Hamlet

Ham. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for England. Farewell deere Mother King. Thy louing Father Hamlet Hamlet. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for England. Exit King. Follow him at foote, Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night. Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on th' Affaire, pray you make hast. And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought, As my great power thereof may giue thee sense, Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe Payes homage to vs; thou maist not coldly set Our Soueraigne Processe, which imports at full By Letters coniuring to that effect The present death of Hamlet. Do it England, For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun. Exit Enter Fortinbras with an Armie. For. Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous: If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye, And let him know so Cap. I will doo't, my Lord For. Go safely on. Enter. Enter Queene and Horatio. Qu. I will not speake with her Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode will needs be pittied Qu. What would she haue? Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares There's trickes i'th' world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spurnes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt, That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing, Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it, And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts, Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them, Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with, For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds. Let her come in. To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt. Enter Ophelia distracted. Ophe. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark Qu. How now Ophelia? Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one? By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone Qu. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song? Ophe. Say you? Nay pray you marke. He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone. Enter King. Qu. Nay but Ophelia Ophe. Pray you marke. White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord Ophe. Larded with sweet Flowers: Which bewept to the graue did not go, With true-loue showres King. How do ye, pretty Lady? Ophe. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owle was a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your Table King. Conceit vpon her Father Ophe. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: To morrow is S[aint]. Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine. Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more King. Pretty Ophelia Ophe. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont. By gis, and by S[aint]. Charity, Alacke, and fie for shame: Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, By Cocke they are too blame. Quoth she before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to Wed: So would I ha done by yonder Sunne, And thou hadst not come to my bed King. How long hath she bin thus? Ophe. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient, but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th' cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight. Enter. King. Follow her close, Giue her good watch I pray you: Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs All from her Fathers death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies, But in Battalians. First, her Father slaine, Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied, Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly In hugger mugger to interre him. Poore Ophelia Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement, Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts. Last, and as much containing as all these, Her Brother is in secret come from France, Keepes on his wonder, keepes himselfe in clouds, And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death, Where in necessitie of matter Beggard, Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne In eare and eare. O my deere Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering Peece in many places, Giues me superfluous death. A Noise within. Enter a Messenger. Qu. Alacke, what noyse is this? King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the doore. What is the matter? Mes. Saue your selfe, my Lord. The Ocean (ouer-peering of his List) Eates not the Flats with more impittious haste Then young Laertes, in a Riotous head, Ore-beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord, And as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne, The Ratifiers and props of euery word, They cry choose we? Laertes shall be King, Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King Qu. How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry, Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges. Noise within. Enter Laertes. King. The doores are broke Laer. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without All. No, let's come in Laer. I pray you giue me leaue Al. We will, we will Laer. I thanke you: Keepe the doore. Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father