And gave you such a masterly report, That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, Laer. A face without a heart? Why ask you this? lord? [ther; King. Not that I think, you did not love your fa- A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; Dies in his own too-much: That we would do, To cut his throat i'the church. Laer. I will do't: And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. I bought an unction of a mountebank, So mortal, that but dip a knife in it, Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare, Collected from all simples that have virtue Under the moon, can save the thing from death, That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly, It may be death. King. When in your motion you are hot and dry, Enter QUEEN. How now, sweet queen Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow :-Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where? Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shews his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, Or like a creature native and indu'd Unto that element: but long it could not be, Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd? Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, [Exit. King. How much I had to do to calm his rage! Let's follow, Gertrude; Now fear I, this will give it start again; Therefore, let's follow. ACT V. SCENE I.-A Church-Yard. Enter Two Clowns, with spades, &c. [Exeunt. 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath set on her, and finds it christian burial. 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence? 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law. 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of christian burial. 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the more pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers; they hold up Adam's profession. 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 2 Clo. Why, he had none. [Throws up a scull, Ham. There's another: Why may not that be the 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou un-scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his derstand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam digged; Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself 2 Clo. Go to. 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gal lows does well: But how does it well? it does well to those that do ill now thou dost ill, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again; come. 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 1 Clo. To't. quillits, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more? ha! Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? Hor. Aye, my lord, and of calves-skins too. Ham They are sheep, and calves, which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow: Whose grave's this, sirrah? 1 Clo. Mine, sir. O, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest meet. [Sings Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't. 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest. 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again. from me to you. Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 1 Clo. For no man, sir. Ham. What woman then? 1 Clo. For none neither. Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 1 Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest he soul, she's dead. by the card, or equivocation will undo us. Ham. How absolute the knave is! we must speak By the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, be gall his kibe.-How long hast thou been a grave maker? 1 Clo. Of all the days i'the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. Ham. How long's that since? 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was born: he that is mad, and sent into England. Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England! 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall re cover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great Ham. Why? Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say, Good-matter there. morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord? This might be my lord Such-a-one, that praised my lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not? Hor. Ay, my lord. Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my lady Worm's; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had the 1 Clo. Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. Ham. How came he mad? 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. Ham. How strangely? 1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. Ham. Upon what ground? 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sexton here, man, and boy, thirty years. Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot? 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last you nine year. Ham. Why he more than another? 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a scull now hath lain you i' the earth three-and-twenty years. Ham. Whose was it? The should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Laer. Must there no more be done? No more be done! Lay her i' the earth;And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest, 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, do you think it was? When thou liest howling. Ham. Ham. Nay, I know not. This 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. [Takes the scull. Ham. This? 1 Clo. E'en that. Ham. Alas, poor Yorick!-I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your fashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.-Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? What, the fair Ophelia ! Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell : Laer. [Scattering flowers. Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this Hamlet the Dane. fashion i' the earth? Laer. Hor. E'en so. Ham. And smelt so? pah! [Throws down the scull. Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Hor.'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow? A very noble youth: Mark. Laer. What ceremony else? That is Laertes, 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd As we have warranty Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, Ham. Thou pray'st not well. I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; All. Gentlemen,- Hamlet, Hamlet! Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers Queen. For love of God, forbear him. |