May be the devil: and the devil hath power ACT III. SCENE I.-A Room in the Castle. Enter KING, QUEEN, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSEN- King. And can you, by no drift of circumstance, Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted; But from what cause he will by no means speak. Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded; But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, When we would bring him on to some confession Queen. Did he receive you well? Ros. Most like a gentleman. Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands, Most free in his reply. Queen. To any pastime? Did you assay him Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players Pol. "T is most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, To hear and see the matter. King. With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclin'd. Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, King. [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL Sweet Gertrude, leave us too: For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither; Her father, and myself (lawful espials), Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, If 't be the affliction of his love or no, Queen. I shall obey you: And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, That your good beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlet's wildness; so shall I hope your virtues To both your honours. Oph. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here :-Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves :-Read on this book; [TO OPHELIA That show of such an exercise may colour "T is too much prov'd, that, with devotion's visage, The devil himself. King. O, 't is too true! How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, a Affront-encounter, confront. [Aside. Pol. I hear him coming; let 's withdraw, my lord. [Exeunt KING and POLONIUS. Enter HAMLET. Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question: For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The insolence of office, and the spurns With a bare bodkin?" who would these fardels bear, a Bodkin—a small sword. Cæsar is spoken of, by old writers, as slain by bodkins. Grunt. So the originals. The players, in their squeamishness, always give us groan; and, if they had not the terror of the blank verse before them, they would certainly inflict per spire upon us. And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; Oph. I pray you, now receive them. Ham. No, no. I never gave you aught. Oph. My honour'd lord, I know right well you did; Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. Ham. Ha, ha! are you honest? Oph. My lord? Ham. Are you fair? Oph. What means your lordship? Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty. Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was some time a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. Ham. You should not have believed me: for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it: I lov'd you not. |