The characters are identified by IDREF pointing to information in
the following declarations.
Character descriptions: Shakespeare, William, The Oxford Shakespeare Hamlet, ed.by G.R. Hibbard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998),
And then Sir does he this?
He does: what was I about to say?
I was about to say somthing: where did I leaue?
To the Celestiall, and my Soules Idoll, the most beautifed Ophelia.
That's an ill Phrase, a vilde Phrase, beautified is a vilde
Phrase: but you shall heare these in her excellent white
bosome, these.
O deere Ophelia, I am ill at these Numbers: I haue not Art to
reckon my grones; but that I loue thee best, oh most Best beleeue it. Adieu.
Thine euermore most deere Lady, whilst this
Machine is to him, Hamlet.
Excellent, excellent well: y'are a Fishmonger.
Not I my Lord.
Then I would you were so honest a man.
Honest, my Lord?
I sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to bee
one man pick'd out of two thousand.
That's very true, my Lord.
For if the Sun breed Magots in a dead dogge,
being a good kissing Carrion-----
Haue you a daughter?
I haue my Lord.
Let her not walke i'th'Sunne: Conception is a
blessing, but not as your daughter may conceiue. Friend
looke too't.
How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a Fishmonger: he is farre gone, farre gone: and truly in my youth,
I suffred much extreamity for loue: very neere this. Ile
speake to him againe. What do you read my Lord?
Words, words, words.
What is the matter, my Lord?
Betweene who?
I meane the matter you meane, my Lord.
Slanders Sir: for the Satyricall slaue saies here,
that old men haue gray Beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thicke Amber, or Plum-Tree
Gumme: and that they haue a plentifull locke of Wit,
together with weake Hammes. All which Sir, though I
most powerfully, and potently beleeue; yet I holde it
not Honestie to haue it thus set downe: For you your
selfe Sir, should be old as I am, if like a Crab you could
go backward.
Though this be madnesse,
Yet there is Method in't: will you walke
Out of the ayre my Lord?
Into my Graue?
Indeed that is out o'th' Ayre:
How pregnant (sometimes) his Replies are?
A happinesse,
That often Madnesse hits on,
Which Reason and Sanitie could not
So prosperously be deliuer'd of.
I will leaue him,
And sodainely contriue the meanes of meeting
Betweene him, and my daughter.
My Honourable Lord, I will most humbly
Take my leaue of you.
You cannot Sir take from me any thing, that I
will more willingly part withall, except my life, my
life.
Fare you well my Lord.
These tedious old fooles.
You goe to seeke my Lord Hamlet; there
hee is.
God saue you Sir.
Mine honour'd Lord?
My most deare Lord?
My excellent good friends? How do'st thou
Guildensterne? Oh, Rosincrane; good Lads: How doe ye
both?
Nor the Soales of her Shoo?
Neither my Lord.
Then you liue about her waste, or in the middle of her fauour?
Faith, her priuates, we.
In the secret parts of Fortune? Oh, most true:
she is a Strumpet. What's the newes?
None my Lord; but that the World's growne
honest.
Then is Doomesday neere: But your newes is
not true. Let me question more in particular: what haue
you my good friends, deserued at the hands of Fortune,
that she sends you to Prison hither?
Prison, my Lord?
Denmark's a Prison.
Then is the World one.
A goodly one, in which there are many Confines, Wards, and Dungeons; Denmarke being one o'th'
worst.
We thinke not so my Lord.
Why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing
either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is
a prison.
Why then your Ambition makes it one: 'tis
too narrow for your minde.
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and
count my selfe a King of infinite space; were it not that
I haue bad dreames.
Which dreames indeed are Ambition: for the
very substance of the Ambitious, is meerely the shadow
of a Dreame.
A dreame it selfe is but a shadow.
Truely, and I hold Ambition of so ayry and
light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow.
Then are our Beggers bodies; and our Monarchs and out-stretcht Heroes the Beggers Shadowes:
shall wee to th' Court: for, by my fey I cannot reason?
Wee'l wait vpon you.
No such matter. I will not sort you with the
rest of my seruants: for to speake to you like an honest
man: I am most dreadfully attended; but in the beaten
way of friendship, What make you at Elsonower?
To visit you my Lord, no other occasion.
Begger that I am, I am euen poore in thankes;
but I thanke you: and sure deare friends my thanks
are too deare a halfepeny; were you not sent for? Is it
your owne inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come,
deale iustly with me: come, come; nay speake.
What should we say my Lord?
Why any thing. But to the purpose; you were
sent for; and there is a kinde confession in your lookes;
which your modesties haue not craft enough to color, I know the good King & Queene haue sent for you.
To what end my Lord?
That you must teach me: but let mee coniure
you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of
our youth, by the Obligation of our euer-preserued loue,
and by what more deare, a better proposer could charge
you withall; be euen and direct with me, whether you
were sent for or no.
What say you?
Nay then I haue an eye of you: if you loue me
hold not off.
My Lord, we were sent for.
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation
preuent your discouery of your secricie to the King and
Queene: moult no feather, I haue of late, but wherefore
I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercise; and indeed, it goes so heauenly with my disposition; that this goodly frame the Earth, seemes to me a sterrill Promontory; this most excellent Canopy the Ayre,
look you, this braue ore-hanging, this Maiesticall Roofe,
fretted with golden fire: why, it appeares no other thing
to mee, then a foule and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of worke is a man! how Noble in
Reason? how infinite in faculty? in forme and mouing
how expresse and admirable? in Action, how like an Angel? in apprehension, how like a God? the beauty of the
world, the Parragon of Animals; and yet to me, what is
this Quintessence of Dust? Man delights not me; no,
nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seeme
to say so.
My Lord, there was no such stuffe in my
thoughts.
Why did you laugh, when I said, Man delights
not me?
To thinke, my Lord, if you delight not in Man,
what Lenton entertainment the Players shall receiue
from you: wee coated them on the way, and hither are
they comming to offer you Seruice.
He that playes the King shall be welcome; his
Maiesty shall haue Tribute of mee: the aduenturous
Knight shal vse his Foyle and Target: the Louer shall
not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in
peace: the Clowne shall make those laugh whose lungs
are tickled a'th' sere: and the Lady shall say her minde
freely; or the blanke Verse shall halt for't: what Players
are they?
Euen those you were wont to take delight in
the Tragedians of the City.
How chances it they trauaile? their residence both in reputation and profit was better both
wayes.
I thinke their Inhibition comes by the meanes
of the late Innouation?
Doe they hold the same estimation they did
when I was in the City? Are they so follow'd?
No indeed, they are not.
How comes it? doe they grow rusty?
Nay, their indeauour keepes in the wonted
pace; But there is Sir an ayrie of Children, little
Yases, that crye out on the top of question; and
are most tyrannically clap't for't: these are now the
fashion, and so be-ratled the common Stages (so they
call them) that many wearing Rapiers, are affraide of
Goose-quils, and dare scarse come thither.
What are they Children? Who maintains 'em?
How are they escoted? Will they pursue the Quality no
longer then they can sing? Will they not say afterwards
if they should grow themselues to common Players (as
it is like most if their meanes are not better) their Writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their
owne Succession.
Faith there ha's bene much to do on both sides:
and the Nation holds it no sinne, to tarre them to Controuersie. There was for a while, no mony bid for argument, vnlesse the Poet and the Player went to Cuffes in
the Question.
Is't possible?
Oh there ha's beene much throwing about of
Braines.
Do the Boyes carry it away?
I that they do my Lord. Hercules & his load too.
It is not strange: for mine Vnckle is King of
Denmarke, and those that would make mowes at him
while my Father liued; giue twenty, forty, an hundred
Ducates a peece, for his picture in Little. There is something in this more then Naturall, if Philosophie could
finde it out.
There are the Players.
Gentlemen, you are welcom to Elsonower: your
hands, come: The appurtenance of Welcome, is Fashion
and Ceremony. Let me comply with you in the Garbe,
lest my extent to the Players (which I tell you must shew
fairely outward) should more appeare like entertainment
then yours. You are welcome: but my Vnckle Father,
and Aunt Mother are deceiu'd.
In what my deere Lord?
I am but mad North, North-West: when the
Winde is Southerly, I know a Hawke from a Handsaw.
Well be with you Gentlemen.
Hearke you Guildensterne, and you too: at each
eare a hearer: that great Baby you see there, is not yet
out of his swathing clouts.
Happily he's the second time come to them: for
they say, an old man is twice a childe.
I will Prophesie. Hee comes to tell me of the
Players. Mark it, you say right Sir: for a Monday morning 'twas so indeed.
My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you.
My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you.
When Rossius an Actor in Rome---
The Actors are come hither my Lord.
Buzze, buzze.
Vpon mine Honor.
Then can each Actor on his Asse---
The best Actors in the world, either for Tragedie, Comedie, Historie, Pastorall: Pastoricall-Comicall Historicall-Pastorall: Tragicall-Historicall: Tragicall Comicall-Historicall-Pastorall: Scene indiuidible: or Poem vnlimited. Seneca cannot be too heauy, nor Plautus
too light, for the law of Writ, and the Liberty. These are
the onely men.
O Iephta Iudge of Israel, what a Treasure had'st
thou?
What a Treasure had he, my Lord?
Why one faire Daughter, and no more,
The which he loued passing well.
Still on my Daughter.
Am I not i'th'right old Iephta?
If you call me Iephta my Lord, I haue a daughter that I loue passing well.
Nay that followes not.
What followes then, my Lord?
Why, As by lot, God wot: and then you know, It
came to passe, as most like it was: The first rowe of the
Pons Chanson will shew you more. For looke where my
Abridgements come.
Y'are welcome Masters, welcome all. I am glad to see
thee well: Welcome good Friends. O my olde Friend?
Thy face is valiant since I saw thee last: Com'st thou to
beard me in Denmarke? What, my yong Lady and Mistris? Byrlady your Ladiship is neerer Heauen then when
I saw you last, by the altitude of a Choppine. Pray God
your voice like a peece of vncurrant Gold be not crack'd
within the ring. Masters, you are all welcome: wee'l e'ne
to't like French Faulconers, flie at any thing we see: wee'l
haue a Speech straight. Come giue vs a tast of your quality: come, a passionate speech.
Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.
It shall to'th Barbars, with your beard. Prythee say on: He's for a Iigge, or a tale of Baudry, or hee
sleepes. Say on; come to Hecuba.
The inobled Queene?
That's good: Inobled Queene is good.
Looke where he ha's not turn'd his colour, and
ha's teares in's eyes. Pray you no more.
'Tis well, Ile haue thee speake out the rest,
soone. Good my Lord, will you see the Players wel bestow'd. Do ye heare, let them be well vs'd: for they are
the Abstracts and breefe Chronicles of the time. After
your death, you were better haue a bad Epitaph, then
their ill report while you liued.
My Lord, I will vse them according to their desart.
Gods bodykins man, better. Vse euerie man
after his desart, and who should scape whipping: vse
them after your own Honor and Dignity. The lesse they
deserue, the more merit is in your bountie. Take them
in.
Come sirs.
Follow him Friends: wee'l heare a play to morrow. Dost thou heare me old Friend, can you play the
murther of Gonzago?
I my Lord.
Wee'l ha't to morrow night. You could for a
need study a speech of some dosen or sixteene lines, which
I would set downe, and insert in't? Could ye not?
I my Lord.
Very well. Follow that Lord, and looke you
mock him not. My good Friends, Ile leaue you til night
you are welcome to Elsonower?
Good my Lord.
Ha, ha: Are you honest?
Are you faire?
That if you be honest and faire, your Honesty
should admit no discourse to your Beautie.
Could Beautie my Lord, haue better Comerce
then your Honestie?
I trulie: for the power of Beautie, will sooner
transforme Honestie from what it is, to a Bawd, then the
force of Honestie can translate Beautie into his likenesse.
This was sometime a Paradox, but now the time giues it
proofe. I did loue you once.
Indeed my Lord, you made me beleeue so.
You should not haue beleeued me. For vertue
cannot so innocculate our old stocke, but we shall rellish
of it. I loued you not.
Get thee to a Nunnerie. Why would'st thou
be a breeder of Sinners? I am my selfe indifferent honest,
but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my Mother had not borne me. I am very prowd, reuengefull, Ambitious, with more offences at my becke,
then I haue thoughts to put them in imagination, to giue
them shape, or time to acte them in. What should such
Fellowes as I do, crawling betweene Heauen and Earth.
We are arrant Knaues all, beleeue none of vs. Goe thy
wayes to a Nunnery. Where's your Father?
Let the doores be shut vpon him, that he may
play the Foole no way, but in's owne house. Farewell.
If thou doest Marry, Ile giue thee this Plague
for thy Dowrie. Be thou as chast as Ice, as pure as Snow,
thou shalt not escape Calumny. Get thee to a Nunnery.
Go, Farewell. Or if thou wilt needs Marry, marry a fool:
for Wise men know well enough, what monsters you
make of them. To a Nunnery go, and quickly too. Farwell.
I haue heard of your pratlings too wel enough.
God has giuen you one pace, and you make your selfe another: you gidge, you amble, and you lispe, and nickname
Gods creatures, and make your Wantonnesse, your Ignorance. Go too, Ile no more on't, it hath made me mad.
I say, we will haue no more Marriages. Those that are
married already, all but one shall liue, the rest shall keep
as they are. To a Nunnery, go.
Speake the Speech I pray you, as I pronounc'd
it to you trippingly on the Tongue: But if you mouth it,
as many of your Players do, I had as liue the Town-Cryer
had spoke my Lines: Nor do not saw the Ayre too much
your hand thus, but vse all gently; for in the verie Torrent, Tempest, and (as I may say) the Whirle-winde of
Passion, you must acquire and beget a Temperance that
may giue it Smoothnesse. O it offends mee to the Soule,
to see a robustious Pery-wig-pated Fellow, teare a Passion to tatters, to verie ragges, to split the eares of the
Groundlings: who (for the most part) are capeable of
nothing, but inexplicable dumbe shewes, & noise: I could
haue such a Fellow whipt for o're-doing Termagant: it
out- Herod's Herod. Pray you auoid it.
I warrant your Honor.
Be not too tame neyther: but let your owne
Discretion be your Tutor. Sute the Action to the Word,
the Word to the Action, with this speciall obseruance:
That you ore-stop not the modestie of Nature; for any
thing so ouer-done, is from the purpose of Playing, whose
end both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twer
the Mirrour vp to Nature; to shew Vertue her owne
Feature, Scorne her owne Image, and the verie Age and
Bodie of the Time, his forme and pressure. Now, this
ouer-done, or come tardie off, though it make the vnskilfull laugh, cannot but make the Iudicious greeue; The
censure of the which One, must in your allowance o'reway a whole Theater of Others. Oh, there bee Players
that I haue seene Play, and heard others praise, and that
highly (not to speake it prophanely) that neyther hauing
the accent of Christians, nor the gate of Christian, Pagan,
or Norman, haue so strutted and bellowed, that I haue
thought some of Natures Iouerney-men had made men,
and not made them well, they imitated Humanity so abhominably.
I hope we haue reform'd that indifferently with
vs, Sir.
O reforme it altogether. And let those that
play your Clownes, speake no more then is set downe for
them. For there be of them, that will themselues laugh,
to set on some quantitie of barren Spectators to laugh
too, though in the meane time, some necessary Question
of the Play be then to be considered: that's Villanous, &
shewes a most pittifull Ambition in the Foole that vses
it. Go make you readie.
How now my Lord,
Will the King heare this peece of Worke?
And the Queene too, and that presently.
Bid the Players make hast.
Will you two helpe to hasten them?
We will my Lord.
Excellent Ifaith, of the Camelions dish: I eate
the Ayre promise-cramm'd, you cannot feed Capons so.
I haue nothing with this answer Hamlet, these
words are not mine.
No, nor mine. Now my Lord, you plaid once
i'th'Vniuersity, you say?
That I did my Lord, and was accounted a good
Actor.
And what did you enact?
I did enact Iulius Cæsar, I was kill'd i'th'Capitol:
Brutus kill'd me.
It was a bruite part of him, to kill so Capitall a
Calfe there. Be the Players ready?
I my Lord, they stay vpon your patience.
No good Mother, here's Mettle more attractiue.
Oh ho, do you marke that?
Ladie, shall I lye in your Lap?
No my Lord.
I meane, my Head vpon your Lap?
I my Lord.
Do you thinke I meant Country matters?
I thinke nothing, my Lord.
That's a faire thought to ly between Maids legs
What is my Lord?
Nothing.
You are merrie, my Lord?
Who I?
I my Lord.
Oh God, your onely Iigge-maker: what should
a man do, but be merrie. For looke you how cheerefully my Mother lookes, and my Father dyed within's two
Houres.
Nay, 'tis twice two moneths, my Lord.
So long? Nay then let the Diuel weare blacke,
for Ile haue a suite of Sables. Oh Heauens! dye two moneths ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope, a
great mans Memorie, may out-liue his life halfe a yeare:
But byrlady he must builde Churches then: or else shall
he suffer not thinking on, with the Hoby-horsse, whose
Epitaph is, For o, For o, the Hoby-horse is forgot.
What meanes this, my Lord?
Marry this is Miching Malicho, that meanes
Mischeefe.
Belike this shew imports the Argument of the
Play?
We shall know by these Fellowes: the Players
cannot keepe counsell, they'l tell all.
Will they tell vs what this shew meant?
I, or any shew that you'l shew him. Bee not
you asham'd to shew, hee'l not shame to tell you what it
meanes.
You are naught, you are naught, Ile marke the
Play.
Is this a Prologue, or the Poesie of a Ring?
'Tis briefe my Lord.
As Womans loue.
Wormwood, Wormwood.
If she should breake it now.
Madam, how like you this Play?
The Lady protests to much me thinkes.
Oh but shee'l keepe her word.
Haue you heard the Argument, is there no Offence in't?
No, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no Offence i'th'world.
What do you call the Play?
The Mouse-trap: Marry how? Tropically:
This Play is the Image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the Dukes name, his wife Baptista: you shall see
anon: 'tis a knauish peece of worke: But what o'that?
Your Maiestie, and wee that haue free soules, it touches
vs not: let the gall'd iade winch: our withers are vnrung.
This is one Lucianus nephew to the King.
You are a good Chorus, my Lord.
I could interpret betweene you and your loue:
if I could see the Puppets dallying.
You are keene my Lord, you are keene.
It would cost you a groaning, to take off my
edge.
Still better and worse.
So you mistake Husbands.
Begin Murderer. Pox, leaue thy damnable Faces, and
begin. Come, the croaking Rauen doth bellow for Reuenge.
He poysons him i'th'Garden for's estate: His
name's Gonzago: the Story is extant and writ in choyce
Italian. You shall see anon how the Murtherer gets the
loue of Gonzago's wife.
The King rises.
What, frighted with false fire.
How fares my Lord?
Giue o're the Play.
Giue me some Light. Away.
Lights, Lights, Lights.
You might haue Rim'd.
Oh good Horatio, Ile take the Ghosts word for
a thousand pound. Did'st perceiue?
Verie well my Lord.
Vpon the talke of the poysoning?
I did verie well note him.
Oh, ha? Come some Musick. Come ye Recorders:
For if the King like not the Comedie,
Why then belike he likes it not perdie.
Come some Musicke.
Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Sir, a whole History.
The King, sir.
I sir, what of him?
Is in his retyrement, maruellous distemper'd.
With drinke Sir?
No my Lord, rather with choller.
Your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer, to signifie this to his Doctor: for for me to put him
to his Purgation, would perhaps plundge him into farre
more Choller.
Good my Lord put your discourse into some
frame, and start not so wildely from my affayre.
I am tame Sir, pronounce.
The Queene your Mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
You are welcome.
Nay, good my Lord, this courtesie is not of
the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholsome answer, I will doe your Mothers command'ment:
if not, your pardon, and my returne shall bee the end of
my Businesse.
Sir, I cannot.
What, my Lord?
Make you a wholsome answere: my wits diseas'd. But sir, such answers as I can make, you shal command: or rather you say, my Mother: therfore no more
but to the matter. My Mother you say.
Then thus she sayes: your behauior hath stroke
her into amazement, and admiration.
Oh wonderfull Sonne, that can so astonish a
Mother. But is there no sequell at the heeles of this Mothers admiration?
She desires to speake with you in her Closset,
ere you go to bed.
We shall obey, were she ten times our Mother.
Haue you any further Trade with vs?
My Lord, you once did loue me.
So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do freely barre the doore of your owne Libertie, if you deny your greefes to your Friend.
Sir I lacke Aduancement.
How can that be, when you haue the voyce of
the King himselfe, for your Succession in Denmarke?
I, but while the grasse growes, the Prouerbe is
something musty.
O the Recorder. Let me see, to withdraw with you, why
do you go about to recouer the winde of mee, as if you
would driue me into a toyle?
O my Lord, if my Dutie be too bold, my loue
is too vnmannerly.
I do not well vnderstand that. Will you play
vpon this Pipe?
My Lord, I cannot.
I pray you.
Beleeue me, I cannot.
I do beseech you.
I know no touch of it, my Lord.
'Tis as easie as lying: gouerne these Ventiges
with your finger and thumbe, giue it breath with your
mouth, and it will discourse most excellent Musicke.
Looke you, these are the stoppes.
But these cannot I command to any vtterance
of hermony, I haue not the skill.
Why looke you now, how vnworthy a thing
you make of me: you would play vpon mee; you would
seeme to know my stops: you would pluck out the heart
of my Mysterie; you would sound mee from my lowest
Note, to the top of my Compasse: and there is much Musicke, excellent Voice, in this little Organe, yet cannot
you make it. Why do you thinke, that I am easier to bee
plaid on, then a Pipe? Call me what Instrument you will,
though you can fret me, you cannot play vpon me. God
blesse you Sir.
My Lord; the Queene would speak with you,
and presently.
Do you see that Clowd? that's almost in shape
like a Camell.
By'th'Misse, and it's like a Camell indeed.
Me thinkes it is like a Weazell.
It is back'd like a Weazell.
Or like a Whale?
Verie like a Whale.
Then will I come to my Mother, by and by:
They foole me to the top of my bent.
I will come by and by.
I will say so.
Aye me; what act, that roares so lowd, & thunders in the Index.
That I can keepe your counsell, and not mine
owne. Besides, to be demanded of a Spundge, what replication should be made by the Sonne of a King.
Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord?
I sir, that sokes vp the Kings Countenance, his
Rewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the King
best seruice in the end. He keepes them like an Ape in
the corner of his iaw, first mouth'd to be last swallowed,
when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and Spundge you shall be dry againe.
I vnderstand you not my Lord.
I am glad of it: a knauish speech sleepes in a
foolish eare.
My Lord, you must tell vs where the body is,
and go with vs to the King.
The body is with the King, but the King is not
with the body. The King, is a thing---
A thing my Lord?
Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all
after.
Without my Lord, guarded to know your
pleasure.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. Your worm
is your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else
to fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots. Your fat King,
and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes,
but to one Table that's the end.
Nothing but to shew you how a King may go
a Progresse through the guts of a Begger.
In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your
selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, you
shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby.
For England?
Good.
I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for
England. Farewell deere Mother.
My Mother: Father and Mother is man and
wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come,
for England.
She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode
will needs be pittied.
Pray you marke.
White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow.
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.
Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when
they aske you what it meanes, say you this:
Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont.
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.
You must sing downe a-downe, and you call
him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is
the false Steward that stole his masters daughter.
There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce.
Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for
Thoughts.
There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's
Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it
Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew
with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you
some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end;
For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy.
Hee shall Sir, and't please him. There's a Letter
for you Sir: It comes from th' Ambassadours that was
bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let
to know it is.
Letters my Lord from Hamlet. This to your
Maiesty: this to the Queene.
Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that
wilfully seekes her owne saluation?
I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Graue
straight, the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall.
How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in
her owne defence?
Why 'tis found so.
It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else: for
heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is an
Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe
wittingly.
Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer.
Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:
heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water and drowne himsele; it is will he nill he, he goes;
marke you that? But if the water come to him & drowne
him; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not
guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life.
But is this law?
I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law.
Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not
beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried
out of Christian Buriall.
Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty that
great folke should haue countenance in this world to
drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen Christian. Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,
but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they hold vp
Adams Profession.
Was he a Gentleman?
He was the first that euer bore Armes.
Why he had none.
What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou vnderstand the Scripture? the Scripture sayes Adam dig'd;
could hee digge without Armes? Ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe---
Go too.
What is he that builds stronger then either the
Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?
The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a
thousand Tenants.
I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes
does well; but how does it well? it does well to those
that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is
built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes
may doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come.
Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter?
I, tell me that, and vnyoake.
Marry, now I can tell.
Too't.
Masse, I cannot tell.
Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your
dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when
you are ask't this question next, say a Graue-maker: the
Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee
to Yaughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.
In youth when I did loue, did loue,
me thought it was very sweete:
To contract O the time for a my behoue,
O me thought there was nothing meete.
Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that
he sings at Graue-making?
Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse.
'Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath
the daintier sense.
But Age with his stealing steps
hath caught me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me intill the Land,
as if I had neuer beene such.
That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing
once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if it
were Caines Iaw-bone, that did the first murther: It
might be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices: one that could circumuent God, might it not?
It might, my Lord.
Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this
might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such
a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not?
I, my Lord.
Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes,
Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons
Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to
see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but
to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke
on't.
A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade,
for and a shrowding-Sheete:
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete.
There's another: why might not that bee the
Scull of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his
Quillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why
doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about
the Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of
his Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's
time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recognizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:
Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Recoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will his
Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of
Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will
hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe
haue no more? ha?
Not a iot more, my Lord.
Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes?
I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too.
They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance in that. I will speake to this fellow: whose Graue's
this Sir?
Mine Sir:
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete.
I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't.
You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours:
for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine.
Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine:
'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou
lyest.
'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me
to you.
What man dost thou digge it for?
For no man Sir.
What woman then?
For none neither.
Who is to be buried in't?
One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule,
shee's dead.
How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake
by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the
Lord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it,
the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant
comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his
Kibe. How long hast thou been a Graue-maker?
Of all the dayes i'th' yeare, I came too't that day
that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras.
How long is that since?
Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that:
It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee
that was mad, and sent into England.
I marry, why was he sent into England?
Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his
wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.
Why?
'Twill not be seene in him, there the men are as
mad as he.
How came he mad?
Very strangely they say.
How strangely?
Faith e'ene with loosing his wits.
Vpon what ground?
Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene
heere, man and Boy thirty yeares.
How long will a man lie 'ith' earth ere he rot?
Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue
many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold
the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine
yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare.
Why he, more then another?
Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that
he will keepe out water a great while. And your water,
is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull
now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years.
Whose was it?
A whoreson mad Fellowes it was;
Whose doe you thinke it was?
Nay, I know not.
A pestlence on him for a mad Rogue, a pou'rd a
Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull
Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester.
This?
E'ene that.
Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he
hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how
abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere
hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.
Where be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? Your
Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to
set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own
Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies
Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this
fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing.
What's that my Lord?
Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fashion i'th' earth?
E'ene so.
And smelt so? Puh.
E'ene so, my Lord.
To what base vses we may returne Horatio.
Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole.
'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so.
No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether
with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.
Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make
Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a Beere-barrell?
I humbly thank you Sir, dost know this waterflie?
No my good Lord.
Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to
know him: he hath much Land, and fertile; let a Beast
be Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall stand at the Kings
Messe; 'tis a Chowgh; but as I saw spacious in the possession of dirt.
Sweet Lord, if your friendship were at leysure,
I should impart a thing to you from his Maiesty.
I will receiue it with all diligence of spirit; put
your Bonet to his right vse, 'tis for the head.
I thanke your Lordship, 'tis very hot.
No, beleeue mee 'tis very cold, the winde is
Northerly.
It is indifferent cold my Lord indeed.
Mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot for my
Complexion.
Exceedingly, my Lord, it is very soultry, as 'twere
I cannot tell how: but my Lord, his Maiesty bad me signifie to you, that he ha's laid a great wager on your head:
Sir, this is the matter.
I beseech you remember.
Nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good faith:
Sir, you are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is at
his weapon.
What's his weapon?
Rapier and dagger.
That's two of his weapons; but well.
The sir King ha's wag'd with him six Barbary Horses, against the which he impon'd as I take it, sixe French
Rapiers and Poniards, with their assignes, as Girdle,
Hangers or so: three of the Carriages infaith are very
deare to fancy, very responsiue to the hilts, most delicate
carriages, and of very liberall conceit.
What call you the Carriages?
The Carriages Sir, are the hangers.
The phrase would bee more Germaine to the
matter: If we could carry Cannon by our sides; I would
it might be Hangers till then; but on sixe Barbary Horses against sixe French Swords: their Assignes, and three
liberall conceited Carriages, that's the French but against the Danish; why is this impon'd as you call it?
The King Sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed you three hits;
He hath one twelue for mine, and that would come to
imediate tryall, if your Lordship would vouchsafe the
Answere.
How if I answere no?
I meane my Lord, the opposition of your person
in tryall.
Sir, I will walke heere in the Hall; if it please
his Maiestie, 'tis the breathing time of day with me; let
the Foyles bee brought, the Gentleman willing, and the
King hold his purpose; I will win for him if I can: if
not, Ile gaine nothing but my shame, and the odde hits.
Shall I redeliuer you ee'n so?
To this effect Sir, after what flourish your nature will.
I commend my duty to your Lordship.
Yours, yours; hee does well to commend it
himselfe, there are no tongues else for's tongue.
This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his
head.
He did Complie with his Dugge before hee
suck't it: thus had he and mine more of the same Beauy
that I know the drossie age dotes on; only got the tune of
the time, and outward habite of encounter, a kinde of
yesty collection, which carries them through & through
the most fond and winnowed opinions; and doe but blow
them to their tryalls: the Bubbles are out.
You will lose this wager, my Lord.
I doe not thinke so, since he went into France,
I haue beene in continuall practice; I shall winne at the
oddes: but thou wouldest not thinke how all heere about my heart: but it is no matter.
Nay, good my Lord.
It is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of
gain-giuing as would perhaps trouble a woman.
If your minde dislike any thing, obey. I will forestall their repaire hither, and say you are not fit.
Not a whit, we defie Augury; there's a speciall
Prouidence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not
to come: if it bee not to come, it will bee now: if it
be not now; yet it will come; the readinesse is all, since no
man ha's ought of what he leaues. What is't to leaue betimes?
Come on sir.
Come on sir.
One.
No.
Iudgement.
A hit, a very palpable hit.
Well: againe.