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Holding a weak supposal of our worth, `
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Or thinking by our late dear brother's death `
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Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, `
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Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, `
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He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, `
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Importing the surrender of those lands `
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Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, `
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To our most valiant brother. So much for him,-- `
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Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: `
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Thus much the business is:--we have here writ `
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To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,-- `
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Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears `
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Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress `
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His further gait herein; in that the levies, `
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The lists, and full proportions are all made `
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Out of his subject:--and we here dispatch `
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You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, `
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For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; `
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Giving to you no further personal power `
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To business with the king, more than the scope `
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Of these dilated articles allow. `
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Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. `
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Cor. and Volt. `
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In that and all things will we show our duty. `
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King. `
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We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. `
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[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.] `
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And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? `
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You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes? `
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You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, `
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And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, `
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That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? `
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The head is not more native to the heart, `
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The hand more instrumental to the mouth, `
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Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. `
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What wouldst thou have, Laertes? `
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Laer. `
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Dread my lord, `
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Your leave and favour to return to France; `
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From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, `
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To show my duty in your coronation; `
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Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, `
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My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, `
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And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. `
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King. `
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Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? `
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Pol. `
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He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave `
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By laboursome petition; and at last `
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Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: `
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I do beseech you, give him leave to go. `
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King. `
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Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, `
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And thy best graces spend it at thy will!-- `
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But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son-- `
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Ham. `
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[Aside.] A little more than kin, and less than kind! `
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King. `
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you? `
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Ham. `
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Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. `
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Queen. `
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Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, `
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And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. `
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Do not for ever with thy vailed lids `
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Seek for thy noble father in the dust: `
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Thou know'st 'tis common,--all that lives must die, `
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Passing through nature to eternity. `
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Ham. `
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Ay, madam, it is common. `
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Queen. `
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If it be, `
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Why seems it so particular with thee? `
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Ham. `
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Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems. `
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'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, `
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Nor customary suits of solemn black, `
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Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, `
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No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, `
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Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, `
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Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, `
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That can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem; `
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For they are actions that a man might play; `
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But I have that within which passeth show; `
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These but the trappings and the suits of woe. `
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King. `
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'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, `
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To give these mourning duties to your father; `
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But, you must know, your father lost a father; `
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That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound, `
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In filial obligation, for some term `
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To do obsequious sorrow: but to persevere `
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In obstinate condolement is a course `
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Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; `
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It shows a will most incorrect to heaven; `
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A heart unfortified, a mind impatient; `
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An understanding simple and unschool'd; `
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For what we know must be, and is as common `
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As any the most vulgar thing to sense, `
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Why should we, in our peevish opposition, `
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Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, `
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A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, `
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To reason most absurd; whose common theme `
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Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, `
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From the first corse till he that died to-day, `
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'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth `
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This unprevailing woe; and think of us `
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As of a father: for let the world take note `
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You are the most immediate to our throne; `
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And with no less nobility of love `
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Than that which dearest father bears his son `
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Do I impart toward you. For your intent `
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In going back to school in Wittenberg, `
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It is most retrograde to our desire: `
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And we beseech you bend you to remain `
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Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, `
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Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. `
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Queen. `
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Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet: `
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I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg. `
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Ham. `
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I shall in all my best obey you, madam. `
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King. `
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Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: `
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Be as ourself in Denmark.--Madam, come; `
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This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet `
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Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, `
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No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day `
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But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; `
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And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, `
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Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. `
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[Exeunt all but Hamlet.] `
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Ham. `
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O that this too too solid flesh would melt, `
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Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! `
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Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd `
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His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! `
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How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable `
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Seem to me all the uses of this world! `
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Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, `
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That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature `
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Possess it merely. That it should come to this! `
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But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two: `
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So excellent a king; that was, to this, `
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Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, `
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That he might not beteem the winds of heaven `
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Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! `
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Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him `
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As if increase of appetite had grown `
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By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,-- `
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Let me not think on't,--Frailty, thy name is woman!-- `
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A little month; or ere those shoes were old `
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With which she followed my poor father's body `
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Like Niobe, all tears;--why she, even she,-- `
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O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason, `
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Would have mourn'd longer,--married with mine uncle, `
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My father's brother; but no more like my father `
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Than I to Hercules: within a month; `
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Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears `
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Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, `
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She married:-- O, most wicked speed, to post `
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With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! `
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It is not, nor it cannot come to good; `
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But break my heart,--for I must hold my tongue! `
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[Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.] `
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Hor. `
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Hail to your lordship! `
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Ham. `
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I am glad to see you well: `
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Horatio,--or I do forget myself. `
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Hor. `
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The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. `
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Ham. `
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Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you: `
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And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?-- `
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