In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak! Mar. It is offended. Ber. See, it stalks away! 50 [Exit Ghost. Hor. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Mar. "Tis gone, and will not answer. Ber. How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale: Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the king? Hor. As thou art to thyself: Such was the very armour he had on When he the ambitious Norway combated; So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Hor. In what particular thought to work I know not; But in the gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land, And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Hor. At least, the whisper goes so. That can I; Our last king, Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet- Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands 60 69 80 90 HAMLET. Was gaged by our king; which had return'd To the inheritance of Fortinbras, Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir young Fortinbras. Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there [ACT I. That bath a stomach in't; which is no other- 100 And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands Is the main motive of our preparations, The source of this our watch and the chief head Comes armed through our watch; so like the king 110 Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Re-enter Ghost. I'll cross it, though it biast me. Stay, illusion! If thou hast any sound, Speak to me: Use of voice, If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease and grace to me, If thou art privy to thy country's fate, Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 120 130 [Cock crows. Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, Ber. Hor. Mar. 'Tis gone! 'Tis here! We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. 140 'Tis here! [Exit Ghost. Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it. 150 160 170 [Exeunt. SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter the KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants. King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death The memory be green, and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of woe, Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, To our most valiant brother. So much for him. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. 10 20 30 Cor. In that and all things will we show our duty. 40 Vol. King. We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, Laer. My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France 59 50 King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave By laboursome petition, and at last Upon his will I sealed my hard consent: I do beseech you, give him leave to go. King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will! But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 60 Ham. [Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind. Thou knowst 'tis common; all that lives must die, Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee? Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not " 'Tis not alone mý inky cloak, good mother, 70 seems." Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, 80 |