Hamlet

Ophe. I shall th' effect of this good Lesson keepe, As watchmen to my heart: but good my Brother Doe not as some vngracious Pastors doe, Shew me the steepe and thorny way to Heauen; Whilst like a puft and recklesse Libertine Himselfe, the Primrose path of dalliance treads, And reaks not his owne reade Laer. Oh, feare me not. Enter Polonius. I stay too long; but here my Father comes: A double blessing is a double grace; Occasion smiles vpon a second leaue Polon. Yet heere Laertes? Aboord, aboord for shame, The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, And you are staid for there: my blessing with you; And these few Precepts in thy memory, See thou Character. Giue thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any vnproportion'd thoughts his Act: Be thou familiar; but by no meanes vulgar: The friends thou hast, and their adoption tride, Grapple them to thy Soule, with hoopes of Steele: But doe not dull thy palme, with entertainment Of each vnhatch't, vnfledg'd Comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrell: but being in Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee. Giue euery man thine eare; but few thy voyce: Take each mans censure; but reserue thy iudgement: Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy; But not exprest in fancie; rich, not gawdie: For the Apparell oft proclaimes the man. And they in France of the best ranck and station, Are of a most select and generous cheff in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For lone oft loses both it selfe and friend: And borrowing duls the edge of Husbandry. This aboue all; to thine owne selfe be true: And it must follow, as the Night the Day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell: my Blessing season this in thee Laer. Most humbly doe I take my leaue, my Lord Polon. The time inuites you, goe, your seruants tend Laer. Farewell Ophelia, and remember well What I haue said to you Ophe. Tis in my memory lockt, And you your selfe shall keepe the key of it Laer. Farewell. Exit Laer. Polon. What ist Ophelia he hath said to you? Ophe. So please you, somthing touching the L[ord]. Hamlet Polon. Marry, well bethought: Tis told me he hath very oft of late Giuen priuate time to you; and you your selfe Haue of your audience beene most free and bounteous. If it be so, as so tis put on me; And that in way of caution: I must tell you, You doe not vnderstand your selfe so cleerely, As it behoues my Daughter, and your Honour. What is betweene you, giue me vp the truth? Ophe. He hath my Lord of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me Polon. Affection, puh. You speake like a greene Girle, Vnsifted in such perillous Circumstance. Doe you beleeue his tenders, as you call them? Ophe. I do not know, my Lord, what I should thinke Polon. Marry Ile teach you; thinke your selfe a Baby, That you haue tane his tenders for true pay, Which are not starling. Tender your selfe more dearly; Or not to crack the winde of the poore Phrase, Roaming it thus, you'l tender me a foole Ophe. My Lord, he hath importun'd me with loue, In honourable fashion Polon. I, fashion you may call it, go too, go too Ophe. And hath giuen countenance to his speech, My Lord, with all the vowes of Heauen Polon. I, Springes to catch Woodcocks. I doe know When the Bloud burnes, how Prodigall the Soule Giues the tongue vowes: these blazes, Daughter, Giuing more light then heate; extinct in both, Euen in their promise, as it is a making; You must not take for fire. For this time Daughter, Be somewhat scanter of your Maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Then a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, Beleeue so much in him, that he is young, And with a larger tether may he walke, Then may be giuen you. In few, Ophelia, Doe not beleeue his vowes; for they are Broakers, Not of the eye, which their Inuestments show: But meere implorators of vnholy Sutes, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for all: I would not, in plaine tearmes, from this time forth, Haue you so slander any moment leisure, As to giue words or talke with the Lord Hamlet: Looke too't, I charge you; come your wayes Ophe. I shall obey my Lord. Exeunt. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, Marcellus. Ham. The Ayre bites shrewdly: is it very cold? Hor. It is a nipping and an eager ayre Ham. What hower now? Hor. I thinke it lacks of twelue Mar. No, it is strooke Hor. Indeed I heard it not: then it drawes neere the season, Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walke. What does this meane my Lord? Ham. The King doth wake to night, and takes his rouse, Keepes wassels and the swaggering vpspring reeles, And as he dreines his draughts of Renish downe, The kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge Horat. Is it a custome? Ham. I marry ist; And to my mind, though I am natiue heere, And to the manner borne: It is a Custome More honour'd in the breach, then the obseruance. Enter Ghost. Hor. Looke my Lord, it comes Ham. Angels and Ministers of Grace defend vs: Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from Heauen, or blasts from Hell, Be thy euents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speake to thee. Ile call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royall Dane: Oh, oh, answer me, Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell Why thy Canoniz'd bones Hearsed in death, Haue burst their cerments, why the Sepulcher Wherein we saw thee quietly enurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and Marble iawes, To cast thee vp againe? What may this meane? That thou dead Coarse againe in compleat steele, Reuisits thus the glimpses of the Moone, Making Night hidious? And we fooles of Nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our Soules, Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we doe? Ghost beckens Hamlet. Hor. It beckons you to goe away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone Mar. Looke with what courteous action It wafts you to a more remoued ground: But doe not goe with it Hor. No, by no meanes Ham. It will not speake: then will I follow it Hor. Doe not my Lord Ham. Why, what should be the feare? I doe not set my life at a pins fee; And for my Soule, what can it doe to that? Being a thing immortall as it selfe: It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it Hor. What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord? Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe, That beetles o're his base into the Sea, And there assumes some other horrible forme, Which might depriue your Soueraignty of Reason, And draw you into madnesse thinke of it? Ham. It wafts me still: goe on, Ile follow thee Mar. You shall not goe my Lord Ham. Hold off your hand Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not goe Ham. My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue: Still am I cal'd? Vnhand me Gentlemen: By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, goe on, Ile follow thee.