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A dystopian novel is a work of fiction that portrays a society characterized by suffering, oppression, and a totalitarian government. In this type of novel, the characters are often living in a world where their basic human rights have been taken away, and they are forced to conform to a strict set of rules and laws. The government usually has complete control over its citizens, and subversive behavior is often severely punished. Often, the society depicted in dystopian novels is struggling to survive, and the characters may be fighting against each other as well as against the government. Ultimately, these novels are cautionary tales, warning of the dangers of complacency and the importance of fighting for individual rights and freedoms. Examples of dystopian novels include George Orwell’s “1984,” Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale,” and Ray Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451.”

Dimensions 9000 cm

1 review for South Georgia diving petrel

  1. ArloRC (verified owner)

    ⟨ACT 1⟩
    ⟨Scene 1⟩
    Enter Barnardo and Francisco, two sentinels.

    BARNARDO Who’s there?
    FRANCISCO
    Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
    BARNARDO Long live the King!
    FRANCISCO Barnardo?
    BARNARDO He.
    FRANCISCO
    You come most carefully upon your hour.
    BARNARDO
    ’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.
    FRANCISCO
    For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold,
    And I am sick at heart.
    BARNARDO Have you had quiet guard?
    FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring.
    BARNARDO Well, good night.
    If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
    The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

    Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

    FRANCISCO
    I think I hear them.—Stand ho! Who is there?
    HORATIO Friends to this ground.
    p. 9
    MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane.
    FRANCISCO Give you good night.
    MARCELLUS
    O farewell, honest ⟨soldier.⟩ Who hath relieved
    you?
    FRANCISCO
    Barnardo hath my place. Give you good night.
    Francisco exits.
    MARCELLUS Holla, Barnardo.
    BARNARDO Say, what, is Horatio there?
    HORATIO A piece of him.
    BARNARDO
    Welcome, Horatio.—Welcome, good Marcellus.
    HORATIO
    What, has this thing appeared again tonight?
    BARNARDO I have seen nothing.
    MARCELLUS
    Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy
    And will not let belief take hold of him
    Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us.
    Therefore I have entreated him along
    With us to watch the minutes of this night,
    That, if again this apparition come,
    He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
    HORATIO
    Tush, tush, ’twill not appear.
    BARNARDO Sit down awhile,
    And let us once again assail your ears,
    That are so fortified against our story,
    What we have two nights seen.
    HORATIO Well, sit we down,
    And let us hear Barnardo speak of this.
    BARNARDO Last night of all,
    When yond same star that’s westward from the pole
    Had made his course t’ illume that part of heaven
    Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
    The bell then beating one—
    p. 11
    Enter Ghost.

    MARCELLUS
    Peace, break thee off! Look where it comes again.
    BARNARDO
    In the same figure like the King that’s dead.
    MARCELLUS, ⌜to Horatio⌝
    Thou art a scholar. Speak to it, Horatio.
    BARNARDO
    Looks he not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.
    HORATIO
    Most like. It ⟨harrows⟩ me with fear and wonder.
    BARNARDO
    It would be spoke to.
    MARCELLUS Speak to it, Horatio.
    HORATIO
    What art thou that usurp’st this time of night,
    Together with that fair and warlike form
    In which the majesty of buried Denmark
    Did sometimes march? By heaven, I charge thee,
    speak.
    MARCELLUS
    It is offended.
    BARNARDO See, it stalks away.
    HORATIO
    Stay! speak! speak! I charge thee, speak!
    Ghost exits.
    MARCELLUS ’Tis gone and will not answer.
    BARNARDO
    How now, Horatio, you tremble and look pale.
    Is not this something more than fantasy?
    What think you on ’t?
    HORATIO
    Before my God, I might not this believe
    Without the sensible and true avouch
    Of mine own eyes.
    p. 13
    MARCELLUS Is it not like the King?
    HORATIO As thou art to thyself.
    Such was the very armor he had on
    When he the ambitious Norway combated.
    So frowned he once when, in an angry parle,
    He smote the sledded ⌜Polacks⌝ on the ice.
    ’Tis strange.
    MARCELLUS
    Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
    With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
    HORATIO
    In what particular thought to work I know not,
    But in the gross and scope of mine opinion
    This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
    MARCELLUS
    Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
    Why this same strict and most observant watch
    So nightly toils the subject of the land,
    And ⟨why⟩ such daily ⟨cast⟩ of brazen cannon
    And foreign mart for implements of war,
    Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
    Does not divide the Sunday from the week.
    What might be toward that this sweaty haste
    Doth make the night joint laborer with the day?
    Who is ’t that can inform me?
    HORATIO That can I.
    At least the whisper goes so: our last king,
    Whose image even but now appeared to us,
    Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
    Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride,
    Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
    (For so this side of our known world esteemed him)
    Did slay this Fortinbras, who by a sealed compact,
    Well ratified by law and heraldry,
    Did forfeit, with his life, all ⟨those⟩ his lands
    Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror.
    p. 15
    Against the which a moiety competent
    Was gagèd by our king, which had ⟨returned⟩
    To the inheritance of Fortinbras
    Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart
    And carriage of the article ⌜designed,⌝
    His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
    Of unimprovèd mettle hot and full,
    Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
    Sharked up a list of lawless resolutes
    For food and diet to some enterprise
    That hath a stomach in ’t; which is no other
    (As it doth well appear unto our state)
    But to recover of us, by strong hand
    And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
    So by his father lost. And this, I take it,
    Is the main motive of our preparations,
    The source of this our watch, and the chief head
    Of this posthaste and rummage in the land.
    [BARNARDO
    I think it be no other but e’en so.
    Well may it sort that this portentous figure
    Comes armèd through our watch so like the king
    That was and is the question of these wars.
    HORATIO
    A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.
    In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
    A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
    The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
    Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
    As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
    Disasters in the sun; and the moist star,
    Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands,
    Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
    And even the like precurse of ⌜feared⌝ events,
    As harbingers preceding still the fates
    And prologue to the omen coming on,
    p. 17
    Have heaven and Earth together demonstrated
    Unto our climatures and countrymen.]

    Enter Ghost.

    But soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again!
    I’ll cross it though it blast me.—Stay, illusion!
    It spreads his arms.
    If thou hast any sound or use of voice,
    Speak to me.
    If there be any good thing to be done
    That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
    Speak to me.
    If thou art privy to thy country’s fate,
    Which happily foreknowing may avoid,
    O, speak!
    Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
    Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
    For which, they say, ⟨you⟩ spirits oft walk in death,
    Speak of it.The cock crows.
    Stay and speak!—Stop it, Marcellus.
    MARCELLUS
    Shall I strike it with my partisan?
    HORATIO Do, if it will not stand.
    BARNARDO ’Tis here.
    HORATIO ’Tis here.
    ⟨Ghost exits.⟩
    MARCELLUS ’Tis gone.
    We do it wrong, being so majestical,
    To offer it the show of violence,
    For it is as the air, invulnerable,
    And our vain blows malicious mockery.
    BARNARDO
    It was about to speak when the cock crew.
    HORATIO
    And then it started like a guilty thing
    Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
    p. 19
    The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
    Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
    Awake the god of day, and at his warning,
    Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
    Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hies
    To his confine, and of the truth herein
    This present object made probation.
    MARCELLUS
    It faded on the crowing of the cock.
    Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
    Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated,
    This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
    And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
    The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
    No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
    So hallowed and so gracious is that time.
    HORATIO
    So have I heard and do in part believe it.
    But look, the morn in russet mantle clad
    Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
    Break we our watch up, and by my advice
    Let us impart what we have seen tonight
    Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
    This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
    Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it
    As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
    MARCELLUS
    Let’s do ’t, I pray, and I this morning know
    Where we shall find him most convenient.
    They exit.

    p. 21
    ⟨Scene 2⟩
    Flourish. Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the
    Queen, ⌜the⌝ Council, as Polonius, and his son Laertes,
    Hamlet, with others, ⌜among them Voltemand and
    Cornelius.⌝

    KING
    Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death
    The memory be green, and that it us befitted
    To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
    To be contracted in one brow of woe,
    Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
    That we with wisest sorrow think on him
    Together with remembrance of ourselves.
    Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
    Th’ imperial jointress to this warlike state,
    Have we (as ’twere with a defeated joy,
    With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
    With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
    In equal scale weighing delight and dole)
    Taken to wife. Nor have we herein barred
    Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
    With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
    Now follows that you know. Young Fortinbras,
    Holding a weak supposal of our worth
    Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death
    Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
    Colleaguèd with this dream of his advantage,
    He hath not failed to pester us with message
    Importing the surrender of those lands
    Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,
    To our most valiant brother—so much for him.
    Now for ourself and for this time of meeting.
    Thus much the business is: we have here writ
    To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
    Who, impotent and bedrid, scarcely hears
    p. 23
    Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress
    His further gait herein, in that the levies,
    The lists, and full proportions are all made
    Out of his subject; and we here dispatch
    You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand,
    For bearers of this greeting to old Norway,
    Giving to you no further personal power
    To business with the King more than the scope
    Of these dilated articles allow.
    ⌜Giving them a paper.⌝
    Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
    CORNELIUS/VOLTEMAND
    In that and all things will we show our duty.
    KING
    We doubt it nothing. Heartily farewell.
    ⟨Voltemand and Cornelius exit.⟩
    And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you?
    You told us of some suit. What is ’t, Laertes?
    You cannot speak of reason to the Dane
    And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg,
    Laertes,
    That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
    The head is not more native to the heart,
    The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
    Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
    What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
    LAERTES My dread lord,
    Your leave and favor to return to France,
    From whence though willingly I came to Denmark
    To show my duty in your coronation,
    Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
    My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
    And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
    KING
    Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?
    p. 25
    POLONIUS
    Hath, my lord, [wrung from me my slow leave
    By laborsome petition, and at last
    Upon his will I sealed my hard consent.]
    I do beseech you give him leave to go.
    KING
    Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine,
    And thy best graces spend it at thy will.—
    But now, my cousin Hamlet and my son—
    HAMLET, ⌜aside⌝
    A little more than kin and less than kind.
    KING
    How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
    HAMLET
    Not so, my lord; I am too much in the sun.
    QUEEN
    Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off,
    And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
    Do not forever with thy vailèd lids
    Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
    Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,
    Passing through nature to eternity.
    HAMLET
    Ay, madam, it is common.
    QUEEN If it be,
    Why seems it so particular with thee?
    HAMLET
    “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”
    ’Tis not alone my inky cloak, ⟨good⟩ mother,
    Nor customary suits of solemn black,
    Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
    No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
    Nor the dejected havior of the visage,
    Together with all forms, moods, ⌜shapes⌝ of grief,
    That can ⟨denote⟩ me truly. These indeed “seem,”
    For they are actions that a man might play;
    p. 27
    But I have that within which passes show,
    These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
    KING
    ’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,
    Hamlet,
    To give these mourning duties to your father.
    But you must know your father lost a father,
    That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
    In filial obligation for some term
    To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever
    In obstinate condolement is a course
    Of impious stubbornness. ’Tis unmanly grief.
    It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
    A heart unfortified, ⟨a⟩ mind impatient,
    An understanding simple and unschooled.
    For what we know must be and is as common
    As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
    Why should we in our peevish opposition
    Take it to heart? Fie, ’tis a fault to heaven,
    A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
    To reason most absurd, whose common theme
    Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
    From the first corse till he that died today,
    “This must be so.” We pray you, throw to earth
    This unprevailing woe and think of us
    As of a father; for let the world take note,
    You are the most immediate to our throne,
    And with no less nobility of love
    Than that which dearest father bears his son
    Do I impart toward you. For your intent
    In going back to school in Wittenberg,
    It is most retrograde to our desire,
    And we beseech you, bend you to remain
    Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
    Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
    p. 29
    QUEEN
    Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.
    I pray thee, stay with us. Go not to Wittenberg.
    HAMLET
    I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
    KING
    Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply.
    Be as ourself in Denmark.—Madam, come.
    This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
    Sits smiling to my heart, in grace whereof
    No jocund health that Denmark drinks today
    But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
    And the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
    Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away.
    Flourish. All but Hamlet exit.
    HAMLET
    O, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,
    Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
    Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
    His canon ’gainst ⟨self-slaughter!⟩ O God, God,
    How ⟨weary,⟩ stale, flat, and unprofitable
    Seem to me all the uses of this world!
    Fie on ’t, ah fie! ’Tis an unweeded garden
    That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
    Possess it merely. That it should come ⟨to this:⟩
    But two months dead—nay, not so much, not two.
    So excellent a king, that was to this
    Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
    That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
    Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and Earth,
    Must I remember? Why, she ⟨would⟩ hang on him
    As if increase of appetite had grown
    By what it fed on. And yet, within a month
    (Let me not think on ’t; frailty, thy name is woman!),
    A little month, or ere those shoes were old
    With which she followed my poor father’s body,
    p. 31
    Like Niobe, all tears—why she, ⟨even she⟩
    (O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
    Would have mourned longer!), married with my
    uncle,
    My father’s brother, but no more like my father
    Than I to Hercules. Within a month,
    Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
    Had left the flushing in her gallèd eyes,
    She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
    With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
    It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
    But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

    Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Barnardo.

    HORATIO Hail to your Lordship.
    HAMLET I am glad to see you well.
    Horatio—or I do forget myself!
    HORATIO
    The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
    HAMLET
    Sir, my good friend. I’ll change that name with you.
    And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—
    Marcellus?
    MARCELLUS My good lord.
    HAMLET
    I am very glad to see you. ⌜To Barnardo.⌝ Good
    even, sir.—
    But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
    HORATIO
    A truant disposition, good my lord.
    HAMLET
    I would not hear your enemy say so,
    Nor shall you do my ear that violence
    To make it truster of your own report
    Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
    But what is your affair in Elsinore?
    We’ll teach you to drink ⟨deep⟩ ere you depart.
    p. 33
    HORATIO
    My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.
    HAMLET
    I prithee, do not mock me, fellow student.
    I think it was to ⟨see⟩ my mother’s wedding.
    HORATIO
    Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
    HAMLET
    Thrift, thrift, Horatio. The funeral baked meats
    Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
    Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
    Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
    My father—methinks I see my father.
    HORATIO
    Where, my lord?
    HAMLET In my mind’s eye, Horatio.
    HORATIO
    I saw him once. He was a goodly king.
    HAMLET
    He was a man. Take him for all in all,
    I shall not look upon his like again.
    HORATIO
    My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
    HAMLET Saw who?
    HORATIO
    My lord, the King your father.
    HAMLET The King my father?
    HORATIO
    Season your admiration for a while
    With an attent ear, till I may deliver
    Upon the witness of these gentlemen
    This marvel to you.
    HAMLET For God’s love, let me hear!
    HORATIO
    Two nights together had these gentlemen,
    Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch,
    p. 35
    In the dead waste and middle of the night,
    Been thus encountered: a figure like your father,
    Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,
    Appears before them and with solemn march
    Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walked
    By their oppressed and fear-surprisèd eyes
    Within his truncheon’s length, whilst they, distilled
    Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
    Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
    In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
    And I with them the third night kept the watch,
    ⌜Where, as⌝ they had delivered, both in time,
    Form of the thing (each word made true and good),
    The apparition comes. I knew your father;
    These hands are not more like.
    HAMLET But where was this?
    MARCELLUS
    My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
    HAMLET
    Did you not speak to it?
    HORATIO My lord, I did,
    But answer made it none. Yet once methought
    It lifted up its head and did address
    Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
    But even then the morning cock crew loud,
    And at the sound it shrunk in haste away
    And vanished from our sight.
    HAMLET ’Tis very strange.
    HORATIO
    As I do live, my honored lord, ’tis true.
    And we did think it writ down in our duty
    To let you know of it.
    HAMLET Indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
    Hold you the watch tonight?
    ALL We do, my lord.
    HAMLET
    Armed, say you?
    p. 37
    ALL Armed, my lord.
    HAMLET From top to toe?
    ALL My lord, from head to foot.
    HAMLET Then saw you not his face?
    HORATIO
    O, yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
    HAMLET What, looked he frowningly?
    HORATIO
    A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
    HAMLET Pale or red?
    HORATIO
    Nay, very pale.
    HAMLET And fixed his eyes upon you?
    HORATIO
    Most constantly.
    HAMLET I would I had been there.
    HORATIO It would have much amazed you.
    HAMLET Very like. Stayed it long?
    HORATIO
    While one with moderate haste might tell a
    hundred.
    BARNARDO/MARCELLUS Longer, longer.
    HORATIO
    Not when I saw ’t.
    HAMLET His beard was grizzled, no?
    HORATIO
    It was as I have seen it in his life,
    A sable silvered.
    HAMLET I will watch ⌜tonight.⌝
    Perchance ’twill walk again.
    HORATIO I warrant it will.
    HAMLET
    If it assume my noble father’s person,
    I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
    And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
    If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
    p. 39
    Let it be tenable in your silence still;
    And whatsomever else shall hap tonight,
    Give it an understanding but no tongue.
    I will requite your loves. So fare you well.
    Upon the platform, ’twixt eleven and twelve,
    I’ll visit you.
    ALL Our duty to your Honor.
    HAMLET
    Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
    ⌜All but Hamlet⌝ exit.
    My father’s spirit—in arms! All is not well.
    I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!
    Till then, sit still, my soul. ⟨Foul⟩ deeds will rise,
    Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s
    eyes.
    He exits.

    ⟨Scene 3⟩
    Enter Laertes and Ophelia, his sister.

    LAERTES
    My necessaries are embarked. Farewell.
    And, sister, as the winds give benefit
    And convey ⟨is⟩ assistant, do not sleep,
    But let me hear from you.
    OPHELIA Do you doubt that?
    LAERTES
    For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor,
    Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
    A violet in the youth of primy nature,
    Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
    The perfume and suppliance of a minute,
    No more.
    OPHELIA No more but so?
    LAERTES Think it no more.
    p. 41
    For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
    In thews and ⟨bulk,⟩ but, as this temple waxes,
    The inward service of the mind and soul
    Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
    And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
    The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
    His greatness weighed, his will is not his own,
    ⟨For he himself is subject to his birth.⟩
    He may not, as unvalued persons do,
    Carve for himself, for on his choice depends
    The safety and ⌜the⌝ health of this whole state.
    And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
    Unto the voice and yielding of that body
    Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves
    you,
    It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
    As he in his particular act and place
    May give his saying deed, which is no further
    Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
    Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain
    If with too credent ear you list his songs
    Or lose your heart or your chaste treasure open
    To his unmastered importunity.
    Fear it, Ophelia; fear it, my dear sister,
    And keep you in the rear of your affection,
    Out of the shot and danger of desire.
    The chariest maid is prodigal enough
    If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
    Virtue itself ’scapes not calumnious strokes.
    The canker galls the infants of the spring
    Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
    And, in the morn and liquid dew of youth,
    Contagious blastments are most imminent.
    Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear.
    Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
    OPHELIA
    I shall the effect of this good lesson keep
    p. 43
    As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
    Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
    Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
    Whiles, ⟨like⟩ a puffed and reckless libertine,
    Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
    And recks not his own rede.
    LAERTES O, fear me not.

    Enter Polonius.

    I stay too long. But here my father comes.
    A double blessing is a double grace.
    Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
    POLONIUS
    Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!
    The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
    And you are stayed for. There, my blessing with
    thee.
    And these few precepts in thy memory
    Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
    Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
    Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
    Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
    Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel,
    But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
    Of each new-hatched, unfledged courage. Beware
    Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in,
    Bear ’t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee.
    Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
    Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.
    Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
    But not expressed in fancy (rich, not gaudy),
    For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
    And they in France of the best rank and station
    ⟨Are⟩ of a most select and generous chief in that.
    Neither a borrower nor a lender ⟨be,⟩
    For ⟨loan⟩ oft loses both itself and friend,
    p. 45
    And borrowing ⟨dulls the⟩ edge of husbandry.
    This above all: to thine own self 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.
    LAERTES
    Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
    POLONIUS
    The time invests you. Go, your servants tend.
    LAERTES
    Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well
    What I have said to you.
    OPHELIA ’Tis in my memory locked,
    And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
    LAERTES Farewell.Laertes exits.
    POLONIUS
    What is ’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
    OPHELIA
    So please you, something touching the Lord
    Hamlet.
    POLONIUS Marry, well bethought.
    ’Tis told me he hath very oft of late
    Given private time to you, and you yourself
    Have of your audience been 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 do not understand yourself so clearly
    As it behooves my daughter and your honor.
    What is between you? Give me up the truth.
    OPHELIA
    He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
    Of his affection to me.
    POLONIUS
    Affection, puh! You speak like a green girl
    Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
    Do you believe his “tenders,” as you call them?
    p. 47
    OPHELIA
    I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
    POLONIUS
    Marry, I will teach you. Think yourself a baby
    That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay,
    Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly,
    Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
    ⌜Running⌝ it thus) you’ll tender me a fool.
    OPHELIA
    My lord, he hath importuned me with love
    In honorable fashion—
    POLONIUS
    Ay, “fashion” you may call it. Go to, go to!
    OPHELIA
    And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
    With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
    POLONIUS
    Ay, ⟨springes⟩ to catch woodcocks. I do know,
    When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
    Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,
    Giving more light than heat, extinct in both
    Even in their promise as it is a-making,
    You must not take for fire. From this time
    Be something scanter of your maiden presence.
    Set your entreatments at a higher rate
    Than a command to parle. For Lord Hamlet,
    Believe so much in him that he is young,
    And with a larger ⟨tether⟩ may he walk
    Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
    Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers,
    Not of that dye which their investments show,
    But mere ⟨implorators⟩ of unholy suits,
    Breathing like sanctified and pious ⌜bawds⌝
    The better to ⟨beguile.⟩ This is for all:
    I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
    Have you so slander any moment leisure
    p. 49
    As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
    Look to ’t, I charge you. Come your ways.
    OPHELIA I shall obey, my lord.
    They exit.

    ⌜Scene 4⌝
    Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

    HAMLET
    The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
    HORATIO
    It is ⟨a⟩ nipping and an eager air.
    HAMLET What hour now?
    HORATIO I think it lacks of twelve.
    MARCELLUS No, it is struck.
    HORATIO
    Indeed, I heard it not. It then draws near the season
    Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
    A flourish of trumpets and two pieces goes off.
    What does this mean, my lord?
    HAMLET
    The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
    Keeps wassail, and the swagg’ring upspring reels;
    And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
    The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out
    The triumph of his pledge.
    HORATIO Is it a custom?
    HAMLET Ay, marry, is ’t,
    But, to my mind, though I am native here
    And to the manner born, it is a custom
    More honored in the breach than the observance.
    [This heavy-headed ⌜revel⌝ east and west
    Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations.
    They clepe us drunkards and with swinish phrase
    Soil our addition. And, indeed, it takes
    p. 51
    From our achievements, though performed at
    height,
    The pith and marrow of our attribute.
    So oft it chances in particular men
    That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
    As in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,
    Since nature cannot choose his origin),
    By ⌜the⌝ o’ergrowth of some complexion
    (Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason),
    Or by some habit that too much o’erleavens
    The form of plausive manners—that these men,
    Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
    Being nature’s livery or fortune’s star,
    His virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
    As infinite as man may undergo,
    Shall in the general censure take corruption
    From that particular fault. The dram of ⌜evil⌝
    Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
    To his own scandal.]

    Enter Ghost.

    HORATIO Look, my lord, it comes.
    HAMLET
    Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!
    Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,
    Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from
    hell,
    Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
    Thou com’st in such a questionable shape
    That I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee “Hamlet,”
    “King,” “Father,” “Royal Dane.” O, answer me!
    Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell
    Why thy canonized bones, hearsèd in death,
    Have burst their cerements; why the sepulcher,
    Wherein we saw thee quietly interred,
    Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
    p. 53
    To cast thee up again. What may this mean
    That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
    Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,
    Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
    So horridly to shake our disposition
    With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
    Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?
    ⟨Ghost⟩ beckons.
    HORATIO
    It beckons you to go away with it
    As if it some impartment did desire
    To you alone.
    MARCELLUS Look with what courteous action
    It waves you to a more removèd ground.
    But do not go with it.
    HORATIO No, by no means.
    HAMLET
    It will not speak. Then I will follow it.
    HORATIO
    Do not, my lord.
    HAMLET Why, what should be the fear?
    I do not set my life at a pin’s fee.
    And for my soul, what can it do to that,
    Being a thing immortal as itself?
    It waves me forth again. I’ll follow it.
    HORATIO
    What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord?
    Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
    That beetles o’er his base into the sea,
    And there assume some other horrible form
    Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
    And draw you into madness? Think of it.
    [The very place puts toys of desperation,
    Without more motive, into every brain
    That looks so many fathoms to the sea
    And hears it roar beneath.]
    p. 55
    HAMLET
    It waves me still.—Go on, I’ll follow thee.
    MARCELLUS
    You shall not go, my lord.⌜They hold back Hamlet.⌝
    HAMLET Hold off your hands.
    HORATIO
    Be ruled. You shall not go.
    HAMLET My fate cries out
    And makes each petty arture in this body
    As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.
    Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen.
    By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me!
    I say, away!—Go on. I’ll follow thee.
    Ghost and Hamlet exit.
    HORATIO
    He waxes desperate with imagination.
    MARCELLUS
    Let’s follow. ’Tis not fit thus to obey him.
    HORATIO
    Have after. To what issue will this come?
    MARCELLUS
    Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
    HORATIO
    Heaven will direct it.
    MARCELLUS Nay, let’s follow him.
    They exit.

    ⌜Scene 5⌝
    Enter Ghost and Hamlet.

    HAMLET
    Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak. I’ll go no
    further.
    GHOST
    Mark me.
    p. 57
    HAMLET I will.
    GHOST My hour is almost come
    When I to sulf’rous and tormenting flames
    Must render up myself.
    HAMLET Alas, poor ghost!
    GHOST
    Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
    To what I shall unfold.
    HAMLET Speak. I am bound to hear.
    GHOST
    So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
    HAMLET What?
    GHOST I am thy father’s spirit,
    Doomed for a certain term to walk the night
    And for the day confined to fast in fires
    Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
    Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
    To tell the secrets of my prison house,
    I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
    Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
    Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
    spheres,
    Thy knotted and combinèd locks to part,
    And each particular hair to stand an end,
    Like quills upon the fearful porpentine.
    But this eternal blazon must not be
    To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!
    If thou didst ever thy dear father love—
    HAMLET O God!
    GHOST
    Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
    HAMLET Murder?
    GHOST
    Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
    But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
    HAMLET
    Haste me to know ’t, that I, with wings as swift
    p. 59
    As meditation or the thoughts of love,
    May sweep to my revenge.
    GHOST I find thee apt;
    And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
    That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
    Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.
    ’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
    A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
    Is by a forgèd process of my death
    Rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth,
    The serpent that did sting thy father’s life
    Now wears his crown.
    HAMLET O, my prophetic soul! My uncle!
    GHOST
    Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
    With witchcraft of his wits, with traitorous gifts—
    O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
    So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust
    The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.
    O Hamlet, what ⟨a⟩ falling off was there!
    From me, whose love was of that dignity
    That it went hand in hand even with the vow
    I made to her in marriage, and to decline
    Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
    To those of mine.
    But virtue, as it never will be moved,
    Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
    So, ⟨lust,⟩ though to a radiant angel linked,
    Will ⟨sate⟩ itself in a celestial bed
    And prey on garbage.
    But soft, methinks I scent the morning air.
    Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
    My custom always of the afternoon,
    Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
    With juice of cursèd hebona in a vial
    And in the porches of my ears did pour
    p. 61
    The leprous distilment, whose effect
    Holds such an enmity with blood of man
    That swift as quicksilver it courses through
    The natural gates and alleys of the body,
    And with a sudden vigor it doth ⟨posset⟩
    And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
    The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine,
    And a most instant tetter barked about,
    Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
    All my smooth body.
    Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand
    Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched,
    Cut off, even in the blossoms of my sin,
    Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled,
    No reck’ning made, but sent to my account
    With all my imperfections on my head.
    O horrible, O horrible, most horrible!
    If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.
    Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
    A couch for luxury and damnèd incest.
    But, howsomever thou pursues this act,
    Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
    Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven
    And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
    To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once.
    The glowworm shows the matin to be near
    And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
    Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me.⟨He exits.⟩
    HAMLET
    O all you host of heaven! O Earth! What else?
    And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, hold, my heart,
    And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
    But bear me ⟨stiffly⟩ up. Remember thee?
    Ay, thou poor ghost, whiles memory holds a seat
    In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
    Yea, from the table of my memory
    p. 63
    I’ll wipe away all trivial, fond records,
    All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
    That youth and observation copied there,
    And thy commandment all alone shall live
    Within the book and volume of my brain,
    Unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!
    O most pernicious woman!
    O villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!
    My tables—meet it is I set it down
    That one may smile and smile and be a villain.
    At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.
    ⌜He writes.⌝
    So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word.
    It is “adieu, adieu, remember me.”
    I have sworn ’t.

    Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

    HORATIO My lord, my lord!
    MARCELLUS Lord Hamlet.
    HORATIO Heavens secure him!
    HAMLET So be it.
    MARCELLUS Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
    HAMLET Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, ⟨bird,⟩ come!
    MARCELLUS
    How is ’t, my noble lord?
    HORATIO What news, my lord?
    HAMLET O, wonderful!
    HORATIO
    Good my lord, tell it.
    HAMLET No, you will reveal it.
    HORATIO
    Not I, my lord, by heaven.
    MARCELLUS Nor I, my lord.
    HAMLET
    How say you, then? Would heart of man once think
    it?
    But you’ll be secret?
    p. 65
    HORATIO/MARCELLUS Ay, by heaven, ⟨my lord.⟩
    HAMLET
    There’s never a villain dwelling in all Denmark
    But he’s an arrant knave.
    HORATIO
    There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
    To tell us this.
    HAMLET Why, right, you are in the right.
    And so, without more circumstance at all,
    I hold it fit that we shake hands and part,
    You, as your business and desire shall point you
    (For every man hath business and desire,
    Such as it is), and for my own poor part,
    I will go pray.
    HORATIO
    These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
    HAMLET
    I am sorry they offend you, heartily;
    Yes, faith, heartily.
    HORATIO There’s no offense, my lord.
    HAMLET
    Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
    And much offense, too. Touching this vision here,
    It is an honest ghost—that let me tell you.
    For your desire to know what is between us,
    O’ermaster ’t as you may. And now, good friends,
    As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
    Give me one poor request.
    HORATIO What is ’t, my lord? We will.
    HAMLET
    Never make known what you have seen tonight.
    HORATIO/MARCELLUS My lord, we will not.
    HAMLET Nay, but swear ’t.
    HORATIO In faith, my lord, not I.
    MARCELLUS Nor I, my lord, in faith.
    HAMLET
    Upon my sword.
    p. 67
    MARCELLUS We have sworn, my lord, already.
    HAMLET Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
    GHOST cries under the stage Swear.
    HAMLET
    Ha, ha, boy, sayst thou so? Art thou there,
    truepenny?
    Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage.
    Consent to swear.
    HORATIO Propose the oath, my lord.
    HAMLET
    Never to speak of this that you have seen,
    Swear by my sword.
    GHOST, ⌜beneath⌝ Swear.
    HAMLET
    Hic et ubique? Then we’ll shift our ground.
    Come hither, gentlemen,
    And lay your hands again upon my sword.
    Swear by my sword
    Never to speak of this that you have heard.
    GHOST, ⌜beneath⌝ Swear by his sword.
    HAMLET
    Well said, old mole. Canst work i’ th’ earth so fast?—
    A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.
    HORATIO
    O day and night, but this is wondrous strange.
    HAMLET
    And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
    There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
    Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come.
    Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
    How strange or odd some’er I bear myself
    (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
    To put an antic disposition on)
    That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
    With arms encumbered thus, or this headshake,
    Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
    p. 69
    As “Well, well, we know,” or “We could an if we
    would,”
    Or “If we list to speak,” or “There be an if they
    might,”
    Or such ambiguous giving-out, to note
    That you know aught of me—this do swear,
    So grace and mercy at your most need help you.
    GHOST, ⌜beneath⌝ Swear.
    HAMLET
    Rest, rest, perturbèd spirit.—So, gentlemen,
    With all my love I do commend me to you,
    And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
    May do t’ express his love and friending to you,
    God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together,
    And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
    The time is out of joint. O cursèd spite
    That ever I was born to set it right!
    Nay, come, let’s go together.
    They exit.

    p. 73
    ⟨ACT 2⟩
    ⌜Scene 1⌝
    Enter old Polonius with his man ⟨Reynaldo.⟩

    POLONIUS
    Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.
    REYNALDO I will, my lord.
    POLONIUS
    You shall do marvelous wisely, good Reynaldo,
    Before you visit him, to make inquire
    Of his behavior.
    REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it.
    POLONIUS
    Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,
    Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
    And how, and who, what means, and where they
    keep,
    What company, at what expense; and finding
    By this encompassment and drift of question
    That they do know my son, come you more nearer
    Than your particular demands will touch it.
    Take you, as ’twere, some distant knowledge of him,
    As thus: “I know his father and his friends
    And, in part, him.” Do you mark this, Reynaldo?
    REYNALDO Ay, very well, my lord.
    POLONIUS
    “And, in part, him, but,” you may say, “not well.
    p. 75
    But if ’t be he I mean, he’s very wild,
    Addicted so and so.” And there put on him
    What forgeries you please—marry, none so rank
    As may dishonor him, take heed of that,
    But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips
    As are companions noted and most known
    To youth and liberty.
    REYNALDO As gaming, my lord.
    POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,
    Quarreling, drabbing—you may go so far.
    REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonor him.
    POLONIUS
    Faith, ⟨no,⟩ as you may season it in the charge.
    You must not put another scandal on him
    That he is open to incontinency;
    That’s not my meaning. But breathe his faults so
    quaintly
    That they may seem the taints of liberty,
    The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
    A savageness in unreclaimèd blood,
    Of general assault.
    REYNALDO But, my good lord—
    POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this?
    REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that.
    POLONIUS Marry, sir, here’s my drift,
    And I believe it is a fetch of wit.
    You, laying these slight sullies on my son,
    As ’twere a thing a little soiled ⟨i’ th’⟩ working,
    Mark you, your party in converse, him you would
    sound,
    Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
    The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured
    He closes with you in this consequence:
    “Good sir,” or so, or “friend,” or “gentleman,”
    According to the phrase or the addition
    Of man and country—
    p. 77
    REYNALDO Very good, my lord.
    POLONIUS And then, sir, does he this, he does—what
    was I about to say? By the Mass, I was about to say
    something. Where did I leave?
    REYNALDO At “closes in the consequence,” ⟨at “friend,
    or so,” and “gentleman.”⟩
    POLONIUS
    At “closes in the consequence”—ay, marry—
    He closes thus: “I know the gentleman.
    I saw him yesterday,” or “th’ other day”
    (Or then, or then, with such or such), “and as you
    say,
    There was he gaming, there ⟨o’ertook⟩ in ’s rouse,
    There falling out at tennis”; or perchance
    “I saw him enter such a house of sale”—
    Videlicet, a brothel—or so forth. See you now
    Your bait of falsehood take this carp of truth;
    And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
    With windlasses and with assays of bias,
    By indirections find directions out.
    So by my former lecture and advice
    Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?
    REYNALDO
    My lord, I have.
    POLONIUS God be wi’ you. Fare you well.
    REYNALDO Good my lord.
    POLONIUS
    Observe his inclination in yourself.
    REYNALDO I shall, my lord.
    POLONIUS And let him ply his music.
    REYNALDO Well, my lord.
    POLONIUS
    Farewell.Reynaldo exits.

    Enter Ophelia.

    How now, Ophelia, what’s the matter?
    p. 79
    OPHELIA
    O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
    POLONIUS With what, i’ th’ name of God?
    OPHELIA
    My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
    Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced,
    No hat upon his head, his stockings fouled,
    Ungartered, and down-gyvèd to his ankle,
    Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
    And with a look so piteous in purport
    As if he had been loosèd out of hell
    To speak of horrors—he comes before me.
    POLONIUS
    Mad for thy love?
    OPHELIA My lord, I do not know,
    But truly I do fear it.
    POLONIUS What said he?
    OPHELIA
    He took me by the wrist and held me hard.
    Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
    And, with his other hand thus o’er his brow,
    He falls to such perusal of my face
    As he would draw it. Long stayed he so.
    At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
    And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
    He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
    As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
    And end his being. That done, he lets me go,
    And, with his head over his shoulder turned,
    He seemed to find his way without his eyes,
    For out o’ doors he went without their helps
    And to the last bended their light on me.
    POLONIUS
    Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.
    This is the very ecstasy of love,
    Whose violent property fordoes itself
    p. 81
    And leads the will to desperate undertakings
    As oft as any passions under heaven
    That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
    What, have you given him any hard words of late?
    OPHELIA
    No, my good lord, but as you did command
    I did repel his letters and denied
    His access to me.
    POLONIUS That hath made him mad.
    I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
    I had not coted him. I feared he did but trifle
    And meant to wrack thee. But beshrew my jealousy!
    By heaven, it is as proper to our age
    To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
    As it is common for the younger sort
    To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.
    This must be known, which, being kept close, might
    move
    More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
    Come.
    They exit.

    ⟨Scene 2⟩
    Flourish. Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and
    Guildenstern ⌜and Attendants.⌝

    KING
    Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
    Moreover that we much did long to see you,
    The need we have to use you did provoke
    Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
    Of Hamlet’s transformation, so call it,
    Sith nor th’ exterior nor the inward man
    Resembles that it was. What it should be,
    More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him
    p. 83
    So much from th’ understanding of himself
    I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
    That, being of so young days brought up with him
    And sith so neighbored to his youth and havior,
    That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
    Some little time, so by your companies
    To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather
    So much as from occasion you may glean,
    [Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus]
    That, opened, lies within our remedy.
    QUEEN
    Good gentlemen, he hath much talked of you,
    And sure I am two men there is not living
    To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
    To show us so much gentry and goodwill
    As to expend your time with us awhile
    For the supply and profit of our hope,
    Your visitation shall receive such thanks
    As fits a king’s remembrance.
    ROSENCRANTZ Both your Majesties
    Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
    Put your dread pleasures more into command
    Than to entreaty.
    GUILDENSTERN But we both obey,
    And here give up ourselves in the full bent
    To lay our service freely at your feet,
    To be commanded.
    KING
    Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
    QUEEN
    Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.
    And I beseech you instantly to visit
    My too much changèd son.—Go, some of you,
    And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
    GUILDENSTERN
    Heavens make our presence and our practices
    Pleasant and helpful to him!
    p. 85
    QUEEN Ay, amen!
    Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit
    ⌜with some Attendants.⌝

    Enter Polonius.

    POLONIUS
    Th’ ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
    Are joyfully returned.
    KING
    Thou still hast been the father of good news.
    POLONIUS
    Have I, my lord? I assure my good liege
    I hold my duty as I hold my soul,
    Both to my God and to my gracious king,
    And I do think, or else this brain of mine
    Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
    As it hath used to do, that I have found
    The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.
    KING
    O, speak of that! That do I long to hear.
    POLONIUS
    Give first admittance to th’ ambassadors.
    My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
    KING
    Thyself do grace to them and bring them in.
    ⌜Polonius exits.⌝
    He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
    The head and source of all your son’s distemper.
    QUEEN
    I doubt it is no other but the main—
    His father’s death and our ⟨o’erhasty⟩ marriage.
    KING
    Well, we shall sift him.

    Enter Ambassadors ⟨Voltemand and Cornelius ⌜with⌝
    Polonius.⟩

    p. 87
    Welcome, my good friends.
    Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?
    VOLTEMAND
    Most fair return of greetings and desires.
    Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
    His nephew’s levies, which to him appeared
    To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack,
    But, better looked into, he truly found
    It was against your Highness. Whereat, grieved
    That so his sickness, age, and impotence
    Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
    On Fortinbras, which he, in brief, obeys,
    Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine,
    Makes vow before his uncle never more
    To give th’ assay of arms against your Majesty.
    Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
    Gives him three-score thousand crowns in annual
    fee
    And his commission to employ those soldiers,
    So levied as before, against the Polack,
    With an entreaty, herein further sho

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