll try To please you. [Ophelia sings.] I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling; I've felt all its favors, and found its decay: SAveet Avas its blessing, kind its caressing; But ah! 'tis inconstant,—and fled far away. I've seen the forest, adorned the foremost, With floAvers of the fairest, most pleasant, and gay: So bonny Avas their blooming, their scent the air per- fuming ; But now they are withered and weeded away!* Pol. That's too solemn;—in short, it is too old. * The words of Mrs Coburn; with a slight alteration of one line. Scene II. a prelude. 85 Ham. Being of my choice, I'm very sorry sir, It does not please you. But for me, I find It so, that song is still an angel of Our pleasures, whether she may weep or smile. Besides, our youth may have infirmities: and This my ear began so early its delight In harmony, that it hath now a sort Of age upon it, which should sometimes ask Repose in gravity. Pol. Does trouble ever look On thee, my lord ? Ham. One may be grave at times, Merely to bear his visits when he comes. For, trust me sir, the shortest ground between Us and our tomb, is not so much our own, That misery may not yet divide the space With us. Pol. Wouldst thou like to be the King ? Ham. Why! Is that troublesome? I thought that trouble Is the bloody prelude merely,—played upon The world, before the Acts of Royalty. Both King and people often bear such agonies, To get the drama up, that there should be, Methinks, an after happiness found somewhere,— Within the throne at least. Pol. Denmark has her Happy throne; and all her people bless thy Father in it. Ham. Ay, but my aged friend That maketh not the rule. The next wry-step Of time may find this Denmark but a prison; And the throne, a cage Avithin it. Pol. Then will You, my lord, not be our second Hamlet. Ham. Have you doubts of that? Pol. No doubts, my lord: for Though there is a stir abroad to drop the King's appointment, still the people's voice is Sure tOAvards his blood. 86 HAMLET, Act IV. Ham. Whose hatching is this Young reform? Pol. 'Tis her's,—that cackling love of Country: her lank broods are scratching every Where. Ham. But who hath clucked them thus o'er aU the Land? Pol. This mischief comes, as every ill to Royalty, from the low people. Ham. Though I should Feel for Royalty's complaints, stiU your low people, To )'our higher Avorld's disgrace, work out the Better changes of the Avorld. I never Knew a wise or holy reformation,— But the lowly and despised first helped the Master of it. Pol. On this royal matter Of succession, I have had of late, a Frequent hearing of thy uncle ; and do Hold with him, that change therein, would no-wise Hinder thy preferment. Ham. [Aside.] So, my uncle Mole, thou'rt working in my path: this piece of Crumbling earth betrays thy rooting mischief. My uncle Claudius hath this work in hand? Pol. Purely of good will to thee. Ham. Age has keen Reasoning, but dull sight; and I am not so Old, as to employ more reasoning than bright Vision. Yet of this my uncle's bounty,---- I must have broad day-light, for the seeing of His blessing. And by way of trust, I'd have His promises stand in the wind of some past Favor to me;—that I thus might breathe the Hopeful odor of reliance. Pol. Would you My lord, thus "mar your Princely hopes ? Claudius Hath much influence with the people. Ham. Hoi I See the rat's at work upon the household.— Scene III. A PRELUDE. 87 And must Hamlet stoop to blunt his purposes, By coating candy on his nibbling tooth? No sir, since favor is the plea,—here's up For honesty; which like defending fire, is Rampart to itself, and to be taken, Must be quite put out. Good bye, my lord ; I May enlist me spies, though guards be useless. [Aside.] At least I will beware, my counsellor be Not the trumpet to mine enemy. FareweU, Ophelia.— [Asidefrom Polonius.] From bad ambition's aims, thy heart is free: For Avho shaU take my throne of love from thee ? [Exit Hamlet. Ophe. Come, my lord, we need our time for prepara- tion. Pol. What were those last words of Hamlet ? [Exeunt. SCENE THIRD. A public street in Elsinore. Enter Marcellus. Mar. The Prince is still himself. Bifronted Janus Has no worship of him. That single face Of his looks strange indeed at court; yet to The wonder of diplomacy, which cannot Work with one, he Avould not double it, though T'other Avere a mirror to the first in Honesty. Claudius schemes among the people; And yet Hamlet lays no counterplot: therein, He's nobly, wisely wrong. If he Avould have A crown or other favor of the people, He must wear a mask. This he will not, though All Denmark's deputation, were to do him Honor in the fraud. He might command, and 88 HAMLET, Act IV. Yet he hates all cunning: keeping it, with Tolerance of the odd commixture, so Within the ready vessel of his wisdom, As to pour them out on vile contrivances Together; scalding knavery with both. I Hear the crafty Claudius urges now the Prince's claim. Then 'tis because—he that way Sees his own. Enter Occleve. Occ. Good evening, sir. Mar. A better Stdl to thee; the good of whose tongue comes of The best of thy heart. Occ. Griefs, sir, for compliments. I passed, hard by, the troubled populace, who Had reported to them, that our gracious King, as homeward bound, was lost upon the seas. Mar. [Aside.] This tragic news deserves its smiles. The herald of it. [I know Was not Claudius of the Company ? Occ. He had been there; but on the word,— With grief passed tear and speech, retired. Mar. Occleve, Thy kin of poets often have described The unacknowledged tongue of Rumor. One Sketch goes thus:—False rumor is the play of Some sly devil's voice, within the cavern Of a babbler's ear; whilst he, the imp, grins In the dark, to hear the frequent murmuring Of his echoes. Now, hang upon thy lips Truth's purest velvet; damping thus the echo Of this Avild report; and Avhosoe'er he Is, be not the babbler to this devil. For know, the queen has, but this hour, her letters ;, From the king; who will ere long be safe at Elsinore. Occ. My liege-love, good Marcellus, Made me slavish to the fraud, when such cold Scene III. A PRELUDE. 89 Hearts as brood no cares were doubtful. Mar. Occleve, I could tell thee,—this is but the touch-stone Of opinion, on the king's succession:---- But here come the citizens. Enter two Citizens. First Cit. Never believe it. Not that it may not be true;—but because a politician tells you. This is often such good reason, that it Avere well to make it so always. Second Cit. But then I marked, how he who told the news, Avould not admit a doubt of it. First Cit. There, perhaps, the will was pleader for opinion.—Since, I have heard a learned Leech, who was not altogether fee and physic, say,—be sure a patient's friends would fain be rid of him, when they insist against the doctor's hopes. Mar. What is thy occupation, friend ? First Cit. Plain Dealing, sir. Will you give me custom ? For, by the dearth of the times, there'll be starvation in the trade. Mar. To be single in the business, thou'lt have a monopoly, and thus groAv prosperous. First Cit. Let me teU you, sir, there is a fashion here, soon to be state law—that 'tis not good for man to be alone ; and he must take for helpmate—some Society. The age has bribed Fame's footboy, Popularity, to ad- mit no bachelors. Mar. Occleve, this must be the new policy of the day, to help decrepit legislation :—The go-cart of young ambition;—and crutch of broken character. One caUs it—man's concentrate force; another—squadrons of mind: its thousand footed, mere time-keeping step is termed—the march of intellect. Let us hear Avhat simple honesty says. His insignificance has need of it. What think you, my friend, of these societies,—Learned and unlearned ? First Cit. Nature, sir, meant to do great things through man, by lodging one uncrowded spirit in him : h 2 90 HAMLET, Act IV. but this packing up some scores of minds within one learned body, has fairly suffocated science. Mar. How is it Avith the Benevolents ? They have but one heart. First Cit. Statesmen have found, that the broad Art of Charity comes less of sense and prudence, than of feel- ing :—so they've turned the Avisdom of right-giving over to the Ladies. You must ask them. Mar. You have a vote. Will this wide practice, now so fast towards a law, let you speak singly, as born, not being a twin; or must you here also, kenneled to a society, give your voices out in mingled yelping, a6 though you had been littered,—not born. First Cit. Alas! the thing's a law with us already. The patriots call it Party. 'Tis a creature of numbers, and its most dangerous disease is division. Its piety is always praying for something; and is of a cast that never worships a dumb idol. Its alchemy makes Trust-Worthy out of a Turn-Coat; and eloquence,—of any nonsense spoken on the right side. In short, it's up to any thing but a miracle :—it can't make five loaves and two fishes feed the four thousand. Mar. I've heard it said, that,—Party is the double- crowned and crazy king of freemen. First Cit. Yes, and governs them with such con- tentious majesty, that they, at last, will kiss the quiet mercy of a Tyrant's sword. Mar. 'Tis a mis-shapen rule, that gives to party's master-tuned and all-one-sided mouths, their overbearing voice. First Cit. Say rather,—'tis unduteous justice does not noose the master-villains up, that turn those mouths awry. But, sir, there is one hopeful truth:—-The good of the people often outlives the vice of their leaders. For though knavery holds a perpetual charter; by which its body-politic never dies, yet the officers of the com- pany are always changing. Mar. What then becomes of these masters of mis- chief? First Cit. . Newer things of their own sort whiffle Scene III. A PRELUDE. 91 them from their places: for demagogues are like the peUets of a pop-gun;—as in goes the last, gone-goes the other. And then in spite of their tongue, as weU as their teeth, they become as harmless as a shark with the lock-jaw. But here they are, yet supple in the hinges of their speech. Enter on the back ground, two Demagogues. Mar. By the look of these two fellows, I see but one thing against their shortly perishing. They seem to have gone through the first process of embalming: for the Egyptian undertakers always began—by remov- ing the brains. Occ. This is a rare brace, MarceUus. Mar. I can tell you of one of them. It's scarcely two years since we flogged him from the army. His—Avhat he ought to be—was so bad, that it might be sworn he was made in one of the out-houses of creation, where the great master never looks himself. Occ. Had he no better breeding in a Christian land ? Mar. As to our hearing, no parents ever owned him. He seemed as if he might have been early let into the Devil's Orphan Asylum, and afterwards bound to the house. First Cit. I'll give you, sir, a double chance to find his family:—for t'other is full cousin to him. Yet these are tAvo Scrub-leaders of the people. Mar. Being thyself one of the people, thou shouldst stir for them. Having pure thoughts and indignation,— Avhere is thy Tongue ? First Cit. Let him lie still, if he'd not aid confusion. Why sir, this babbling age of Pentecost quite scorns that brief old JeAvish day. But gifts of speech have now become the gyves of thinking. Occ. You may see this at the barber's shop, Mar- cellus,—in the print of a nine-link chain of the parts of speech, between the mouth of a demagogue and the ear of the people. And if you'll copy the bird that makes a trap of his tongue, and feeds on the ant-hill, you'll think an orator and the workies sat for your picture. 92 HAMLET, Act IV. First Cit. True, true, to the very life! and we are more the slaves of speech than passion. Adam's taste ruined us morally: and his descendant's tongues will curse us to all political eternity. Mar. This is rare light. Thou must be our Prince's friend, because thou art the foe of these. I would know thee further: not for thy services, since thou canst have no influence with thy caste. Thou seest too plainly and too much. Farewell. [Exeunt Marcellus and Occleve. First Dem. He that you spoke to is a gentleman. We are enemies to all clean shirts ; and to your gentry that use pocket-handkerchiefs, and have respectable fa- thers. What evil did he plot against the people? First Cit. Murder in chief. He would cut off their— heads. First Dem. He is an officer and Hamlet's friend, who'd help him in his bloody deeds. Claudius has told us as much. First Cit. What think you of an other plot of his butchery ? He has been in the Turkish wars ; and liking the Sultan's fashion of dumb slaves, thinks of ridding the Principal People of their tongues : saying, there will be more work with feAver words. First Dem. Hear that, my honest colleague. Our present Hamlet shall reign out: but with the court and army such, Ave'll name the king hereafter.—Say, my honest colleague. Second Dem. Ay, ay : " choose we," " choose we"— Both. We, we will name the king hereafter. [Exeunt first and second Demagogues. First Cit. And when you have made your king, your throats will dog him dismal,—in howling for office. [Exeunt first and second Citizens. Scene IV. A prelude. 93 SCENE FOURTH. The Banqueting Room of the Palace. Enter Hamlet, in domino ; his mask in hand. Ham. Sure gaiety did break his rest last night, and Sleeps it yet,—that 1, about whose soul is Somehow wrapped of late, the mystic likeness Of this outAvard hue, should be the first at A fantastic show. For once I have the Start of folly, who so often leads. Rare Precedence: but like the driven slave's, whose Master is behind. Hah ! Who comes next ? In his Delay, nearer by one to wisdom than Myself. Enter Marcellus, in domino ; his mask in hand. Marcellus ? Mar. Ay, my lord. Ham. How goes The world, Marcellus! Mar. As all things go, that Set out bad,—from worse to worse. Ham. Why, to me, The infant Now, how vile soe'er, is but The ditto of old father Time. I look On both, and Avould outline them thus:— Things, mean As ahvays, creep about the throne, to nibble On its crumbs or envy-eat its substance. Tyranny, that self-curse everywhere, with his Co-misery submission,—collared or hand-cuffed,— Each wears equal chains. Whilst Freedom's magistrates On slippery seats, sit robed in hard-earned bonds, With rods of mock authority.----The senses Are five slaves. And reason, still the boasted Father of the unreasonable. Squint hypocrisy, 94 HAMLET, Act IV. That points and seems to look—to heaven, stUl gives His lick-lip leering at the harlot Earth. The virtuous and the worthless, as it seems By worldly recompense, are each alike Such chosen sons of providence, that Good Luck Often is their blind old patriarch stiU, to Give the greatest cheat the blessing. The should-be Self-sufficiencies,—morals and hrvv stand at the Elbow of opinion. Whilst all actions else, Being Jesuits in their day, find varied reason For their ever changing fitness.----This is Then the abstract of aU time:—old novelty, Marcellus! Mar. But sure, my lord, the villany Of politicians makes—new novelty, in Denmark. Ham. Nay, thou canst find nothing in this Little nook of earth, that hath not been: though Dropped from record, through the rank abundance Of its likes. The world has been so long, and Man so poor in works, that art had need to Have a grant for repetition of herself, To seem to be employed.—Why yes, Marcellus, We are but the dittoes, I might say, e'en Of our former selves. I can weU think, that Two like us, within some other traceless Kingdom of the eternal time, may thus have Stood, ay, in our very visages and names, And preached a useless satire on mankind. Enter some maskers at the lower part of the stage. Mar. Are these then but the duplicates of other Worlds ? Ham. These are the Avorld itself. When SyUa Once gave Rome's first places to her mimes and Maskers, then the proud Palatium showed her State un-counterfeit: and Roman Leaders, For that tmth-snatched season, took their rightful Names. Scene IV. a prelude. 95 Marcellus, think you that my uncle Claudius will be here ? Mar. My lord, this is his Very place. Claudius has always worn a Mask: and has not yet his time to throw it Off. Ham. And whene'er he does— Enter other maskers at various parts. But see, 'tis time For our disguise. To play our cards, we need A recognition. Do thou call—Knave, in Question of my mask; and I'll say—King, to Thee. Mar. King and Knave, the countersigns : remember. [Hamlet and Marcellus cover, and mingle with the maskers.] Enter Claudius and Arno, their masks in hand. Claud. [Aside.] These are but makers of their sport. Where is he that can make a king ?----Arno, is Snudor the physician here ? Arno. No doubt, my lord: and for a turn, his funeral dues of silk and crape have furnished him his domino. Clau!. We will change our names. If I call— Claudius, you will knoAV who speaks. Arno. Then I will call—myself. [Claudius and Arno cover and mingle with the mask- ers.] Ham. [Meeting Claudius.] King?— Claud. [Aside.] Not yet King. Mar. [%'leeting Arno.] Knave ? Arno. [Aside.] Hah ! suspected ? This mars all. I must find Claudius. [Meeting Hamlet.] Arno? Ham. [Aside.] How have I lived by shifty pen or poetry, that one should this Avise call me—thief! Claud. [Meeting Hamlet.] Claudius ? Ham. [Aside.] What! Arno ? Claudius ? I've a black face, Avhy not call me—devil, at once ? 96 HAMLET, Act IV. Mar. [fleeting Hamlet.] Knave ? Ham. King? [Hamlet and Marcellus uncover to each other.] Indeed, Marcellus, of my three christenings to-night, I have not been so kindly called as now. Mar. God help thy sponsors to some better title. [They cover.] Ham. [Meeting Claudius.] King ? Claud. [Aside.J What, twice called—King ? Then I have friends at court: Say it again, and I shall think there are some unknown poAvers abroad upon my cause. Arno. [Meeting Claudius.] Arno ? Claud. Claudius ? [Claudius and Arno uncover to each other.] Arno. I fear, my lord, I am discovered in the Palace. Claud. There are keen eyes in the company. Twice to-night I have been rightly called. [They cover.] Ham. [Meeting Claudius.] King? Claud. [Aside.] What, again ? Thou has noAV so much of the ominous three of Fate, that I had almost questioned thee, with hope's dear adverb—When. Ham. [Meeting Marcellus.] King? Mar. Knave ? [Hamlet and Marcellus uncover to each other.] Ham. These titles meet in sport: BeAvare, Marcellus, when they ever Avhisper gravely to each other. [They cover.] Enter Snudor disguised: with a contrivance beneath his vest, by which, from several punctures with a poignard, as many different colored liquors may be drawn. Claud. [To Snudor.] When Hamlet is discovered, I will, herewith, [showing his fingers chalked] set a mark upon him. The rest is yours. Snu. And yours, my lord, beyond that rest. Claud. [Going towards a group of masks.] Ye Danish Knights, why stand ye covered here in sport ? Some boldness has snatched off the fair Ophelia. Scene IV. a prelude. 97 Ham. [Starting forward.] If heaven should cross my search, I'll drop my sword and weep; for she of right is his. If hell is in the way, I'll through it straight, without a passport. Come on, for Denmark's sake, not help, I share the glory. Claud. [Grasping Hamlet by the breast, and leav- ing the print of his fingers.] Stay, my lord; 'twas but a jest, to make thee serious. Two masks of us, thy friends, had difference concerning thy affection,—and pardon crave, for this distracting proof. Ham. Whoe'er thou art, thy friendship would have served me better, hadst thou thrown thy straws up in the wind of prudence. Such airs as thine oft blow the handful back into the face: and but for this calm that follows on thy welcome falsehood, thou mightest have felt some beards, within the eye of thy curiosity. Claud. My lord, Ave humbly take thy pardon. But being unknown, our gratitude can only be a speechless bondsman to thy mercy. Ham. [Looking at the marks, left by Claudius on his domino.] What is this? They say, the devil,— from the sooty tincture of his books,—uses white ink. If, by confession, thou Avert not my friend, I'd take thee for some scribe, escaped the black dominion. But 'tis no matter;—Ophelia was the cause. [Dumb show. Several masks gather round Snudor; who serves them with wine of different colors, by apparently, puncturing his breast. Snudor has the glasses, which he gives the masks. They hold them up and drink.] Ham. [Meeting Marcellus.] King? Mar. Knave ? [Hamlet and Marcellus uncover to each other.] My lord, I have discovered that she's Ophelia, with the blue and scarlet scarf. Ham. Thanks, good Marcellus. But Avhat of that group of bacchanals ? If thou canst note excess of drink, as Avell as all surpassing beauty, thou'lt discover my uncle Claudius too. 98 HAMLET, Act IV. Mar. They are topers to a mountebank; who by his trick of self-inflicted wounds, draAvs Avine for blood. And see now, where the juggler gives himself the point. Ham. And see, the wine-blood follows. They say— that Grecian Bacchus Avas contented to bestride his cask: but in the enormous thirst of Denmark, the drunkard shuts the cask within him. Yet come, for pastime, let us be the chddren of this pelican, who feeds of his own piercing. [Hamlet and Marcellus cover, and approach Snudor; who gives Hamlet a glass. As he is about to drink, Ophelia passes ; known by her scarf] Ham. There goes the heavenly life-blood, by the bright Bearing of its—gules and azure. [Hamlet pursues Ophelia ; and careless of the cup, sets it down, to converse with her. Claudius, who is watching the whole, sees a mask take up the cup, as if to drink.] Claud. [To the mask.] That is my Lord Hamlet's cup. [The mask puts it down.] [A grotesque character enters, with a pipe of seven stems, which he offers Snudor—to smoke, in ex- change for his glass. Snudor, upon trial, is seized with strangling. One of the masks hastily pours water into Hamlefs cup, and presents it to Snu- dor. Claudius, who perceives this, runs to arrest the cup: but is too late. Snudor has swallowed the contents; is relieved; and the masquerade proceeds.] Claud. [Uncovering to Snudor.] Cross-purpose hath outwitted us.—The Prince escapes.—Thou hast the poisoned cup. Snu. [Uncovering, and throwing aside his other personal disguise.] Oh God! there is no remedy. My antidote should have groAvn in the preventive garden of an honest life. Here I feel,—that the left random stroke of justice, is truer than the right-hand aim of cunning. How calmly, Claudius, thou lookest upon my horror. Scene IV. a prelude. 99 Perhaps thou'lt start—at my contrition. Call the Prince : and stand you face to face while I confess. Claud. The grave-clothes have no pocket for a bribe. Here, truth out-masters gold. But thou leavest children; and the man in thee, was therein ne'er bought off. On thy confession, will vindictive Denmark overleap thy senseless corse, to sink her heel of wrath the deeper in thy living blood. Snu. I save thee, for their sakes. Repay them for thy life. Noav is the hour that all men find in time : Avhich, in the darkening chamber of this world, seems like a little window looking to eternity. Claudius, when thou shalt come to sit thee at that dismal opening,—the dreadful objects of thy vision will tax thy memory, with the hor- ridest half of mine. Take me to my home: that the foul secret of our plot, and its just punishment but part fulfilled on me, may pass unknown:—as if a common providence had made those orphans: when a special mercy stoops in their cause, to take an ill-exampled father from them. [Exit Snudor, leaning on Claudu/s. END OF ACT FOURTH. 100 HAMLET, Act V. ACT FIFTH. SCENE FIRST. The Queen's Closet. The Queen and Hamlet. Ham. Mother, we have of late been gay, too gay. I would be serious with you now. Queen. Why Hamlet, Thou last night didst so become thy mask, I Dare not chide thy vanity, if thou assume It here. Ham. Madam, 'twould be mockery indeed, To hold disguise with you. Queen. To be serious Then without a cause, is but to sport. Ham. What, If ihere be a cause ? Queen. That would be serious To us all. Ham. To be in doubt upon that Cause, is yet more serious still. Queen. What cause can Trick with doubt,—to vex the Prince of Denmark ? Ham. Look abroad, good mother; and say,—canst Count the causes, why we should be serious ? [thou I've one, which is enough for all my sorrows. Queen. What's that ? Ham. Canst thou ask ? Feigned ignorance ! Thou Knowest it weU. All Denmark knows it.—Where is Thy loving husband? Queen. Thy father, Hamlet ? Ham. Yes, mother. Who else? Queen. None else: none, Hamlet. Ham. I do repent me of my mirth, unseemly As it is, upon the lingering absence Scene I. A PRELUDE. 101 Of my father. Surmises of sea dangers, Treachery, and what not, are all abroad, yet Dodging my inquiry. Queen. Hamlet, though there is No fear, yet is his harmless stay, love's harm To me. But stiU, for thee, in thy abundant Pleasures, so to grieve o'er some few added Days of Royal duty, is quite childish To thy counted years. Ham. When the Patriarch Once, to Mount Moriah led his son, fuU Thirty then, to be a sacrifice, it seems They called him—Lad. I have a heart-felt weight, As if I bore the wood to make an altar Offering of myself. And thou hast called me — Child. I hope I may not come to sacrifice; And thus fill up that story. Queen. Why, Hamlet, What hath distracted thee? Ham. If so at all, The times. But I am not so. I have lately Had a word or two with Age; and noAV, count Some of its infirmities my own. I credit Too much that I hear. Queen. What hast thou heard,—that Makes thy judgment censor of thy faith; yet Makes thy faith, a witness 'gainst thy judgment. Ham. Age, that should be wise, too oft is but the Mockery of its duty. Thus it is with Old Polonius; whose attic falling to Decay, his wit has begged mouth-lodging with Garrulity. Chancing Avith him of late, 1 Heard some strangest things : for you must knoAV that He is colander as well as sponge. Now, of Matters that by ear and tongue, do come and Go Avith him, I learned it, that my Uncle— Queen. Thy Uncle, Hamlet ? Ham. Yes, mother; hear you That again,—my Uncle— Queen. Do not believe it. i2 102 HAMLET, Act V. Ham. What? Queen. All that thou hast heard. Ham. Nay mother, 'tis All true: for so Polonius says—this uncle Claudius hath my welfare in his prudent Keeping. And from his sly power among the People, it may crown my hopes of Kingship,— What may, think you ?—Why, to hold that counsel Close,—which he thus providently pours upon A sieve. Queen. Thy earnest speech, dear Hamlet, quite Disturbs me. Ham. The strangeness of a favor Breeds suspicion with me. Queen. Why marvel at a Favor ? Ham. No marvel, madam, but mere caution; Caution. I have never told thee of it; but A Gipsy bid me once,—beware of those Who go about to make a Busy-bodyship Of kindness: and who sow benevolence By the way-side, that they themselves may come Again and pick the seeds. Queen. Thou surely then, Need not beware thy uncle. Ham. Mother, look You at that bright-eyed star.—Why, now there is A cloud upon it. Who can trust whom ? I Might beware my uncle; and my uncle Me. My father might beware his brother: Whilst thou, of one flesh with my father, might Beware his blood. Nay, should the Devil find A Paradise, and tempt again, I might Beware of thee: and with the serpent near, My mother might beware that dangerous fruit— Her son. [tions? Queen. Whence got you this strange cross of cau- Ham. From what has been, madam, running Avith the Custom—to what may be. Scene I. A PRELUDE. 103 Queen. Ho ! this is but The preface to another of thy many Pastimes, Hamlet.—Thus, to whet our wearing Edge of mirth by sadness. Ham. Why should I be Mirthful? Have there been arrivals here in Denmark ? Queen. What should come ? Ham. Temperance, joined with Truth; and both their useful families. Queen. With them Join Justice too: for now, as I have word, 'Tis near the hour, to wait thy father's coming. Ham. Time's present channel, mother, is too narrow For the flood of my thanksgiving: so I'll Greet my father with its overflowing. Queen. Then wUl thy troubled stream of life be Again. [smooth Ham. It would be so indeed, but that Three several dreams I've had of late perplex me. Queen. Thy troubles, Hamlet, can be but as dreams To thee. Come then, relate to me thy dream Of dreams. Ham. Perhaps thou canst expound them, mother. A week is scarce gone by, since first I dreamed— I had embarked, upon a foreign order Of the king. When Avondrously, within the first NightAvatch, the prevalent shade grew bright! But More than Avonder 'tAvas, to suddenly behold In Denmark's very point, a bloody flame; As if the hazy sun rose flaring at the Utmost sea: whilst from that fire went forth the Uncouth figure of a fiend,—clenching a costly CroAvn. [tried Queen. This bodes no ill; but shoAvs our throne's Purity. Then Avherefore else thy seriousness ? Ham. With thoughts no less unwholesome, next I dreamed— Of Avandering out beneath the sun-down summits Of the royal orchard. There, I met Avith 104 HAMLET, Act V. Two, so fellow-featured, each to each, they Might have been right brothers. Both had laid them There, in weariness. And there, a kinder Quiet than the world's had blest the one. The Other seemed at equal peace : except that, To and fro, his breast did silent duty— As the sentinel of life.—Again that fiend Came by; and like a hellish highwayman, Cried—Sleep and Death, give up your difference! Then Dashed his venom drops at sleep; who instant Sighed himself to such identity, that Avorried With the hard distinction, I awoke. Queen. Why Hamlet, has some night-freed tenant of the Grave walked past thy thought? Ham. No, madam, for they Say—such things can visit but for good. Queen. Or, Bringest thou here some German tale of terror ? Ham. Mother, I shall ne'er believe my eye-sight Of an apparition, if itself, the full Death-living proof, be not the speaker to me. Queen. 'Twould be fearful speech. But come, thy Vision, Hamlet. [other Ham. This was merely sequel To the last; for burial comes of death. I Saw, methought, a finger—from a funeral, As it passed—oft point to rich possessions: And heard them say,—the solemn-clad appraiser Was the heir of him he folloAved. Queen. It Avas Hard, to dry the tears of gratitude by Avarice. Ham. So hard, that had my indignation But dreamed on, sleep Avould have draAvn his crooked Logic out to straight conclusion, that the Heir was privy to the mortal means of Heritage. Queen. But why, my son, should dreams disturb, Scene II. A PRELUDE. 105 That are but dreams ? Ham. Ah mother! Gloom is not A foe so generous, as to always tell Us where he strikes. I felt the weight of his Indefinite hand: and bidding care to search, She thought she found it on my dreams. But wherefore, As you say: Since Denmark's crown is doubly Now secure, upon the fall of Fortinbras. And though our death through sleep may come: If we Are misers of this life, as all the wise And happy are,—it is to pay the debt, Without the pang of knowing it. And wherefore Should an heir's ingratitude distress me? Since all live to feel the wounds of thanklessness ; Which death ne'er flinches from. So mother, for This time, I'll slight my dreams, although they-threat Me with a triple warning. Queen. Then give thy Sorrow place to greeting.----Let us prepare A Avelcome to thy father. [Exeunt. SCENE SECOND. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Claudius and Polonius. Claud. You said, Polonius, that Ophelia's age might not forbid her thoughts of love. Pol. I did indeed, my lord. Claud. Who are her suitors ? Pol. She has many. Claud. What says our young Prince to that ? He was the first. Pol. He would say more, if he should be the last: for of love the text is true, that—last shall be first. Claud. Is it so of Ophelia and the Prince ? 106 HAMLET, Act V. Pol. Being the last locked in the heart, he is the first to come out when the lips do open it. Claud. Hamlet's light love, I fear, makes him swim at the top of all hearts. Pol. Ah! my lord, it's heavy with him now. Claud. I lately saw him, with a cyprian on each arm: there's goodly weight. Pol. Saw it? Claud. Truly, good Polonius ; and as I lost aU hopes of our young Prince, I thought of poor Ophelia. Pol. Is not his love—as't should be ? Claud. Where love's a trade, as seems with Hamlet, let the dealers well beware the tricks of it. Pol. I'll sit upon the front of caution, and avUI thence look out. Claud. Where is Laertes now? Pol. In France, my lord. Ophelia has late letters from him, bearing full as much of counsel's shrewdness, as of love. Claud. Does he know of Hamlet's passion ? Pol. Of friendly favors only. Claud. Then prithee, hide it from him, good Polo- nius. There is no love between them; so .that bare suspicion of aught else than honesty, in Hamlet, might make fealty forget allegiance. Pol. He should know whate'er befits the duty of a brother. Claud. Why went the king abroad, Polonius ? Pol. For Denmark's sake. Claud. No more ? Pol. Not to the general ear. Claud. Canst thou not think of else ? Pol. No, my lord. Claud. Nor Ophelia? Pol. Why she, my lord? Claud. 1 thought she might have heard. Love that listens at the crevice, sometimes takes cold by it. Pol. If you know aught of me or mine, I pray, im- part. Claud. You'U tell from whom you heard it. Scene II. a prelude. 107 Pol. Never, Avhile secrecy is helpmate to my benefit. Claud. Thy aged lips must swear it. Pol. I do swear. Claud. And yet I should not tell it to thee. Pol. Who says—he knoAvs a secret, does my lord, let out the larger end of secrecy: the other should not hold within the gap of prudence. Claud. WeU then, by private letters from the king, we are to have a Princess here of Norway's blood; and thus to join two crowns in Hamlet. Pol. That cannot be; I have my special reasons. Claud. Then let this news, Polonius, sleep awhile. I would not thus commingle wrong and pain, by making thee an evil messenger unto thy daughter. Pol. Wilt thou, my lord, assist me with thy counsel ? Claud. With my good will, I'll strive to do the earnestness of thine. Pol. For this, my lord, I'll be but more thy servant. Farewell. [Exit Polonius. Claud. Now, have I mixed some dark suspicion Avith this gray Credulity. Upon a knavish errand, he who has least sense, may sometimes do most service. He will use that doubt-o'erbalanced tongue of his, against the Prince; and try to serve his own weak wit's un- serving,—by, what counsel can, Avhen borrowed from the parrot's index. Enter an Attendant. Atten. Please your Grace, here's one who asks for entrance. Claud. What condition wears he ? Atten. He has the custom of great condescension. His bows bend lower than his Avords: and then his words make haste in humbleness, to reach the ground before his bows. Claud. Did you hear his name ? Atten. Not of his baptism. But by his jealous friends of like intent, he's called—the Serving Master of the people. Claud. Bid him come in. [Exit Attendant. 108 hamlet, Act V. This must be he that Arno spoke of. Furloe, I think's his name. Now, to breAV in his OAvn atmosphere; I'll cloud him. Let us have wine, boy. To touch his lips with flavor of the best, may tempt his tongue's umvary freedom forth. Enter Servant with wine; and exit. There's truth, they say, in wine. I'll try if there is profit too. Enter Furloe. Fur. I greet your lordship Avith good words of hope. Claud. Here's welcome then to hope and thee. [They drink.] Fur. The people have resolved to make thee King, hereafter. Claud. This news must have health-filling from us, now. {They drink.] How happened this,—so soon,—so weU ? Fur. It came of management; a thing done easfly, if you Avill do it. Claud. Use you no argument? Fur. Yes, my lord ;—your high-proof Danish fla- gon. It's called lip-logic by the leaders. Claud. Then come; my gratitude shall kiss this great persuader. Here's to the sovereign people's king. [They drink.] Fur. This Rhenish has the cask's choice quality, my lord. Claud. Better still; it hath the virtue of the hoop:— the end of its taste brings you to the beginning. Its quality makes thirst for itself.----Come, again. [They drink.] The earth's pure unbrewed fountain, by a thriftless quenching, makes o'erflowing cheapness. Wine is the leader, Furloe ; water, but the common people.—No,— yes,—you see,—because they are so pure. [Here, Claudius exhibits a slight confusion of ine- briety.] Scene II. A prelude. 109 Come, leader to leader;. take you this. [Claudius offers him more wine.] Fur. I dare no more, my lord. Claud. In such a cause, then, I will dare for both. Thus Claudius drinks with Claudius. [He drinks successively from two glasses.] What broke this bond 'twixt Hamlet and the people ? Fur. It Avas so contrived, that Hamlet should appear far-faUen from himself. And now the rumor goes, that he holds nightly tours and revels Avith his wild companions:— insults the worthy populace:—makes riot ruinous to do- mestic peace:—bribes justice for his opportunities:— and then walks out by day, the modest Prince of Den- mark. At last night's meeting, many voices rose against him. Whereat, the people, thus to cut off his succession, resolved themselves to choose the king hereafter: And would have thee live in expectation. Claud. This is my soul's content. Then, here in double duty of this cup, I drink to Denmark's promised Royalty. [Claudius drinks from a larger cup.] Fur. But what, my lord, of promised favors ? Those who do this for thee,—live in expectation too. Claud. They who thus Avould raise our seat of Roy- alty, shall croAvd the steps around it.----1 will reAvard my friends;—and smite my fallen enemies. [Claudius drinks again and shows increasing ine- briety.^ Fur. [Aside.] That's what the droll grammarian called—Bribery in the future tense:—and the superla- tive degree of Magnanimity. Where shall I Avrite myself in thy gifts ? Claud. Thy pen shall make its capitals, upon this heart of gratitude; and sign thy choice in Denmark's book of honor. [Claudius in wildness takes up a cup.] Wilt thou be cup-bearer ? Fur. My lord! Claud. Yes ; my gay heart would have thee merry- maker to the head. K 110 HAMLET, Act V. Fur. You are ill, I fear, my lord. Claud. Then I'll make thee Physician: so wiU others employ thee, merely to be drawn and die, of Royalty's time-serving Leech. 'Tis as SAveet, to die for fashion, as for country. [Claudius shows increasing inebriety.~\ Fur. There is a Avildness in your look. Claud. [Advancing with menace towards Furloe ; who retires.] Do not mock my favors. I will give thee every thing in honor, as proof that thou art nothing in desert: making thee so popular, that death shall be thy only enemy. Fur. I beg, my lord— [Claudius, throughout the dialogue, still pursuing Furloe.] Claud. Then thou shalt be a Courtier; with a face that has dropped thinking, and stuck on—foolish care. Fur. Who will believe this ? Claud. He that will not, let him be a Avorn out Pro- fessor, with no teeth to chew improvement: being like an infant at its father's funeral,—not knowing what it loses. Fur. I pray you let me speak— Claud. If thou speak too much, I'll have thy magpie Chattering invited to a public dinner, along with thy cor- morant Ambition; to show that thy tongue can be as busy as thy teeth; and to teach thy ear—to digest RaAv Flattery. Fur. Sit down, my lord, and rest. Claud. Then give me a seat at the farce of—The Devil in his night gown;—got up, to make the world believe that wickedness is going to sleep, in the cock- loft of the Scrap-Magazine Office. Fur. [Coming to the table, seizes the cups and throws them aside.] At least, you must not drink again. Claud. Then will 1 be a publican, with the hydro- phobia, and the influence of a hundred drunken votes; snapping at our laAv-givers, to keep them from joining the Temperance society. Ho, there! more wine. Scene II. A PRELUDE. Ill Fur. Hold, my lord, more will betray you quite. Enter Arno hastily, dressed like Hamlet. Arno. I've broke upon your council— Claud. This is the cunning parliament you spoke of. [Claudius draws a dagger and makes towards Arno.] Glorio!—now's the time. [Arno seeks protection from Furloe.] Fur. God stay thy hand. [Furloe interferes with Claudius.]. Thy SAvimming eyes see not the Prince. [Claudius disengages himself from Furloe.] Claud. Then I'll feel for him. [Striking Arno, who falls.] Arno. Mercy, Claudius! 'tis I. Claud. Yes, he's under the clothes.—So,—to sleep. Fur. Look, my lord ! Who hast thou slain? Claud. Say, who'll iioav be king? Arno. Thou shalt; and then remember—this Arno helped thee to it. Claud. Arno? [Claudius looks with a moment of attention on Arno.] This sight confounds still more the sense, Avhose Avild confusion made it. How came this Arno—Hamlet ? Arno. Of such mistakes as often fall on cunning. Hoav came this Claudius—demon ? Claud. Sobriety, new-born of wonder, sees the cause within that damned eup. Arno. Ambition, Claudius, is that damned cup, which to thy misty sense, could make a dagger seem the likeness of thy gratitude. That chief of Avonders— Death, has made me sober too,—to find I've been thy dupe. But weU I knoAV, thy drunken hopes will come again, Avhen thou hast thrown some sand of thy con- trivance, on this spot of blood: and this prophetic hour, which cannot use a lie, sees other deeds of madness in thee. Hamlet, this revenged apparel tells me hoAv I've wronged thee. [Arno dies. 112 HAMLET, Act V. Claud. 'Tis done: and we must pack up this un- lucky deed. Take in the body. [Furloe takes the body off.] This sudden soberness is as the starting of a fear- entangled dream, which frights away its own distraction. Re-enter Furloe. What brought this chance? Fur. He that by death is here unmasked, did with the dress and title of the Prince, about the suburbs raise, in acts of riot, such reports as soured the people's late good will to Hamlet. And this poor messenger, whom first I hear called Arno, came to tell thee of success. Claud. I do repent me of his welcome.----But we must see the body safe : and Avhisper forth the deed, to somehow touch the Prince's riots or revenge. Now, on all this, lest brooding work thy implicated thought to speech, swear secrecy. Fur. I swear. Claud. Then go. [Exit Furloe. It was surprise that moved me : and as it - passes off, I see that this poor wretch is only gone, as he Avas born to go.----1 would not have done it: Yet the deed's as weU, as if the time had come, to think—he knows too much of me.----Now here's another witness. Furloe swears indeed; but that's a politician's oath. His bible's bound with interest, and he merely kisses calculation. He has done me all the good he can: and safety whis- pers—he should have a mission, though it be to heU.— Let me see. The Royal nomination overruled,—and aU the people loud for my succession. Young Hamlet then may live. He stands not in my way. Who does ? My brother fills the place of Husband and of King; with promise of long life. The plan and means were long since ready: and now, the very moment serves. It is his custom in the afternoon,—to rest his royalty upon his garden couch. To do the deed through sleep,—is making nature partner in the sacrifice, who holds the victim down. Then quickly to it. The thing has consolation too, as well as consequence. [Exit Claudius, thoughtfully. Scene III. a prelude 113 SCENE THIRD. A Public Place in Elsinore. On one side, the Palace, with the vista of a street. The windows of the whole illuminated. Music within the palace. While this continues, several citizens pais and repass before the scene. When the music ceases, Two Citizens remain. First Cit. No, the music is at the palace : and there, its saluting tongue speaks from the heart, a welcome to our king. Second Cit. The banquet mus't be o'er. That mea- sure Avas the leading step of beauty to the ball. Awhile, and we shall hear a merry tickling of the strings. First Cit. Look aU around! And see, how rich or plain soe'er the casement,—that light is light: and though high Nobles, there, give greeting smiles to majesty,— still, the humblest soul in Denmark is their peer in joy. [The music strikes the measure of a dance: Whilst this continues, the two citizens remain: others pass and repass. The scene then closes.] SCENE FOURTH. An Apartment in Polonius' house Enter Polonius and Occleve. Pol. Why, of the pastimes, played they not last night, some Piece—of welcome, to our king ? Occ. The Theatre, my lord, had best get up—a farewell, to itself: since speech has lost his soul and pitch-pipe—if he ever had one, there; and poetry has racked her joints to feebleness, in straining Common- place—to Stage-effective passion. k2 114 HAMLET, Act V. Pol. Yet this very mockery of art, might serve the vulgar sort for sport. Can we not have a farce ? Occ. It will not pay. Pol. And why ? Occ. The world, that at its best was but a woful tragedy, is noAv upon the after-piece ; and Players hav- ing free-tickets,—every one goes in for nothing. Pol. Might they not get up a pantomime ? Occ. We've no dumb shows now-a-days, my lord: for harlequin, by turning chatterer, has got to be great minister of state. And clown is travelling in a dandy- suit, to teach aAvkwardness to his betters. Pol. Do they not write plays now ? Occ. Oh yes ? But then, the better they read, the worse they act. Pol. That's very strange. Occ. Strange indeed: for if the ear and intellect keep friends, then, Avhat is fair to read, could be no worse,— to be well spoken. But now, it's all for Stage Effect; which, not to say it unkindly, is merely fool's rattle, to the drama's second childhood. Pol. Is there not a host of actors now ? Occ. Ay, my lord, ten thousand: thus making by stage arithmetic,—one integer, and the rest cyphers. The more naughts in your plays for a Star, the more the first figure counts. Pol. How are they—in quality ? Occ. All capable, yet careless. For, being snapped between the upper jaw of the poet, and the lower—of ap- plause, they're seized at times with the moderation- phobia. Yet great ears, they plead, are the fashion of the House; therefore, wide mouths must folloAv: and thus, they've fashioned the house—out of fashion. But it's remarkable of the Muses, my lord, that when they go downhill they're all as closely hand-in-hand, as on the heights of Helicon. And since they've now got to Painting—earthquakes ; it is but feUoAvship in taste, to Vociferate—thunder. Pol. And this, they call nature ! You see, Occleve, nature wont do. Scene IV. a prelude. 115 Occ. My lord, the Stage Avill find, that when its Instincts change to Art,—'twill be a Speech-Played Music, and aU aptly too; not the wild-set Gammut of the Woods. Pol. What if the theatre should die the death of emptiness ? Occ. To refiU it, they'll set the four-footers to work; for—Business of the Stage has become chief operative in the concern; the play-maker having nearly forgot the old dramatic seasoning of phrase and philosophy.----The dog Apollo, Tippoo the elephant, and the Great Kwako ape, have done wonders in the way of example,—by always knowing their parts, and being perfectly natural. Pol. What other restorative ? Occ. A quadruped still,—the Siamese twins, fast at the middle, like a bar shot; so they carry all before them. Pol. Are there no biped wonders ? Occ. They had, last hatching time, another infant Roscius:—Tom Thumb again. Pol. I thought the red coav swaUowed him. Occ. A worse calamity still:—'twas the audience. Pol. Can we not have a Puppet-show ? Occ. There's no chance of that now : since Punch has turned Doctor, and by some secret participial use of his own name, for the cure of dyspepsia, is in a fair way to become—the father of medicine.* * All these characters, whether acting for the revival of the Stage, or for the advancement of Medicine, have, within a few years past, had their entrances and exits. But as this Play began with a pro- fessional purpose, that purpose should not be forgotten at its con- clusion. Of all the Panaceas, Nostrums, and Show-Remedies, which have received high professional patronage, in Philadelphia; none is more memorable than the hopeful excitement, produced about five years ago, among our Dyspeptics, by another bait for idle and nervous credulity. The remedy was secret for awhile; and was adminis- tered—in consideration of a solemn oath, and a round sum from the patient. Several eminent members of the Faculty gave it their 116 HAMLET, Act V. Pol. But do the Faculty approve of this ? Occ. Oh yes ; and upon oath, go snacks in the mys- tery too. Pol. Who's to be professor of this branch ? Occ. The actors, you mean, my lord. We're to have a stage for scientific theatricals in the University; that the people may be cured of indigestion, by shaking their own sides, at the foolery of Punch and the Doctors. Pol. This will be something neAV. Occ. No, my lord, 'tis an old play, by new actors; and an audience Avith eyes in their back,—who never see the folly of the plot, tiU they turn round in contempt from it. Yet so it is, Avith the experience of fools,—if you'll only go, you'll be sure to find the Avhole assem- bly, face-about, crying encore. [Exeunt. SCENE FIFTH. Before the Palace. Enter Hamlet and Marcellus, from opposite sides. Mar. I joy, my lord, to find that light upon thy broAv. Ham. Ah ! my good friend,—to know that the eye of Denmark looks on her king again, kindles mine to gladness. patronage, by entering into its free-masonry. When its pretensions had run through all the influential hypochondriac names of the city,—a book, with the full proportion of technical theory, from the now Past-master, at once divulged the mystery, destroyed the virtue, and published the shame of the whole transaction. For then, this infallible process, equally efficacious with the father at fifty, and the daughter at sixteen, was found to consist merely in a forceful Kneading, or as the text implies, a Punching with the knuckles of the operator—Proh pudor puellml credent amatores?—nudo in ventre. Scene V. A PRELUDE. 117 Mar. A longer stay, and Denmark would have caught the sickness of thy hope. Ham. A great king's death is blindness to a realm. Then wonder not—the fearful absence of my father, spread the dimness of a sorrow. Mar. Think it not strange, my lord; yet Avould I might avoid the stir, that Denmark makes in Avelcome. Ham. And why, Marcellus ? Mar. The welcome is a cause. Ham. Of Avhat? Mar. That I must say fareweU. Ham. To Avhom ? Mar. To thee, my good lord. Ham. Not to our love, Marcellus? Mar. No, my lord; but to thy departure: which, though it takes from the eye, rather adds to the heart.---- When go you back to Wittenberg? Ham. To tell of the date, Marcellus, is as the mock death of friendship. Though the day must come, it may grant joy between; to fix it, makes its sadness now.---- But to catch at the mirth that passes, here's folly with his cap in his hand: come, let us seem to be generous, by fiUing his emptiness with its own contents. Enter Osric Osric. My lord— Ham. Stop. Thou speakest without words ; there- fore I'll tell thee the whole of thy business. Osric. Now, my lord ? Ham. Yes, now sir, and so forever. For, being but a thing of to-day, thy now is thy always. Thus— Osric. My lord, I came— Ham. Not a word. Thou earnest to talk of thyself, so say—nothing, and thy errand is done. But I am my- self disposed to idleness: then turn about, and I'll follow thee home to vacancy. Farewell, Marcellus. [Exeunt Hamlet and Osric Mar. [To Hamlet going.] Farewell, my lord. I give thee joy, that thou hast the gay company of thy own merriment,—to stop the prating of that fool-feUow. 118 HAMLET, Act V. Enter Bernardo and Francisco. What iioav, Bernardo ! Come you to hold the watch, before the sun has yet put out his sentinel-light ? Ber. It Avas the order of an almost breathless mes- senger,—to set the guard upon the terrace here: but Avherefore, or to what intent of safety, I know not. Mar. Went there no word of cause, to make your duty sure ? Ber. A soldier's duty is his cause; and I am here. Mar. Heard you no rumor of this mystery ? Ber. Not this, but yet another. For hasting through the market square, with neither eyes aside, nor words of idleness, avc heard at hand, a crowd of voices, with Claudius' name a-top of all the clamor. Mar. Think you of revolt, Bernardo ? Ber. I know not, yet am ready. Mar. Went other order, like to yours ? Ber. Francisco here, heard say—the lower guard were bid to invest the royal orchard. Mar. Why this is stranger still.—The orchard, say you? Ber. It was Francisco ? Fran. Yes, your liege, the orchard. Mar. What need of guards about the orchard ? This is the hour the king should take his customary rest. Ber. Ay, Marcellus,- and there my wonder greAV,—if aught could break on his ' secure hour.' Mar. Think you of treason, Bernardo ? Ber. I know not Avhat. But be sure, there is abroad some dangerous fear or fearful danger. Mar. What else heard you ? Ber. Nothing; but saw much running to and fro. Mar. There's Occleve with a face of wo, that needs no Avords for the amount of it. Ber. And here comes the Lord Polonius, in haste enough for the unsatisfied. Mar. Yet looking more agog Avith news, to bring its firstlings than its nature. ocene V. A prEL1jde. 119 Enter Polonius. Pol. Yes, he's gone. The king is dead. Mar. No ! What! Dead say you ? Pol. Yes,—in the orchard. Mar. 'Tis his sleeping hour; it cannot be. Pol. Death is a surety, Marcellus. Therefore I say—the king is dead. Mar. Then Avhere's the Prince ? I'll to him. [Marcellus going, Polonius preventing him.] Pol. Stay from that scene. The Prince knows all; and with the household, leads in fulness of his tears. Mar. And I will follow, close of heart. [Marcellus going, Polonius again preventing him.] Pol. By your duty, Marcellus, you must not. It is forbid. Ber. The story, good Polonius.—Say where, and how, and what? Pol. In the orchard, as I said, the king had staid beyond his usual hour. The messenger in search, there found him—quiet and cold. Mar. What cause appeared ? Pol. He lay, but deeper sunk than sleep, upon his usual couch. Mar. Found the first search no track of visitation ? Pol. No sign, save upon near approach, a serpent's rustle in the grass: and hence the rumor spread—that death came by this serpent's sting. No mark of fang was there; but yet Avell-nigh the ear, a blood-like drop,— more spilt than shed. Mar. This mystery of death, makes fancy's waver- ing ever stir affliction. To know the cause, might give us hope to bear it. Pol. New thoughts—of royalty will soon make older thoughts—of grief. Mar. Such words are cold and courtier-like ; and ill befit our gratitude. Pol. Without a throne, whom shall we honor ? Mar. Honor ourselves: and make not majesty a 120 HAMLET, Act V. Favor-gallows, that upon the state of others we may hang.—But since gray age must have his baubles, I will seek some child that now forgets its toys, and beg for tears, to mingle sorrows with them. [Exit Marcellus. Pol. And I Avill see the due array of pomp, that makes the glory of a breathless king. The body lies to-night, Avithin the chapel. Ber. There let us meet: you, to look upon your rites,—and hope in coming royalty; I, to look back upon the last of kings. [Exeunt. SCENE SIXTH. The Chapel of the Palace. Enter in procession—the body of the King, borne on a bier; followed by Claudius, Polonius, Ophelia, Marcellus, Osric, Bernardo, and other attendants. Pol. Here set the body doAvn; since Death has closed Those helping wings of favor, that would've made The burthen light. [The bier is set down.] Osric. There lies he now in state: And courtly custom has its satisfaction. Occ. There let him lie, in gratitude and love ; WhUst dimming tears distort these ceremonies, To such monsters as they seem. Claud. And let a Brother pray.—Peace to his soul, Avho was our King. Mar. ky*. all himself the king;—sufficient For his office. His Avorks Avere of his own Sole counsel,—sole mandate,—and sole choice of Instrument:—so rare in one, this three-fold Branch of Rule. His good was all his own: and Scene VI. a prelude. 121 If offender, being still the bail, he Never laid the sins of power, among the Massed iniquities of that state-tricking thing— A Cabinet: which in reprisal, often Makes a dupe of-unsuspecting majesty; And through dissolving safety, gets dismissal Only,—when it should be hanged. Beneath his Reign, the foreign ministerial buzzards Of ambition,—who .along the tainted Air of man's corrupting strife, snuff eager Towards the hopeful troubles of a state,—found Other haunts, where arts of stale diplomacy StreAv empires with the carcases of war: Starved from the wholesome region of our throne, All-purified to Denmark's blessedness. [Hamlet speaks, unseen.] Let me mourn anywhere; last of your train, So not the least in grief. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Hamlet's heart came Here, before his tongue. [He approaches the bier.] Now, let the sandy Desert smile, Avhich breeds not aught that knows of Death: but let these green and habitable parts Rain tears, where useless life seems deathless; and Such noble breath thus fails before its time. Mar. Nature, my lord, had been most jealous, if Aught other than her Avill had summoned—him, Her glory. Ham. Thou instrument of death!—serpent, Or, Avhat else; Avhether design or chance ; heaven's Quiet messenger, or hand of violence Unknown to us, yet witness of a trembling Conscience noAV,—why, when you came to kiU, stood You not fixed a moment to your aim ? The K 122 HAMLET, A PRELUDE. • Act V. Brutal—stupid, the nobler wicked—rapt, Until some dream, ah! then life's only chance, Had shook his perilous sleep? Mar. O come, my lord, These thoughts but set a larger sorrow on The sight. I pray thee, leave the scene. [Marcellus leading Hamlet off, Hamlet turns towards the body.] Ham. There lies A king, MarceUus! No, Death is the king; And has no under titles. There was, as he Now lies,—a man, so even and so apt In quality, that nature's finisher found nothing To supply or trim for his perfection. If then her first,—not less her last: for aU That's best of her's in him, is heirless: and I am but his son. That thought obeys thee, Good MarceUus. So I'U leave this gage of Greatness, whose vast measure counts me—nothing. Mar. Come then, my lord. Ham. Hereafter, my good friend, 1 shaU be mustered with the miserable. For time past, I have worn their livery on My heart. Now, for their outward suits of deeper wo. [Exeunt Hamlet and Marcellus. the end. Eirata.— Page 12, line 26, in some copies, for altogetlier, read entirely. 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