Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Ham. What, ho, Horatio! [Enter Horatio.] Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. Hor. O, my dear lord,-- Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter; For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bles'd are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.--Something too much of this.-- There is a play to-night before the king; One scene of it comes near the circumstance, Which I have told thee, of my father's death: I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in one speech, It is a damned ghost that we have seen; And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note; For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; And, after, we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming. Hor. Well, my lord: If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. Ham. They are coming to the play. I must be idle: Get you a place. [Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others.] King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, you play'd once i' the university, you say? [To Polonius.] Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. Ham. What did you enact? Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' the Capitol; Brutus killed me. Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.--Be the players ready? Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. Pol. O, ho! do you mark that? [To the King.] Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? [Lying down at Ophelia's feet.] Oph. No, my lord. Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my lord. Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Oph. What is, my lord? Ham. Nothing. Oph. You are merry, my lord. Ham. Who, I? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. O, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? for look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within 's two hours. Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. Ham. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot!' [Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.] [Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the king's ears, and exit. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love.] [Exeunt.] Oph. What means this, my lord?