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14899	----	Series Three: _Essays on the Stage_ No. 3 Anonymous [attributed to Thomas Hanmer], _Some Remarks on the Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Written by Mr. William Shakespeare_ (1736). With an Introduction by Clarence D. Thorpe and a Bibliographical Note The Augustan Reprint Society September, 1947 _Price_: 75c _GENERAL EDITORS_ RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_ EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_ H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_ _ADVISORY EDITORS_ EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_ LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_ BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_ CLEANTH BROOKS, _Louisiana State University_ JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_ ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_ SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_ JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_ Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author by Edwards Brothers, Inc. Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A. 1947 INTRODUCTION The identity of the "Anonymous" of _Some Remarks on Hamlet Prince of Denmark_ has never been established. The tradition that Hanmer wrote the essay had its highly dubious origin in a single unsupported statement by Sir Henry Bunbury, made over one hundred years after the work was written, in his _Correspondence of Sir Thomas Hanmer, with a Memoir of His Life_ (London, 1838), to the effect that he had reason to believe that Hanmer was the author. The evidence against this bare surmise is such, however, as to compel assent to Professor Lounsbury's judgment that Hanmer's authorship "is so improbable that it may be called impossible" (_Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist_, 60). I have elsewhere set down reasons for my own belief that Hanmer could have had nothing to do with the composition of the essay, arguing on grounds of ideas, attitudes, style, and other internal evidence ("Thomas Hanmer and the Anonymous Essay on _Hamlet_," _MLN_61 [1934], 493-498). Without going over the case again, I wish here merely to reaffirm my conviction that Hanmer was not the author, and to say that it would seem that the difference in styles and the attitude of Anonymous toward Pope and Theobald are alone convincing proof that Hanmer had no part in the _Remarks_. Hanmer's style is stiff, formal, pedantic; the style of the essay is free, easy, direct, more in the Addison manner. Hanmer was a disciple of Pope's, and in his Preface to his Shakespeare and in his edition as a whole shows allegiance to Pope. Anonymous, on the contrary, decisively, though urbanely, rejects Pope's edition in favor of Theobald's text and notes. The fact that Theobald was at that time still the king of dunces in the _Dunciad_, adds to the improbability that an admirer of Pope's, as Hanmer certainly was, would pay Theobald such honor. Most careful scholars of our day go no further on the question of authorship than to note that the essay has been "attributed" to Hanmer; some, like Professor Stoll, seem to have dropped the idea that Hanmer was in any way connected with it and safely speak of "the author" or "the anonymous author"; I recall only one case in recent years of an all-out, incautious assignment of the authorship to Hanmer ("Hamlet among the Mechanists," _Shakespeare Association Bulletin_ 17 [July, 1942], 138). It would seem advisable to follow Stoll's lead and ignore Hanmer entirely. The anonymous essay has been of continued interest to students of Shakespeare. Echoes of its ideas if not its words appear in such later critics of the eighteenth century as Gentleman, Steevens, Richardson, and Morgann; in 1790 Malone copied out some two pages of the best of it for publication; and in 1864 the whole was reprinted, a not too usual thing for an obscure eighteenth century pamphlet. Present-day students of Shakespeare, among them D.N. Smith, Lounsbury, Babcock, Lawrence, and Stoll have treated the essay with unvarying respect. Remarking that it anticipates some of Johnson's arguments, Smith calls it in general a "well-written, interesting book" greatly superior to the anonymous essay on Hamlet of 1752 (_Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare_, xxn). Lawrence has recently praised a selected passage for its "wise words ... which may be pondered with profit" (Hamlet and Fortinbras, _PMLA_61 [1946], 697). And Stoll, who has obviously read the book with care, has found in one of its statements the very "beginning of historical criticism" (PQ 24 [1945], 291; _Shakespeare Studies_, 212n.), and has elsewhere seen much to commend in it. Reasons for such attention are not difficult to find; for the _Remarks_ is both intrinsically and historically an important piece of criticism. It is still worth reading for more than one passage of discerning analysis and apt comment on scene, speech, or character, and for certain not unfruitful excursions into the field of general aesthetics; while historically it is a sort of landmark in Shakespearian literature. Standing chronologically almost midway between Dryden and Johnson, Kames, and Richardson, the _Remarks_ shows decisively the direction in which criticism, under the steadily mounting pressure of liberal, empirical thought, is traveling. This little unpretentious book gathers into itself, either in faint adumbration or in fairly advanced form, the tendencies in method and ideas that are to remake criticism in the eighteenth century. There are reflected here the growing distrust of the "Rules" and the deepening faith in mind as the measure and in imagination as the instrument. There is also added recognition of the integrity of effects as a factor in judging literature. Anonymous is an earlier member of the School of Taste. He is none-the-less concerned with firm principles by which to justify his acceptances and rejections. His announced over-all rule is conformity to "Reason and Nature"--old words that he uses in the newer way. But he is also handily equipped with a stock of stubbornly conservative principles, reaching at times the status of bias, that serve to hold his taste in balance and effectively check unrestrained admiration. This conservative side of Anonymous must not pass unnoticed, for it is the part of him that most closely identifies him with his forebears and so throws his more original, independent side into stronger relief. Our author is, not unexpectedly, an invariable moralist; is throughout a stickler for dignity; is sensitive to absurdities, improprieties, and slips in decorum; will have no truck with tragi-comedy in any of its forms. He hates puns and bombast, demands refinement in speech and restraint in manners. He regards Hamlet's speeches to Ophelia in the Player scene as a violation of propriety, is shocked by the lack of decency in the representation of Ophelia's madness, finds Hamlet's frequent levity and the buffoonery of Polonius alike regrettable --Shakespeare's favorite foible, he feels, is "that of raising a laugh." The introduction of Fortinbras and his army on the stage is "an Absurdity"; the grave-diggers' scene is "very unbecoming to tragedy"; the satire on the "Children of the Chapel" is not allowable in this kind of piece. In all these things Anonymous is an upholder of the tradition of true, restrained wit. But unlike some of his contemporaries, he has a formula for discounting faults. "But we should be very cautious in finding Fault with Men of such exalted Genius as our Author certainly was, lest we should blame them when in reality the Fault lies in our own slow Conceptions ..." This is the language of tolerance, a tolerance that can overlook faults for the sake of greater beauties--one of the distinct marks of the new criticism to which the _Remarks_ belongs. The essay starts out in a boldly challenging tone. Criticism, says the author, has been badly abused: it has been regarded as an excuse for the ill-natured to find fault or for the better-natured to eulogize. But true criticism has for its end "to set in the best light all Beauties, and to touch upon Defects no more than is necessary." Beyond this it seeks to set up a right taste for the age. His own purpose is to examine a great tragedy "according to the Rules of Reason and Nature, without having any regard to those Rules established by arbitrary Dogmatizing Critics ..." More specifically, he proposes to show the why of our pleasure in this piece: "And as to those things which charm by a certain secret Force, and strike us we know not how, or why; I believe it will not be disagreeable, if I shew to everyone the Reason why they are pleas'd ..." This, it need hardly be observed, is all pretty much in the vein of Addison, whom the author extols and whose papers on _Paradise Lost_, he tells us, have furnished a model for the present undertaking. Throughout his criticism Addison had deprecated mere fault-finding and had urged the positive approach of emphasis on beauties. In the last twelve essays on Milton's poem he had shown a new way in critical writing, the way of particular as opposed to general criticism, with the selection of specific details for praise and explication; in his essay on the Imagination he had sought to find a rationale for that kind of criticism: in which a man of true taste, going beyond the mechanical rules, "would enter into the very Spirit and Soul of Fine Writing, and shew us the several Sources of that Pleasure which rises in the Mind upon the Perusal of a Noble Work." With such ideas in mind, Anonymous proceeds to study _Hamlet_, in what is probably the first act-by-act, scene-by-scene analysis of a play in English, according to his understanding of the principles of the "new criticism" as he finds them illustrated in Addison's theory and practice. Having brushed aside the "fantastick Rules" of the conventional critics, he proceeds to apply his laws of "Reason and Nature" as criteria by which to test the validity of Shakespeare's effects and to discover the cause of these effects. The results he achieves are in part conditioned by his interpretation of his basic terms. Reason and Nature had been invoked by many previous critics; but to Anonymous these words are not what they were to Boileau and Pope. They particularly have nothing, or next to nothing, to do with the Deistic concept of a universal nature of external diversity but of an internal rational and universal order, which art reveals and to which art at its best conforms. To Anonymous, who in this is following the lead of the Hobbian school, the nature that is the norm by which Shakespeare is to be judged is merely human nature, used as Whately, Richardson, and Morgann are to use it later, and as Johnson uses it when he argues that there is an appeal open from custom to nature. Anonymous' interest is in the way the mind works and the way people customarily act. So also when he talks about reason, he is thinking only of what is acceptable to a logical, healthy mind. He has no thought of identifying nature or reason with the traditional Rules or with Homer. On the contrary, he is willing to set both of them quite apart from, or even in opposition to the Rules (with a qualifying concession that they may sometimes meet), and he definitely renounces obligation to show that Shakespeare bears any relation to the ancients whatever, denying at the same time the value of the customary shows of learning in discussing his work. For Shakespeare apparently drew little from the authors of antiquity: "Nature was our great Poet's Mistress; her alone has he followed as his Conductress." Such a view is emancipatory. Free the critic from the idea that nature and the ancients are the same and that reason and the laws ascribed to the ancients are identical, and he is ready to look at modern literature with an independent judgment and to see what it is like and what it is worth in and by itself. Release the critic from the necessity of regarding nature as universal order and reason as the directive of this order, and, whatever the loss in philosophic concept, he is ready for a more specific and particular investigation that turns its attention to basic human behavior and the basic ways of the mind as the criterion by which to judge artistic representation. No need now for quaint parallels with the ancients to justify modern practice, nor for scholarly arguments to prove learning; all that is required is to prove adherence to common nature and common rationality. This is the ground upon which Anonymous stands, and it is the ground upon which Morgann is to stand when he gives us the "Falstaff of Nature," and Johnson when he presents Shakespeare as the dramatist who is "above all modern writers the poet of nature," whose "persons act and speak by the influence of those general passions by which all minds are agitated," whose "drama is the mirror of life," in which his readers may find "human sentiments in human language," whose practices are to be judged not by appeal to the rules of criticism, but by reference to the author's design and the great law of nature and reason. This position opens the way for further advances. Thus, beginning with the assumption that the mind of the spectator or the reader is the chief arbiter in such matters, Anonymous gives us what is perhaps the most enlightened comment on probability and illusion to be found in the period between Dryden and Coleridge. His test for probability is what the imagination will readily accept; and the imagination, he says, will bear a "strong Imposition." Reason, to be sure, demands that actions and speeches shall be "natural"--but natural within the framework of the situation and character as established by the dramatist on the imaginative level. The author's words on illusion recall the passage in Dryden about reason's suffering itself to be "hoodwinked" by imaginative presentation, foreshadow Coleridge's "willing suspension of disbelief," and directly suggest Johnson's passages on the subject. Experience will show, he says, "that no Dramatick Piece can affect us but by the Delusion of our Imagination; which, to taste true and real Pleasures at such Representations, must undergo a very great Imposition." For example, on our stage all nations speak English, and shock no one; also the actors are recognized as actors and not as the persons represented, and the stage as a stage and not Rome, or Denmark. Without such imposition "farewell all Dramatick Performances." And then, in continuation of this pre-Johnsonian (and pre-Coleridgean) argument he goes on to say that delusion must be accepted, never, however, in defiance of our reason but with the approval of our reason. That Shakespeare's plays create delusion with the assistance of reason is proved by the success they have so long enjoyed. Sublimity of sentiments, exalted diction, and "in short all the Charms of his Poetry, far outweigh any little absurdities in his Plots." He knew how to work up "great and moving Circumstances in such a Way as to affect our Passions strongly." The word used here throughout is _delusion_, but the sense, just as is largely the case with Johnson, is _illusion_--not a demand for such a verisimilitude as will deceive, but for such representation as will lead the imagination to voluntary, pleasurable acceptance. Likewise, when Anonymous considers unity his emphasis, like Johnson's and Hurd's, is no longer on the mechanical unities but on unity of design. "When Shakespeare's plan is understood most of the criticisms of Rymer and Voltaire vanish away," Johnson was to write some thirty years later. Anonymous holds steadily for the integrity of Shakespeare's plan in Hamlet. Of Act I, iii he says, "Concerning the Design of this scene, we shall find it is necessary towards the whole plot of the Play"; he speaks of I, iv as an "important Scene, on which turns the Whole Play"; the killing of Polonious, he explains, "was in Conformity to the Plan _Shakespeare_ built his Play upon"; and finally, of the piece as a whole, he asserts that "there is not one Scene but what some way or other conduces toward the _Denoument_ of the Whole; and thus the Unity of Action is indisputably kept up by everything tending to what we may call the main Design, and it all hangs by Consequence so close together, that no Scene can be omitted, without Prejudice to the Whole." When one recalls that the idea of unity of design as evolved in Thomas Warton, Hurd, and Johnson was the intermediate step on the way to a full theory of organic unity we see the importance of such passages in the forward march of criticism. There is in the _Remarks_ a closer examination of event and character than is usual in the period, again in the light of what it reasonable and natural. The includes some "psychologizing" of persons in the play, specifically in partial analyses of Laertes, Polonious, and Hamlet, enough to foreshadow the later vogue but none of it very remarkable. More worthy of notice is the author's use of a psychological method that is to reappear in developed form in Coleridge: that is, a study of successive scenes leading to a climactic moment--in this case Hamlet's meeting with the ghost--for evidence of a skillful working up through right preparatory touches to a point where the audience, in the words of Anonymous, "are forced ... entirely to suspend their most fixed Opinions and believe ..." This may have been done before in criticism; but if so I do not myself recall it. I should like, also, to risk the suggestion that to the author of _Some Remarks_ should go the honor of the earliest adumbration of the "Hamlet problem." For here, before Francis Gentleman or Steevens or Richardson, Anonymous has raised the tantalising question of the why of Hamlet's conduct, the problem of his delay in effecting his revenge, and has glanced at an answer. Anonymous in no wise approves of Hamlet's madness: it was, he thinks, the best possible way to thwart his design of revenge and it was carried on with unseemly lack of dignity. Shakespeare has followed his sources too closely, with bad results. There appears "no Reason at all in Nature, why the young prince did not put the Usurper to Death as soon as possible." To be sure this would have ended the play; the poet must therefore delay the hero's revenge. But, insists Anonymous, "then he should have contrived some good Reason for it." This is clearly recognition of the vexing problem that has since occupied the attention of unnumbered critics--if not in full statement, at least in its essentials. Such examples suggest the seminal quality of the best of this little book. The writer was obviously a man who read closely and reflected to good effect on what he read, with the result that he saw new things and helped open new problems and point the way to a generally more fruitful study of his author. Because of this and its prevailing sound critical qualities the anonymous essay ranks with the more important Shakespearian documents of the century. The editors of the _Augustan_ Reprints are to be commended for their decision to give it a place in their valuable series. A critical work which is so viable, which has so many points of contact with other good Shakespearian criticism, and which is in itself so stimulating in approach and specific idea deserves the added accessibility which such publication permits. University of Michigan Clarence D. Thorpe Reprinted from the British Museum copy by permission of The Trustees of the British Museum. _There is hardly any Thing which has been more abus'd than the Art of Criticism; it has been turned to so many bad Purposes among us, that the very Word it self has almost totally lost its genuine and natural Signification; for People generally understand by Criticism, finding fault with a Work; and from thence, when we call a Man a Critick, we usually mean, one disposed to blame, and seldom to commend. Whereas in Truth, a real Critick, in the proper Sense of that Word, is one whose constant Endeavour it is to set in the best Light all Beauties, and to touch upon Defects no more than is necessary; to point out how such may be avoided for the future, and to settle, if possible, a right Taste among those of the Age in which he lives. Ill-nature, and a Propensity to set any Work in a ridiculous and false Light, are so far from being the Characteristicks of a true Critick, that they are the certain Marks whereby we may know that a Man has not the true Spirit of Criticism in him. There is a Weakness opposite to this, which indeed is better natur'd, but is, however, vicious; and that is, the being bigotted to an Author; insomuch that Men of this Stamp, when they undertake to explain or comment upon any Writer, they will not allow him to have any Defects; nay, so far from that, they find out Beauties in him which can be so to none but themselves, and give Turns to his Expressions, and lend him Thoughts which were never his Design, or never enter'd into his Brain. Of all our Countrymen, Mr._ Addison _is the best in Criticism, the most exempt from the Faults I mention; for his Papers upon_ Milton's Paradise Lost, _I look upon as the true Model for all Criticks to follow. In those we see the Beauties and Faults of that great Poet weigh'd in the most exact and impartial Scales. Those excellent Papers first gave me an Idea of publishing the following Sheets. Happy! if I can but any ways follow such a Guide, though at ever so great a Distance; since I am well persuaded, that by this Means I can never be totally in Error, tho' I may sometimes deviate for want of proper Abilities! Criticism in general, is what few of our Countrymen have succeeded in: In that respect, our Neighbours have got the better of us; altho' we can justly boast of the compleatest Essay on that Subject that has been publish'd in any Language, in which almost every Line, and every Word, convey such Images, and such Beauties, as were never before found in so small a Compass, and of whose Author it may properly be said, in that respect,_ He is himself that great Sublime he draws. _I would not have the Reader imagine, that I believe I have pointed out all the Excellencies in this Tragedy; I am not so vain as to think so. Besides, these Papers are too few to contain them; and I have so little of Presumption in me, that I did not think it reasonable to put my Readers to a greater Expence, by enlarging on the Subject, until I find that they themselves are not averse to it._ _This is all I have to say at present; whatever else is necessary to premise, will be found in the Introduction to the Remarks, to which I refer._ * * * * * SOME REMARKS ON THE TRAGEDY OF _Hamlet_ Prince of _Denmark_. I am going to do what to some may appear extravagant, but by those of a true Taste in Works of Genius will be approv'd of. I intend to examine one of the Pieces of the greatest Tragick Writer that ever liv'd, (except _Sophocles_ and _Euripides_,) according to the Rules of Reason and Nature, without having any regard to those Rules established by Arbitrary Dogmatising Criticks, only as they can be brought to bear that Test. Among the many Parts of this great Poet's Character, so often given by some of our best Writers, I shall particularly dwell upon those which they have the least insisted on, which will, however, put every Thing he has produc'd in its true and proper Light. He had (beyond Dispute) a most unbounded Genius, very little regulated by Art. His particular Excellency consists in the Variety and Singularity of his Characters, and in the constant Conformity of each Character to it self from its very first setting out in the Play, quite to the End. And still further, no Poet ever came up to him, in the Nobleness and Sublimity of Thought, so frequent in his Tragedies, and all express'd with the most Energick Comprehensiveness of Diction. And it must moreover be observed, as to his Characters, that although there are some entirely of his own Invention, and such as none but so great a Genius could invent; yet he is so remarkably happy in following of Nature, that (if I may so express it) he does it even in Characters which are not in Nature. To clear up this Paradox, my Meaning is, that if we can but once suppose such Characters to exist, then we must allow they must think and act exactly as he has described them. This is but a short Sketch of the main Part of _Shakespeare's_ particular Excellencies; the others will be taken Notice of in the Progress of my Remarks. And if I am so happy as to point out some Beauties not yet discovered, or at least not put in the Light they ought to be, I hope I shall deserve my Reader's Thanks, who will thereby, I imagine, receive that Pleasure which I have always done upon any new Discovery of this sort, whether made by my own Labour, or by the Penetration of others: And as to those Things which charm by a certain secret Force, and strike us we know not how, or why; I believe it will not be disagreeable, if I shew to every one the Reason why they are pleas'd, and by that Confederation they will be capacitated to discover still more and more Charms in the Works of this great Poet, and thereby increase their Pleasure without End. I do not pretend, in Publishing these Remarks of mine, to arrogate any Superiority of Genius; but I think every one should contribute to the Improvement of some Branch or other of Literature in this Country of ours, and thus furnish out his Share towards the Bettering of the Minds of his Countrymen, by affording some Honest Amusements, which can entertain a Man, and help to refine his Taste, and improve his Understanding, and no Ways at the Expence of his Honesty and Virtue. In the Course of these Remarks, I shall make use of the Edition of this Poet, given us by Mr. _Theobalds_, because he is generally thought to have understood our Author best, and certainly deserves the Applause of all his Countrymen for the great Pains he has been at to give us the best Edition of this Poet, which has yet appear'd. I would not have Mr. _Pope_ offended at what I say, for I look upon him as the greatest Genius in Poetry that has ever appear'd in _England_: But the Province of an Editor and a Commentator is quite foreign to that of a Poet. The former endeavours to give us an Author as he is; the latter, by the Correctness and Excellency of his own Genius, is often tempted to give us an Author as he thinks he ought to be. Before I proceed to the particular Parts of this Tragedy, I must premise, that the great Admirers of our Poet cannot be offended, if I point out some of his Imperfections, since they will find that they are very few in Proportion to his Beauties. Amongst the former, we may reckon some _Anachronisms_, and also the inordinate Length of Time supposed to be employ'd in several of his Pieces; add to all this, that the Plots of his Plays in general, are charged with some little Absurdity or other. But then, how easily may we forgive this, when we reflect upon his many Excellencies! The Tragedy that is now coming under our Examination, is one of the best of his Pieces, and strikes us with a certain Awe and Seriousness of Mind, far beyond those Plays whose Whole Plot turns upon vehement and uncontroulable Love, such as are most of our modern Tragedies. These certainly have not the great Effect that others have, which turn either upon Ambition, the Love of one's Country, or Paternal or Filial Tenderness. Accordingly we find, that few among the Ancients, and hardly any of our Author's Plays, are built upon the Passion of Love in a direct Manner; by which I mean, that they have not the mutual Attachment of a Lover and his Mistress for their chief Basis. Love will always make a great Figure in Tragedy, if only its chief Branches be made use of; as for instance, Jealousy (as in _Othello_) or the beautiful Distress of Man and Wife (as in _Romeo_ and _Juliet_) but never when the whole Play is founded upon two Lovers desiring to possess each other: And one of the Reasons for this seems to be, that this last Species of that Passion is more commonly met with than the former, and so consequently strikes us less. Add to this, that there may a Suspicion arise, that the Passion of Love in a direct Manner may be more sensual than in those Branches which I have mention'd; which Suspicion is sufficient to take from its Dignity, and lessen our Veneration for it. Of all _Shakespeare's_ Tragedies, none can surpass this, as to the noble Passions which it naturally raises in us. That the Reader may see what our Poet had to work upon, I shall insert the Plan of it as abridged from _Saxo-Grammaticus's_ _Danish_ History by Mr. _Theobalds_. "The Historian calls our Poets Hero _Amlethus_, his Father _Horwendillus_, his Uncle _Fengo_, and his Mother _Gerutha_. The old King in single Combat, slew _Collerus_ King of _Norway_; _Fengo_ makes away with his Brother _Horwendillus_, and marries his Widow _Gerutha_. _Amlethus_, to avoid being suspected by his Uncle of Designs, assumes a Form of utter Madness. A fine Woman is planted upon him, to try if he would yield to the Impressions of Love. _Fengo_ contrives, that _Amlethus_, in order to sound him, should be closetted by his Mother. A Man is conceal'd in the Rushes to overhear their Discourse; whom _Amlethus_ discovers and kills. When the Queen is frighted at this Behaviour of his; he tasks her about her criminal Course of Life, and incestuous Conversation with her former Husband's Murtherer; confesses his Madness is but counterfeited, to protect himself, and secure his Revenge for his Father; to which he injoins the Queen's Silence. _Fengo_ sends _Amlethus_ to _Britain_: Two of the King's Servants attend him with Letters to the _British_ King, stricyly pressing the Death of _Amlethus_, who, in the Night Time, coming at their Commission, overreads it, forms a new One, and turns the Destruction designed towards himself on the Bearers of the Letters. _Amlethus_ returning Home, by a Wile surprizes and kills his Uncle." I shall have Occasion to remark in the Sequel, that in one Particular he has follow'd the Plan so closely as to produce an Absurdity in his Plot. And I must premise also this, that in my Examination of the whole Conduct of the Play, the Reader must not be surprised, if I censure any Part of it, although it be entirely in Conformity to the Plan the Author has chosen; because it is easy to conceive, that a Poet's Judgment is particularly shewn in chusing the proper Circumstances, and rejecting the improper Ones of the Ground-work which he raises his Play upon. In general we are to take Notice, that as History ran very low in his Days, most of his Plays are founded upon some old wretched Chronicler, or some empty _Italian_ Novelist; but the more base and mean were his Materials, so much more ought we to admire His Skill, Who has been able to work up his Pieces to such Sublimity from such low Originals. Had he had the Advantages of many of his Successors, ought not we to believe, that he would have made the greatest Use of them? I shall not insist upon the Merit of those who first break through the thick Mist of _Barbarism_ in Poetry, which was so strong about the Time our Poet writ, because this must be easily sensible to every Reader who has the least Tincture of Letters; but thus much we must observe, that before his Time there were very few (if any) Dramatick Performances of any Tragick Writer, which deserve to be remembred; so much were all the noble Originals of Antiquity buried in Oblivion. One would think that the Works of _Sophocles_, _Euripides_, &c. were Discoveries of the last Age only; and not that they had existed for so many Centuries. There is something very astonishing in the general Ignorance and Dullness of Taste, which for so long a Time over-spread the World, after it had been so gloriously enlighten'd by _Athens_ and _Rome_; especially as so many of their excellent Master-pieces were still remaining, which one would have thought should have excited even the Brutes of those barbarous Ages to have examined them, and form'd themselves according to such Models. VOL. the 7th of Mr. _Theobald's Shakespeare_. Page 225. SCENE I _Bernardo_ and _Francisco_, two Centinels. Bernardo. _Who's there?_ &c. Nothing can be more conformable to Reason, than that the Beginning of all Dramatick Performances (and indeed of every other kind of Poesie) should be with the greatest Simplicity, that so our Passions maybe work'd upon by Degrees. This Rule is very happily observ'd in this Play; and it has this Advantage over many others, that it has Majesty and Simplicity joined together. For this whole preparatory Discourse to the Ghost's coming in, at the same Time that it is necessary towards laying open the Scheme of the Play, creates an Awe and Attention in the Spectators, such as very well fits them to receive the Appearance of a Messenger from the other World, with all the Terror and Seriousness necessary on the Occasion. And surely the Poet has manag'd the Whole in such a Manner, that it is all entirely Natural: And tho' most Men are well enough arm'd against all Belief of the Appearances of Ghosts, yet they are forced, during the Representation of this Piece, entirely to suspend their most fixed Opinions, and believe that they do actually see a Phantom, and that the whole Plot of the Play is justly and naturally founded upon the Appearance of this Spectre. Page 227. Marcell. HORATIO _says 'tis but our Phantasie, And will not let Belief take hold of Him, Touching this dreaded Sight twice seen of Us; Therefore I have intreated 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!_ These Speeches help greatly to deceive us; for they shew one of the principal Persons of the Drama to be as incredulous, in Relation to the Appearance of Phantoms, as we can be; but that he is at last convinc'd of his Error by the Help of his Eyes. For it is a Maxim entirely agreeable to Truth, if we consider human Nature, that whatever is supernatural or improbable, is much more likely to gain Credit with us, if it be introduced as such, and talk'd of as such by the Persons of the Drama, but at last prov'd to be true, tho' an extraordinary Thing, than if it were brought in as a Thing highly probable, and no one were made to boggle at the Belief of it. The Reason of this seems to be, that we can for once, upon a very great Occasion, allow such an Incident as this to have happen'd, if it be brought in as a Thing of great Rarity; but we can by no means so suspend our Judgement and Knowledge, or deceive Our Understandings, as to grant That to be common and usual which we know to be entirely Supernatural and Improbable. Page 227. _Enter the Ghost._ Here it is certain, nothing could be better tim'd than the Entrance of this Spectre; for he comes in and convinces _Horatio_, to save _Marcellos_ the Trouble of repeating the whole Story, which would have been tiresome to the Spectators, as these Gentlemen were obliged soon after to relate the Whole to Prince _Hamlet_. Horatio's Speeches to the Apparition are exceeding Natural, Aweful, and Great, and well suited to the Occasion and his own Character. _What art Thou, that usurpest this Time of Night, Together with that fair and warlike Form, In which the Majesty of buried_ Denmark _Did some Time march? By Heaven, I charge thee speak_. Page 227. The other is Page 130. ---- _Stay Illusion! 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, Fore-knowing may avoid, Oh 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,--Stay and speak!--Stop it_ Marcellus. His desiring _Marcellus_ to stop it, is also much in Nature, because it shews a Perturbation of Mind, very much to be expected at such an Incident. For he must know, being a Scholar, (as they term him) that Spirits could not be stopp'd as Corporeal Substances can. But to return to Page 228. Bernardo, _How now_ Horatio! _you tremble and look pale_, &c. This is entirely in Nature, for it cannot be supposed, that any Man, tho' never so much endu'd with Fortitude, could see so strange a Sight, so shocking to human Nature, without some Commotion of his Frame, although the Bravery of his Mind makes him get the better of it. Page 228. Horatio, _Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible and trite Avouch Of mine own Eyes_. This Speech still helps on our Deception, for the Reasons I have already given. Page 228. Horatio, _Such was the very Armour he had on_, &c. I have heard many Persons wonder why the Poet should bring in this Ghost in complete Armour. It does, I own, at first seem hard to be accounted for; but I think these Reasons may be given for it, viz. We are to consider, that he could introduce him in these Dresses only; in his Regal Dress, in a Habit of Interment, in a common Habit, or in some Phantastick one of his own Invention. Now let us examine which was most likely to affect the Spectators with Passions proper to the Occasion, and which could most probably furnish out great Sentiments and fine Expressions. The Regal Habit has nothing uncommon in it, nor surprising; nor could it give rise to any fine Images. The Habit of Interment was something too horrible; for Terror, not Horror, is to be raised in the Spectators. The common Habit (or _Habit de Ville_, as the _French_ call it) was by no Means proper for the Occasion. It remains then, that the Poet should chuse some Habit from his own Brain: But this certainly could not be proper, because Invention in such a Case, would be so much in Danger of falling into the Grotesque, that it was not to be hazarded. Now as to the Armour, it was very suitable to a King, who is described as a great Warrior, and is very particular, and consequently affects the Spectators, without being phantastick. Besides, if there were no other Reason, the fine Image which arises from thence, in these Lines, is Reason enough. _Such was the very Armour he had on, When He th' ambitious_ Norway _combated, So frown'd He once, when in angry Parle, He smote the sleaded_ Polack _on the Ice. 'Tis Strange!_ There is a Stroke of Nature in _Horatio's_ breaking off, from the Description of the King, and falling into the Exclamation. _'Tis Strange!_ which is inimitably Beautiful. Page 228. Marcellus. _Good now sit down_, &c. The whole Discourse concerning the great Preparations making in _Denmark_ is very Poetical, and necessary also towards the introducing of _Fortinbrass_ in this Play, whose Appearance gives Rise to one Scene, which adds a Beauty to the Whole; I mean, That wherein _Hamlet_ makes those noble Reflections upon seeing That Prince's Army. Besides, this Discourse is necessary also to give the Ghost Time to appear again, in order to affect the Spectators still more; and from this Conversation the Interlocutors draw one Reason, why the Spirit appears in Arms, which appears rational to the Audience. It gives also _Horatio_ an Opportunity of addressing the Ghost in that beautiful Manner he does. Page 229 _Stay Illusion! &c_. The Description of the Prefages which happen'd to _Rome_, and the drawing a like Inference from this supernatural Appearance, is very nervous and Poetical. Page 230, 231. Bernardo. _It was about to speak when the Cock crew &c_. The Speeches in consequence of this Observation are truly beautiful, and are properly Marks of a great Genius; as also these Lines which describe the Morning, are in the true Spirit of Poetry. Page 31. _But, look, the Morn, in Russet Mantle clad, Walks oe'r the Dew of yon high Eastern Hill_. And as to _Shakespeare's_ complying with the vulgar Notions of Spirits amongst the _English_ at that Time, so far from being low, it adds a Grace and a _Naïveté_ to the whole Passage, which one can much easier be sensible of than know how to make others so. SCENE. _The Palace_, (p. 231.) And Sequel. _Enter the_ King, Queen, Hamlet, &c. It is very natural and apropos, that the King should bring some plausible Excuse for marrying his Brother's Wife so soon after the Decease of his Brother, which he does in his first Speech in this Scene: It would else have too soon revolted the Spectators against such an unusual Proceeding. All the Speeches of the King in this Scene to his Ambassadors _Cornelius_ and _Voltimand_, and to _Laertes_, and to Prince _Hamlet_, are entirely Fawning, and full of Dissimulation, and makes him well deserve the Character which the Prince afterwards gives him, of _smiling, damn'd Villain, &c._ when he is informed of his Crime. The King's and Queen's Questions to _Hamlet_ are very proper, to give the Audience a true Idea of the Filial Piety of the young Prince, and of his virtuous Character; for we are hereby informed of his fixed and strong Grief for the Loss of his Father: For it does not appear, that the Usurpation of the Crown from him, sits heavy on his Soul, at least, it is not seen by any Part of his Behaviour. How his Uncle came to be preferred to him, we are left entirely in the dark, but may suppose it to have been done in the same Manner, as several things of the like Nature have been effected, viz. by Corruption and Violence, and perhaps upon the Pretence of the Prince's being too young. I can by no Means agree with Mr. _Theobalds_, (p. 235.) who thinks, that it is necessary to suppose a considerable Number of Years spent in this Tragedy; because Prince _Hamlet_ is said to desire to return to _Wittenberg_ again, and is supposed to be just come from it; and that afterwards, the Grave-Digger lets us know that the Prince is Thirty Years old; my Reasons are, that as _Wittenberg_ was an University, and _Hamlet_ is represented as a Prince of great Accomplishments, it is no wonder that he should like to spend his Time there, in going on in his Improvements, rather than to remain inactive at _Elsinoor_, or be immers'd in Sottishness, with which he seems to tax his Countrymen; as will appear in the Sequel. Besides, he might well desire to return there, when he found his Throne usurped, and his Mother acting so abominable a Part. And as to the Term of going to School, &c. That does not at all imply literally a School for Boys, but is poetically used for Studying at any Age. Another Reason may be given why there cannot be supposed to be a great Length of Time in this Play; which is this, That we see in the First Act, Ambassadors dispatch'd to old _Norway_, concerning his Nephew _Fortinbras's_ Army, which was then ready to march; and in the Fourth Act, we see this Prince at the Head of that Army, which immediately, upon the Embassy from the _Danish_ King to his Uncle, we are naturally to suppose he leads to that other Enterprize which is mentioned in that Scene. Now it is no ways likely, that between the Embassy and the marching of an Army already assembled before that Embassy, there should be a Number of Years. These Reasons and the whole Conduct of the Piece convince me, that this is one of _Shakespeare's_ Plays, in which the least Time is employ'd; how much there is, I cannot pretend to say. As to the _Prolepsis_, or in other Words, the mentioning the University of _Wittenberg_, long before its Establishment, thus antedating its Time, I shall not justify _Shakespeare_; I think it is a fault in him; but I cannot be of Opinion, that it has any bad Effect in this Tragedy. _See Mr_. Theobald's _Note_, (p. 235.) As to _Hamlet's_ Soliloquy, I shall set down the whole Passage, and shall subjoin the Remarks of a very eminent Author which are in the Spirit of true Criticism. _Oh that this too, too solid Flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve it self into a Dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His Cannon 'gainst Self-slaughter! Oh God! Oh God! How weary, stale, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the Uses of this World! Fie on't! Oh 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 would not let e'en the Winds of Heav'n Visit her Face too roughly. Heav'n and Earth! Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, As if Increase of Appetite had grown By what it fed on; yet within a Month! Let me not think. Frailty! Thy Name is Woman. A little Month; e'er yet those Shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor Father's Body, Like_ Niobe, _all Tears; Why she, even she, (Oh Heav'n, a Beast that wants Discourse of Reason, Would have mourn'd longer) married with mine Uncle, My Father's Brother; but no more like my Father, Than I to_ Hercules. _Within a Month, E'er yet the Salt of most unrighteous Tears Had left the flushing in her gaul'd Eyes, She married. Oh! 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._ "The young Prince, (says this Author in the _Tatler_,) was not yet acquainted with all the Guilt of his Mother; but turns his Thoughts on her sudden Forgetfulness of his Father, and the Indecency of her hasty Marriage. The several Emotions of Mind, and Breaks of Passion in this Speech, are admirable. He has touch'd every Circumstance that aggravated the Fact, and seem'd capable of hurrying the Thoughts of a Son into Distraction. His Father's Tenderness for his Mother, express'd in so delicate a Particular; his Mother's Fondness for his Father, no less exquisitely described; the great and amiable Figure of his dead Parent, drawn by a true Filial Piety; his Disdain of so unworthy a Successor to his Bed: But above all, the Shortness of the Time between his Father's Death, and his Mother's Second Marriage, brought together with so much Disorder, make up as noble a Part as any in that celebrated Tragedy. The Circumstance of Time I never could enough admire. The Widow-hood had lasted two Months. This is his first Reflection: But as his Indignation rises, he sinks to scarce two Months; afterwards into a Month; and at last, into a _little_ Month. But all this so naturally, that the Reader accompanies him in the Violence of his Passion, and finds the Time lessen insensibly, according to the different Workings of his Disdain. I have not mentioned the Incest of her Marriage, which is so obvious a Provocation; but can't forbear taking Notice, that when his Fury is at its Height, he cries, _Frailty, thy Name is Woman!_ as Railing at the Sex in general, rather than giving himself leave to think his Mother worse than Others." Page 238. _Enter_ Horatio, Bernardo, _and_ Marcellus, _to_ Hamlet. The Greeting between _Hamlet, Horatio,_ and _Marcellus_, is very easy, and expresses the benign Disposition of the Prince, and first gives us an Intimation of his Friendship for _Horatio_. Page 238. _We'll teach you to drink deep, e'er you depart_. This seems designed to reflect upon the sottish Disposition, then encouraged amongst the _Danes_ by the Usurper, as will appear in the Sequel; and gives us one Reason why _Elsinoor_ was disagreeable to Prince _Hamlet_; and certainly, much confirms what I before said, as to his going back to _Wittenberg_. Page 238. The Prince's Reflections on his Mother's hasty Marriage, are very natural, and shew That to be one of the principal Causes of the deep fix'd Concern so visible in his Behaviour; and then they serve to introduce the Relation of the Appearance of his Father's Ghost. Page 238, to the End of the Scene. _Hamlet_ receives the Account they give him with such a Surprize as is very natural, and particularly his breaking off from the Consequence of his Question, viz. _Hold you the Watch to Night?_ and saying _arm'd?_ that is, returning to the main Question, is exceedingly in Nature. Their differing in the Account of the Time the Spectre staid, throws an Air of Probability on the Whole, which is much easier felt than described. The Prince's Resolution to speak to the Phantom, let what will be the Consequence, is entirely suitable to his Heroical Disposition; and his Reflection upon his Father's Spirit appearing in Arms, is such as one would naturally expect from him; and the Moral Sentence he ends his short Speech with, suits his virtuous Temper, at the same Time that it has a good Effect upon the Audience, and answers the End of Tragedy. Page 241, to the End of the Scene, in p. 246. SCENE in _Polonius's_ House. _Enter_ Laertes _and_ Ophelia, _and afterwards_ Polonius. It is evident by the whole Tenour of _Polonius's_ Behaviour in this Play, that he is intended to represent some Buffoonish Statesman, not too much fraught with Honesty. Whether any particular Person's Character was herein aim'd at, I shall not determine, because it is not to the Purpose; for whoever reads our Author's Plays, will find that in all of them, (even the most serious ones) he has some regard for the meanest Part of his Audience, and perhaps too, for that Taste for low Jokes and Punns, which prevailed in his Time among the better Sort. This, I think, was more pardonable in him, when it was confined to Clowns, and such like Persons in his Plays; but is by no Means excusable in a Man, supposed to be in such a Station as _Polonius_ is, Nay, granting that such Ministers of State were common, (which surely they are not) it would even then be a Fault in our Author to introduce them in such Pieces as this; for every Thing that is natural is not to be made use of improperly: But when it is out of Nature, this certainly much aggravates the Poet's Mistake. And, to speak Truth, all Comick Circumstances, all Things tending to raise a Laugh, are highly offensive in Tragedies to good Judges; the Reason in my Opinion is evident, viz. that such Things degrade the Majesty and Dignity of Tragedy, and destroy the Effect of the Intention which the Spectators had in being present at such Representations; that is, to acquire that pleasing Melancholy of Mind, which is caus'd by them, and that Satisfaction which arises from the Consciousness that we are mov'd as we ought to be, and that we consequently have Sentiments suitable to the Dignity of our Nature. For these and many other Reasons, too long to mention here, I must confess myself to be an Enemy also to all ludicrous Epilogues and Farcical Pieces, at the End of Tragedies; and must think them full as ridiculous as if we were to dress a Monarch in all his Royal Robes, and then put a Fool's Cap upon him. But to come to the Scene now under Examination. It is certain, that except it be in playing upon the Word _Tender_ p. 244. (of which too he is sensible himself,) our old Statesman behaves suitably to his Dignity, and acts fully up to his Paternal Character; so here we shall not tax him. The Advice of _Laertes_ to his Sister contains the soundest Reasoning, express'd in the most nervous and poetical Manner, and is full of Beauties; particularly, I can never enough admire the Modesty inculcated in these Lines: _The chariest Maid is prodigal enough, If She unmask her Beauty to the Moon_. _Ophelia's_ modest Replies, the few Words she uses, and the virtuous Caution she gives her Brother, after his Advice to her, are inimitably charming. This I have observed in general in our Author's Plays, that almost all his young Women (who are designed as good Characters) are made to behave with a Modesty and Decency peculiar to those Times, and which are of such pleasing Simplicity as seem too ignorant and unmeaning in our well taught knowing Age; so much do we despise the virtuous Plainness of our Fore-fathers! _Polonius_ and _Laertes_ Behaviour to each other, is exceeding natural; and I agree with Mr. _Theobalds's_ Emendation as to that Circumstance, (p. 243.) of _Polonius_ Blessing his Son; but I can by no Means be of his Sentiment, that it was a Circumstance, which, if well managed by a Comick Actor, would raise a Laugh, (See his Note, p. 243.) for I am perswaded, that _Shakespeare_ was too good a Judge of Nature, to design any Thing Comick or Buffoonish upon so solemn an Occasion, as that of a Son's taking leave of his Father in the most emphatical and serious Manner. And therefore, whatever Actor proceeds upon this Supposition (as I have seen some do in parallel Cases) does only shew his Ignorance and Presumption. This Assertion of mine will appear indisputable, if my Reader considers well the whole Tenour of this Scene, with the grave and excellent Instructions which it contains, from _Polonius_ to _Laertes_, and from both to _Ophelia_. It is impossible that any Buffoonry could be here blended, to make void and insignificant so much good Sense expressed in the true Beauties of Poetry. As to Prince _Hamlet's_ Love for _Ophelia_, I shall speak to it in another Place. Concerning the Design of this Scene, we shall find it is necessary towards the whole Plot of the Play, and is by no Means an Episode. As to _Laertes's_ Character, I shall lay some thing of it else where. Page 246 Scene. _The Platform before the Palace._ _Enter_ Hamlet, Horatio _and_ Marcellus. The Beginning of this Scene is easy and natural. The King's taking his Rowse, seems introduced to fill up a necessary Space of Time, and also perhaps to blacken still more the Character of the Usurper, who had revived a sottish Custom (as appears by the Prince's Remarks upon it) omitted by several of his Predecessors; for it would have been improper to have had the Ghost appear the Minute the Prince was come on to the Platform. Some Time was requisite to prepare the Minds of the Spectators, that they might collect all their Faculties to behold this important Scene, on which turns the whole Play, with due Attention and Seriousness; although, indeed, I must think that the Prince's Speech would not be much worth preserving, but for That Reason: for expressed and amended, according to the best that can be made of it, (as Mr. _Theobalds_ has done it) it is but of very obsure Diction, and is much too long; for a very short Moral is to be drawn from it. Page 248. _Enter the Ghost._ We now are come to the sublimest Scene in this whole Piece, a Scene worthy of the greatest Attention; an Heroical Youth addressing the Shade of his departed Father, whom he tenderly loved, and who, we are told, was a Monarch of the greatest Worth. Surely there cannot be imagin'd any Scene more capable of stirring up our noblest Passions. Let us but observe with how much Beauty and Art the Poet has managed it. This Spectre has been once spoken to by the Friend of our young Hero, and it must be confessed, that _Horatio's_ Speech to it is truly great and beautiful: But as the like Incident was again to happen; that is, as the Ghost was again to be addressed, and with this Addition, by the Hero of the Play, and Son to the King, whose Spirit appears; it was necessary, I say, upon these Accounts, that this Incident should be treated in a sublimer Manner than the Former. Accordingly we may take Notice, that _Hamlet's_ Speech to his Father's Shade is as much superior to that of _Horatio_ upon the same Occasion, as his is to any Thing of that kind that I have ever met with in any other Dramatick Poet. _Hamlet's_ Invocation of the heavenly Ministers, is extremely fine; and the begging their Protection upon the Appearance of a Sight so shocking to human Nature, is entirely conformable to the virtuous Character of this Prince, and gives an Air of Probability to the whole Scene. He accosts the Ghost with great Intrepidity; and his whole Speech is so full of the Marks of his Filial Piety, that we may easily observe, that his Tenderness for his Father gets the better of all Sentiments of Terror which we could suppose to arise, even in the Breast of the most undaunted Person, upon the seeing and conversing with so strange an Apparition. His breaking from his Friends with that Vehemency of Passion in an Eagerness of Desire to hear what his Father could say to him, is another Proof of his Filial Tenderness. The Reader of himself must easily see why the Spectre would not speak to the Prince, but a-part from those who were with him: For it was not a Secret of a Nature fit to be divulg'd. Their earnest Intreaties, and almost Force which they use to keep him from going, are much in Nature; the Reasons they give him, and the Reflections they make after he is gone, are poetically express'd, and very natural. The Ghost's Account of the base Murther committed on him, is express'd in the strongest and most nervous Diction that Poetry can make use of; and he speaks with such Gravity and Weight of Language as well suits his Condition. The Ideas he raises in the Audience by his short Hint concerning the Secrets of his Prison-House, are such as must cause that Terror which is the natural Effect of such Appearances, and must occasion such Images as should always accompany such Incidents in Tragedy. The Ghost's bringing out the Account of his Murder by Degrees, and the Prince's Exclamations as he becomes farther acquainted with the Affair, are great Beauties in this Scene, because it is all entirely conformable to Nature; that is, to those Ideas by which we naturally conceive, how a Thing of this sort would be managed and treated, were it really to happen. We are to observe further, that the King spurs on his Son to revenge his foul and unnatural Murder from these two Considerations chiefly, that he was sent into the other World without having had Time to repent of his Sins, and without the necessary Sacraments, (according to the Church of _Rome_,) as Mr. _Theobalds_, (See his Note, _p._ 253.) has well explained it, and that consequently his Soul was to suffer, if not eternal Damnation, at least a long Course of Penance in Purgatory; which aggravates the Circumstances of his Brother's Barbarity. And, Secondly, That _Denmark_ might not be the Scene of Usurpation and Incest, and the Throne thus polluted and profaned. For these Reasons he prompts the young Prince to Revenge; else it would have been more becoming the Character of such a Prince as _Hamlet's_ Father is represented to have been, and more suitable to his present Condition, to have left his Brother to the Divine Punishment, and to a Possibility of Repentance for his base Crime, which by cutting him off, he must be deprived of. His Caution to his Son concerning his Mother, is very fine, and shews great Delicacy in our Author; as has been observ'd by a great Writer of our Nation. The Ghost's Interrupting himself (_but soft, methinks, I scent the Morning Air_, &c.) has much Beauty in it, particularly, as it complys with the received Notions, that Spirits shun the Light, and continues the Attention of the Audience by so particular a Circumstance. The Sequel of this Scene by no Means answers the Dignity of what we have hitherto been treating of. _Hamlet's_ Soliloquy, after the Ghost has disappeared, is such as it should be. The Impatience of _Horatio_, &c. to know the Result of his Conference with the Phantom, and his putting them off from knowing it, with his Caution concerning his future Conduct, and his intreating them to be silent in Relation to this whole Affair; all this, I say, is natural and right; but his light and even ludicrous Expressions to them; his making them swear by his Sword, and shift their Ground, with the Ghost's Crying under the Stage, and _Hamlet's_ Reflection thereupon, are all Circumstances certainly inferiour to the preceeding Part. But as we should be very cautious in finding Fault with Men of such an exalted Genius as our Author certainly was, lest we should blame them when in reality the Fault lies in our own slow Conception, we should well consider what could have been our Author's View in such a Conduct. I must confess, I have turn'd this Matter on every Side, and all that can be said for it (as far as I am able to penetrate), is that he makes the Prince put on this Levity of Behaviour, that the Gentlemen who were with him, might not imagine that the Ghost had reveal'd some Matter of great Consequence to him, and that he might not therefore be suspected of any deep Designs. This appears plausible enough; but let it be as it will, the whole, I think, is too lightly managed, and such a Design as I have mention'd might, in my Opinion, have been answered by some other Method more correspondent to the Dignity and Majesty of the preceeding Part of the Scene. I must observe once more, that the Prince's Soliloquy is exquisitely beautiful. I shall conclude what I have to say on this Scene, with observing, that I do not know any Tragedy, ancient or modern, in any Nation, where the Whole is made to turn so naturally and so justly upon such a supernatural Appearance as this is; nor do I know of any Piece whatever, where a Spectre introduced with so much Majesty, such an Air of Probability, and where such an Apparition is manag'd with so much Dignity and Art; in short, which so little revolts the Judgment and Belief of the Spectators. Nor have I ever met in all my Reading, with a Scene in any Tragedy, which creates so much Awe, and serious Attention as this does, and which raises such a Multiplicity of the most exalted Sentiments. It is certain, our Author excell'd in this kind of Writing, as has been more than once observed by several Writers, and none ever before or since his Time, could ever bring Inhabitants of another World upon the Stage, without making them ridiculous or too horrible, and the Whole too improbable and too shocking to Men's Understandings. ACT II. _Polonius_ and _Reynoldo_, and afterwards _Ophelia_. _Polonius's_ Discourse to _Reynoldo_ is of a good moral Tenour, and thus far it is useful to the Audience. His forgetting what he was saying, (p. 260) as is usual with old Men, is extremely natural, and much in Character for him. _Ophelia's_ Description of _Hamlet's_ Madness, does as much Honour to our Poet as any Passage in the whole Play, (p. 261, and 262.) It is excellently good in the _Pictoresque_ Part of Poetry, and renders the Thing almost present to us. Now I am come to mention _Hamlet's_ Madness, I must speak my Opinion of our Poet's Conduct in this Particular. To conform to the Ground-work of his Plot, _Shakespeare_ makes the young Prince feign himself mad. I cannot but think this to be injudicious; for so far from Securing himself from any Violence which fear'd from the Usurper, which was his Design in so doing, it seems to have been the most likely Way of getting himself confin'd, and consequently, debarr'd from an Opportunity of Revenging his Father's Death, which now seem'd to be his only Aim; and accordingly it was the Occasion of his being sent away to _England_. Which Design, had it taken effect upon his Life, he never could have revenged his Father's Murder. To speak Truth, our Poet, by keeping too close to the Ground-work of his Plot, has fallen into an Absurdity; for there appears no Reason at all in Nature, why the young Prince did not put the Usurper to Death as soon as possible, especially as _Hamlet_ is represented as a Youth so brave, and so careless of his own Life. The Case indeed is this: Had _Hamlet_ gone naturally to work, as we could suppose such a Prince to do in parallel Circumstances, there would have been an End of our Play. The Poet therefore was obliged to delay his Hero's Revenge; but then he should have contrived some good Reason for it. His Beginning his Scenes of Madness by his Behaviour to _Ophelia_ was judicious, because by this Means he might be thought to be mad for her, and not that his Brain was disturb'd about State Affairs, which would have been dangerous. Page 263. _Enter King, Queen_, Rosincrantz, Guildenstern, &c. The King in this Scene, seems to be but half perswaded that _Hamlet_ is really mad; had he thoroughly believed it, it was to no Purpose to endeavour to sound his Mind; and the shortest and best Way, and what, methinks, the King ought most to have wished for, was to have had him confin'd; and this was an excellent Reason to give the People for so doing. The Queen seems to have no Design or Artifice in relation to her Son, but mere Affection; which, considering all Things, one would little expect from her. The Account of the Embassy to _Norway_, was necessary towards the Introduction of _Fortinbrass_, in the Sequel, whose coming in at the Close of the Play winds up all very naturally. _Polonius's_ Character, (p. 267, 268.) is admirably well kept up in that Scene, where he pretends to have discovered the Cause of the Prince's Madness, and would much deserve Applause, were such a Character allowable in such a Piece as this. _Hamlet's_ Letter to _Ophelia_, which _Polonius_ reads, is none of the best Parts of this play, and is, I think, too Comick for this Piece. The whole Conduct of _Hamlet's_ Madness is, in my Opinion, too ludicrous for his Character, and for the situation his Mind was then really in. I must confess, nothing is more difficult than to draw a real Madness well, much more a feign'd one; for here the Poet in _Hamlet's_ Case, was to paint such a Species of Madness as should not give cause of Suspicion of the real Grief which had taken Possession of the Prince's Mind. His Behaviour to those two Courtiers, whom the Usurper had sent to dive into his Secret, is very natural and just, because his chief Business was to baffle their Enquiries, as he does also in another Scene, (p. 304.) where his falling into a sort of a Pun upon bringing in the Pipe, is a great Fault, for it is too low and mean for Tragedy. But our Author in this (as in all his Pieces) is glad of any Opportunity of falling in with the prevailing Humour of the Times, which ran into false Wit, and a constant endeavour to produce affected Moral Sentences. He was very capable of drawing _Hamlet_ in Madness with much more Dignity, and without any Thing of the Comick; although it is difficult, as I said, to describe a feign'd Madness in a Tragedy, which is not to touch on the real Cause of Grief. Page 277. The Scene of the Players is conducive to the whole Scheme of this Tragedy, and is managed with great Beauty. We are to observe, that the Speeches spoken by the Prince, and one of the Players, are dismal Bombast, and intended, no doubt, to ridicule some Tragedy of those Days. The Poet's stepping out of his Subject to lash the Custom of Plays being acted by the Children of the Chapel, is not allowable in Tragedy, which is never to be a Satire upon any modern particular _Foible_ or Vice that prevails, but is to be severe upon Crimes and Immoralities of all Ages, and of all Countries. Hamlet's Speech, (p. 281.) after his Conversation with the Players, is good; and by it we see that the Poet himself seems sensible of the Fault in his Plot. But that avails not, unless he had found Means to help it, which certainly might have been. The Prince's Design of confirming by the Play, the Truth of what the Ghost told him, is certainly well imagin'd; but as the coming of these Players is supposed to be accidental, it could not be a Reason for his Delay. ACT III. Page 284. _How smart a Lash, that Speech doth give my Conscience_, &c. The Poet here is greatly to be commended for his Conduct. As consummate a Villain as this King of _Denmark_ is represented to be, yet we find him stung with the deepest Remorse, upon the least Sentence that can any ways be supposed to relate to his Crime. How Instructive this is to the Audience, how much it answers the End of all publick Representations by inculcating a good Moral, I leave to the Consideration of every Reader. Hamlet's Conversation with _Ophelia_, we may observe, is in the Style of Madness; and it was proper that the Prince should conceal his Design from every one, which had he conversed with his Mistress in his natural Style could not have been. I am perswaded, that our Author was pleas'd to have an Opportunity of raising a Laugh now and then, which he does in several Passages of _Hamlet's_ satirical Reflections on Women; but I have the same Objections to this Part of the Prince's Madness, that I have before mentioned, viz. that it wants Dignity. _Ophelia's_ melancholy Reflections upon _Hamlet's_ having lost his Sovereignty of Reason, is natural and very beautiful. As to the King's sending him to _England_, See Mr. _Theobald's_ Note. I purposely omit taking Notice of the famous Speech, _To be, or not to be_, &c. every _English_ Reader knows its Beauties. The Prince's Directions to the Players are exceeding good, and are evidently brought in as Lessons for the Players, who were _Shakespeare's_ Companions, and he thought this a very proper Occasion to animadvert upon those Faults which were disagreeable to him. Whoever reads these Observations of his, if one may prove a Thing by a negative Argument, must believe _Shakespeare_ to have been an excellent Actor himself; for we can hardly imagine him to have been guilty of the Mistakes he is pointing out to his Brethren. Notwithstanding all this, and that the Opportunity seems natural enough to introduce these Remarks, yet I cannot think them agreeable in such a Piece as this; they are not suitable to the Dignity of the Whole, and would be better plac'd in a Comedy. Page 292, Act 3d. Hamlet's Expression of his Friendship for _Horatio_, has great Beauties; it is with Simplicity and Strength, and the Diction has all the Graces of Poetry. It was well imagin'd, that he should let his Friend know the Secret of his Father's Murder, because, thus his Request to him, to observe the King's Behaviour at the Play, is very naturally introduc'd as a prudent Desire of the Prince's. The Friendship of _Eneas_ for _Achates_ in the _Eneid_, is found Fault with much for the same Reasons that some Criticks might carp at this of _Hamlet's_ for _Horatio_, viz. that neither of them are found to perform any great Acts of Friendship to their respective Friends. But, I think, that the Friendship of _Hamlet_ and _Horatio_ is far superior to that of _Eneas_ and _Achates_, as appears in the last Scene, where _Horatio's_ Behaviour is exceeding Tender, and his Affection for the Prince likely to prove very useful to his Memory. Hamlet's whole Conduct, during the Play which is acted before the King, has, in my Opinion, too much Levity in it. His Madness is of too light a Kind, although I know he says, he must be idle; but among other Things, his Pun to _Polonius_ is not tolerable. I might also justly find Fault with the want of Decency in his Discourses to _Ophelia_, without being thought too severe. The Scene represented by the Players is in wretched Verse. This we may, without incurring the Denomination of an ill-natur'd Critick, venture to pronounce, that in almost every Place where _Shakespeare_ has attempted Rhime, either in the Body of his Plays, or at the Ends of Acts or Scenes, he falls far short of the Beauty and Force of his Blank Verse: One would think they were written by two different Persons. I believe we may justly take Notice, that Rhime never arrived at its true Beauty, never came to its Perfection in _England_, until long since _Shakespeare's_ Time. The King's rising with such Precipitation, and quitting the Play upon seeing the Resemblance of his own foul Crime, is very much in Nature, and confirms the Penetration of our Author's Hero. Page 302. Hamlet's Pleasantry upon his being certified that his Uncle is Guilty, is not a-propos in my Opinion. We are to take Notice that the Poet has mix'd a Vein of Humour in the Prince's Character, which is to be seen in many Places of this Play. What was his Reason for so doing, I cannot say, unless it was to follow his Favourite _Foible_, viz. that of raising a Laugh. Page 306. The Prince's Resolution upon his going to his Mother, is beautifully express'd, and suitable to his Character. Page 306, 307. What _Rosincrantz_ says of the Importance of the King's Life, is express'd by a very just Image. Page 307. The King's seeming so very much touch'd with a Sense of his Crime, is supposed to be owing to the Representation he had been present at; but I do not well see how _Hamlet_ is introduced so as to find him at Prayers. It is not natural, that a King's Privacy should be so intruded on, not even by any of his Family, especially, that it should be done without his perceiving it. Page 309. Hamlet's Speech upon seeing the King at Prayers, has always given me great Offence. There is something so very Bloody in it, so inhuman, so unworthy of a Hero, that I wish our Poet had omitted it. To desire to destroy a Man's Soul, to make him eternally miserable, by cutting him off from all hopes of Repentance; this surely, in a Christian Prince, is such a Piece of Revenge, as no Tenderness for any Parent can justify. To put the Usurper to Death, to deprive him of the Fruits of his vile Crime, and to rescue the Throne of _Denmark_ from Pollution, was highly requisite: But there our young Prince's Desires should have stop'd, nor should he have wished to pursue the Criminal in the other World, but rather have hoped for his Conversion, before his putting him to Death; for even with his Repentance, there was at least Purgatory for him to pass through, as we find even in a virtuous Prince, the Father of _Hamlet_. Page 310. _Enter the Queen and_ Polonius, _and afterwards_ Hamlet. We are now come to a Scene, which I have always much admired. I cannot think it possible, that such an Incident could have been managed better, nor more conformably to Reason and Nature. The Prince, conscious of his own good Intentions, and the Justness of the Cause he undertakes to plead, speaks with that Force and Assurance which Virtue always gives; and yet manages his Expressions so as not to treat his Mother in a disrespectful Manner. What can be expressed with more Beauty and more Dignity, than the Difference between his Uncle and Father! The Contrast in the Description of them both, is exquisitely fine: And his inforcing the Heinousness of his Mother's Crime with so much Vehemence, and her guilty half Confessions of her Wickedness, and at last her thorough Remorse, are all Strokes from the Hand of a great Master in the Imitation of Nature. His being obliged to break off his Discourse by the coming in of his Father's Ghost once more, adds a certain Weight and Gravity to this Scene, which works up in the Minds of the Audience all the Passions which do the greatest Honour to human Nature. Add to this, the august and solemn Manner with which the Prince addresses the Spectre after his Invocation of the Celestial Ministers. The Ghost's not being seen by the Queen, was very proper; for we could hardly suppose, that a Woman, and a guilty one especially, could be able to bear so terrible a Sight without the Loss of her Reason. Besides that, I believe, the Poet had also some Eye to a vulgar Notion, that Spirits are only seen by those with whom their Business is, let there be never so many Persons in Company. This Compliance with these popular Fancies, still gives an Air of Probability to the Whole. The Prince shews an extreme Tenderness for his Father in these Lines, _On Him! on Him!_ &c. _His Form and Cause conjoin'd_, &c. and really performs all the strictest Rules of Filial Piety thro' out the whole Play, both to Father and Mother; and particularly, to the Latter in this Scene, whilst he endeavours to bring her to Repentance. In a Word, We have in this important Scene, our Indignation raised against a vile Murderer, our Compassion caus'd for the inhuman Death of a virtuous Prince; our Affection is heighten'd for the Hero of the Play; and, not to enter into more Particulars, we are moved in the strongest Manner, by every Thing that can gain Access to our Hearts. Hamlet's killing _Polonius_, was in Conformity to the Plan _Shakespeare_ built his Play upon; and the Prince behaves himself on that Occasion, as one who seems to have his Thoughts bent on Things of more Importance. I wish the Poet had omitted _Hamlet's_ last Reflection on the Occasion, _viz. This Counsellor, &c._ It has too much Levity in it; and his _tugging_ him away into another Room, is unbecoming the Gravity of the rest of the Scene, and is a Circumstance too much calculated to raise a Laugh, which it always does. We must observe, that _Polonius_ is far from a good Character, and that his Death is absolutely necessary towards the _Denoüement_ of the whole Piece. And our Hero had not put him to Death, had not he thought it to have been the Usurper hid behind the _Arras_; so that upon the Whole, this is no Blemish to his Character. Hamlet's Behaviour to the King, &c. (Act _fourth_, p 320 and Sequel,) concerning _Polonius's_ Body, is too jocose and trivial. Page 326. _Enter_ Fortinbrass _with an Army_. This is a Conduct in most of our Author's Tragedies, and in many other of our Tragedy Writers, that is quite unnatural and absurd; I mean, introducing an Army on the Stage. Although our Imagination will bear a great Degree of Illusion, yet we can never so far impose on our Knowledge, and our Senses, as to imagine the Stage to contain an Army: Therefore in such a Case, the Recital of it, or seeing the Commander, and an Officer or Two of it, is the best Method of conducting such a Circumstance. _Fortinbrass's_ Troops are here brought in, I believe, to give Occasion for his appearing in the last Scene, and also to give Rise to _Hamlet's_ reflections thereon, (p. 327.) which tend to give some Reasons for his deferring the Punishment of the Usurper. Laertes's Character is a very odd one; it is not easy to say, whether it is good or bad; but his consenting to the villainous Contrivance of the Usurper's to murder _Hamlet_, (p. 342.) makes him much more a bad Man than a good one. For surely Revenge for such an accidental Murder as was that of his Father's (which from the Queen, it is to be supposed he was acquainted with all the Circumstances of) could never justify him in any treacherous Practices. It is a very nice Conduct in the Poet to make the Usurper build his Scheme upon the generous unsuspicious Temper of the Person he intends to murder, and thus to raise the Prince's Character by the Confession of his Enemy, to make the Villain ten Times more odious from his own Mouth. The Contrivance of the Foil unbated (i.e. without a Button) is methinks too gross a Deceit to go down even with a Man of the most unsuspicious Nature. The Scenes of _Ophelia's_ Madness are to me very shocking, in so noble a Piece as this. I am not against her having been represented mad; but surely, it might have been done with less Levity and more Decency. Mistakes are less tolerable from such a Genius as _Shakespeare's_ and especially in the very Pieces which give us such strong Proofs of his exalted Capacity. Mr. _Warburton's_ Note (in Mr. _Theobalds_) on _Laertes's_ Rebellion, is very judicious, (as indeed are all those of that Gentleman) only I cannot think _Laertes_ (for the Reasons I have given) a good Character. ACT V. The Scene of the Grave-Diggers. (p. 344.) I know is much applauded, but in my humble Opinion, is very unbecoming such a Piece as this, and is only pardonable as it gives Rise to _Hamlet's_ fine moral Reflections upon the Infirmity of human Nature. Page 354. Hamlet's Return to _Denmark_ is not ill contriv'd; but I cannot think that his Stratagem is natural or easy, by which he brings that Destruction upon the Heads of his Enemies, which was to have fallen upon himself. It was possible, but not very probable; because methinks, their Commission was kept in a very negligent Manner, to be thus got from them without their knowing it. Their Punishment was just, because they had devoted themselves to the Service of the Usurper in whatever he should command, as appears in several Passages. It does not appear whether _Ophelia's_ Madness was chiefly for her Father's Death, or for the Loss of _Hamlet_. It is not often that young Women run mad for the Loss of their Fathers. It is more natural to suppose, that like _Chimene_ in the _Cid_, her great Sorrow proceeded from her Father's being kill'd by the Man she lov'd, and thereby making it indecent for her ever to marry him. Page 351. In _Hamlet's_ leaping into _Ophelia's_ Grave, (which is express'd with great Energy and Force of Passion) we have the first real Proof of his Love for her, which during this whole Piece has been forced to submit to Passions of greater Weight and Force, and here is suffered to break out chiefly, as it is necessary towards the Winding up of the Piece. It is but an Under-Passion in the Play, and seems to be introduced more to conform to the Plan our Poet built upon, than for any Thing else; tho' as the whole Play is managed, it conduces towards the Conclusion, as well as it diversifies, and adds Beauties to the whole Piece. Page 357. The Scene of the Fop _Osrick_ is certainly intended as a Satire upon the young Courtiers of those Days, and is humourously express'd, but is, I think, improper for Tragedy. Hamlet's feeling, as it were, a Presage in his own Breast, of the Misfortune impending from his accepting _Laertes's_ Challenge, is beautiful; and we are to note, that our Author in several of his Plays, has brought in the chief Personages as having a sort of prophetick Idea of their Death; as in _Romeo_ and _Juliet_. It was (I doubt not) the Opinion of the Age he lived in. Laertes's Death, and the Queen's, are truly poetical Justice, and very naturally brought about; although I do not conceive it to be so easy to change Rapiers in a Scuffle, without knowing it at the Time. The Death of the Queen is particularly according to the strictest Rules of Justice, for she loses her Life by the Villany of the very Person, who had been the Cause of all her Crimes. Page 364. Since the Poet deferred so long the Usurper's Death, we must own, that he has very naturally effected it, and still added fresh Crimes to those the Murderer had already committed. Upon _Laertes's_ Repentance for contriving the Death of _Hamlet_, one cannot but feel some Sentiments of Pity for him; but who can see or read the Death of the young Prince without melting into Tears and Compassion? _Horatio's_ earned Desire to die with the Prince, (_p. 365, and Sequel_,) thus not to survive his Friend, gives a stronger Idea of his Friendship for _Hamlet_ in the few Lines on that Occasion, than many Actions or Expressions could possibly have done. And _Hamlet's_ begging him to _draw his Breath in this Harsh World_ a little longer, to clear his Reputation and manifest his Innocence, is very suitable to his virtuous Character, and the honest Regard that all Men should have not to be misrepresented to Posterity; that they may not let a bad Example, when in reality they have set a good one; which is the only Motive that can, in Reason, recommend the Love of Fame and Glory. Page 366. When the Ambassadors from _England_ say, _Where shall we have our Thanks?_ And _Horatio_ answers, _Not from his Mouth, He never gave_, &c. I wonder that Mr. _Theobalds_ should see any Difficulty in this; for it is but applying to the King what _Horatio_ says, who knew the whole Affair, and then his Answer is just and true; and indeed, I think it cannot well be understood in any other Sense from the whole Tenour of the Passage. Horatio's Desire of having the Bodies carried to a Stage, &c. is very well imagined, and was the best way of satisfying the Request of his deceased Friend. And he acts in this, and in all Points, suitably to the manly, honest Character under which he is drawn throughout the whole Piece. Besides, it gives a sort of Content to the Audience, that tho' their Favourite (which must be _Hamlet_) did not escape with Life, yet the greatest amends will be made him, which can be in this World, viz. Justice done to his Memory. Fortinbrass comes in very naturally at the Close of this Play, and lays a very just Claim to the Throne of _Denmark_, as he had the dying Voice of the Prince. He in few Words gives a noble Character of _Hamlet_, and serves to carry off the deceased Hero from the Stage with the Honours due to his Birth and Merit. I shall close these Remarks with some general Observations, and shall avoid (as I have hitherto done) repeating any Thing which has been said by others, at least as much as I possibly can: Nor do I think it necessary to make an ostentatious Shew of Learning, or to draw quaint Parallels between our Author and the great Tragic Writers of Antiquity; for in Truth, this is very little to the Purpose in reviewing _Shakespeare's_ Dramatic Works; since most Men are I believe convinced, that he is very little indebted to any of them; and a remarkable Influence of this is to be observed in his Tragedy of _Troilus_ and _Cressida_, wherein it appears (as Mr. _Theobalds_ has evidently demonstrated it,) that he has chosen an old _English_ Romance concerning the _Trojan_ War, as a worthier Guide than even _Homer_ himself. Nature was our great Poet's Mistress; her alone has he followed as his Conductress; and therefore it has been with regard to her only, that I have considered this Tragedy. It is not to be denied, but that _Shakespeare's_ Dramatic Works are in general very much mix'd; his Gold is strangely mingled with Dross in most of his Pieces. He fell too much into the low Taste of the Age he liv'd in, which delighted in miserable Puns, low Wit, and affected sententious Maxims; and what is most unpardonable in him, he has interspersed his noblest Productions with this Poorness of Thought. This I have shewn in my Remarks on this Play. Yet, notwithstanding the Defects I have pointed out, it is, I think, beyond Dispute, that there is much less of this in _Hamlet_ than in any of his Plays; and that the Language in the Whole, is much more pure, and much more free from Obscurity or Bombast, than any of our Author's Tragedies; for sometimes _Shakespeare_ may be justly tax'd with that Fault. And we may moreover take Notice, that the Conduct of this Piece is far from being bad; it is superior in that respect (in my Opinion) to many of those Performances in which the Rules are said to be exactly kept to. The Subject, which is of the nicest Kind, is managed with great Delicacy, much beyond that Piece wherein _Agamemnon's_ Death is revenged by his Son _Orestes_, so much admired by all the Lovers of Antiquity; for the Punishment of the Murderer alone by the Son of the murdered Person, is sufficient; there is something too shocking in a Mother's being put to Death by her Son, although she be never so guilty. _Shakespeare's_ Management in this Particular, has been much admired by one of our greatest Writers, who takes Notice of the beautiful Caution given by the Ghost to _Hamlet_, _But howsoever thou pursuest this Act_, &c. The making the Whole to turn upon the Appearance of a Spectre, is a great Improvement of the Plan he work'd upon; especially as he has conducted it in so sublime a Manner, and accompanied it with all the Circumstances that could make it most perfect in its kind. I have observed in my Remarks, that the Poet has, with great Art, brought about the Punishment of the guilty Queen by the very Person who caused her Guilt, and this without Staining her Son's Hands with her Blood. There is less Time employ'd in this Tragedy, as I observed else where, than in most of our Author's Pieces, and the Unity of Place is not much disturbed. But here give me leave to say, that the Critick's Rules, in respect to these two Things, if they prove any Thing, prove too much; for if our Imagination will not bear a strong Imposition, surely no Play ought to be supposed to take more Time than is really employ'd in the Acting; nor should there be any Change of Place in the least. This shews the Absurdity of such Arbitrary Rules. For how would such a Genius as _Shakespeare's_ have been cramped had he thus fettered himself! But there is (in Truth) no Necessity for it. No Rules are of any Service in Poetry, of any kind, unless they add Beauties, which consist (in Tragedy) in an exact Conformity to Nature in the Conduct of the Characters, and in a sublimity of Sentiments and nobleness of Diction. If these two Things be well observed, tho' often at the Expence of Unity of Time and Place, such Pieces will always please, and never suffer us to find out the little Defects in the Plot; nay it generally happens (at least Experience has shewn it frequently) that those Pieces wherein the fantastick Rules of Criticks have been kept strictly to, have been generally flat and low. We are to consider, that no Dramatick Piece can affect us but by the Delusion of our Imagination; which, to taste true and real Pleasures at such Representations, must undergo very great Impositions, even such as in Speculation seem very gross, but which are nevertheless allowed of by the strictest Criticks. In the first Place, our Understandings are never shocked at hearing all Nations, on our Stage, speak _English_; an Absurdity one would think that should immediately revolt us; but which is, however, absolutely necessary in all Countries where Dramatick Performances are resorted to, unless the Characters be always supposed to be of each respective Nation; as for instance, in all _Shakespeare's_ Historical Plays. I say, this never shocks us nor do we find any Difficulty in believing the Stage to be _Rome_, (or _Denmark_, for instance, as in this Play;) or _Wilks_ to be _Hamlet_, or _Booth_ to be a Ghost, &c. These Things, I repeat it, appear difficult in Speculation; but we find, that in Reality they do go down; and must necessarily do so, or else farewel all Dramatick Performances; for unless the Distress and Woes appear to be real (which they never can, if we do not believe we actually see the Things that are represented) it is impossible our Passions should be moved. Let any one fairly judge, if these do not seem as great Impositions on our Reason, as the Change of Place, or the Length of Time, which are found fault with in our Poet. I confess there are Bounds set to this Delusion of our Imaginations, (as there are to every Thing else in this World) for this Delusion is never perform'd in direct Defiance of our Reason; on the contrary, our Reason helps on the Deceit; but she will concur no farther in this Delusion, than to a certain Point which she will never pass, and that is, the Essential Difference between Plays which deceive us by the Assistance of our Reason, and others which would impose upon our Imaginations in Despight of our Reason. It is evident by the Success our Author's Pieces have always met with for so long a Course of Time; it is, I say, certain by this general Approbation, that his Pieces are of the former, not of the latter Sort. But to go to the Bottom of this Matter, would lead me beyond what I propose. Since therefore it is certain, that the strict Observance of the Critick's Rules might take away Beauties, but not always add any, why should our Poet be so much blamed for giving a Loose to his Fancy? The Sublimity of Sentiments in his Pieces, and that exalted Diction which is so peculiarly his own, and in fine, all the Charms of his Poetry, far outweigh any little Absurdity in his Plots, which no ways disturb us in the Pleasures we reap from the above-mention'd Excellencies. And the more I read him, the more I am convinced, that as he knew his own particular Talent well, he study'd more to work up great and moving Circumstances to place his chief Characters in, so as to affect our Passions strongly, he apply'd himself more to This than he did to the Means or Methods whereby he brought his Characters into those Circumstances. How far a general Vogue is the Test of the Merit of a Tragedy, has been often considered by eminent Writers, and is a Subject of too complicated a Nature to discuss in these few Sheets. But I shall just hint two or three of my own Thoughts on that Head. Nature is the Basis of all Tragick Performances, and no Play that is unnatural, i.e. wherein the Characters act inconsistently with themselves, and in a Manner repugnant to our natural Ideas, can please at all. But a Play may be natural, and yet displease one Sett of People out of Two, of which all Audiences are composed. If a Play be built upon low Subjects, but yet carried on consistently, and has no Merit but Nature, it will please the Vulgar; by which I mean, all the unlearned and ill-educated, (as for Instance, _George Barnwell_, a Piece calculated for the Many) but it must be nauseous to the Learned, and to those of improved and exalted Understandings. So on the other Hand, a Piece which turns upon Passions, which regard those of high Station chiefly, cannot be so pleasing to the Vulgar; for tho' all Men are born with the same Passions, yet Education very much exalts and refines them. Thus the Loves of Boors and Peasants may delight the Populace, but those of better Sort must have Delicacy in that Passion to see it represented with any tolerable Patience. The same is to be said of Jealousy and Revenge, which are indeed felt by all, but in Breasts well educated are felt with sharper Pangs, and are combated with more Vehemence, and from more and greater Motives; therefore such People are fitter to judge, and more likely to be taken with noble and sublime Representations of such Incidents. I need not observe, that the Vulgar cannot judge of the Historical Propriety of a great Character, This is obvious to every one; nor can they judge of the Passion of Ambition, as it has Power with Princes and great Men, because not being versed by Reading in parallel Stories, and not being in such a Situation of Life, as to feel the Torments of such Passions, they cannot certainly tell whether such Things are represented with proper Circumstances, and proper Consequences drawn from them. And moreover, as all Men are by Nature more prone to some Passions than to others, This must cause Variety of Sentiments in relation to the same Piece. Besides all this, we may be very certain that different Education, different Degrees of Understanding, and of the Passions common to all Men, must cause a Variety of Sentiments concerning such Representations. To prove this, let us observe how the Tastes of Nations differ in relation to these Things; so much, that one would be tempted sometimes to think, that they did not all partake of the same Passions; but certainly they vary in the Degrees of them; therefore by a Parity of Reason we may justly conclude, that Difference of Education among those of the same Nation must affect their Passions and Sentiments. The better sort have (if one may so express it) some acquired Passions which the lower sort are ignorant of. Thus indeed it seems at first Sight; but on a nearer View they are found to be, as I said, the same Passions augmented or refined, and turned upon other Objects. The different Manner in which one of _Corneille's_ or _Racine's_ Pieces would be received by an Audience of _Turks_ or _Russians_, and an Audience of _Frenchmen_, (supposing the former to understand the Language, and the latter to be free from any national Prejudices for the Authors) is a lively and strong Emblem of the Force of Education and Custom among Creatures, all cast in the same Mould, and endued with the same Faculties and Passions with very little real Difference. Still farther, we may observe, that even good Acting will recommend some bad Pieces, as bad Acting will take away half the Merit of good Ones; and some National Subjects are pleasing (as the _Albion Queens_ and _Earl_ of _Essex_) to the Many, tho' they very little affect the Few. When I speak of Plays, I desire to be understood of Tragedies, in which I think the _English_ excell; for I can mention very few of our Comedies with any Approbation; since in the Latter, neither the Morals of the Inhabitants of this Nation are regarded, or Nature followed. In short, not to pursue a Subject, that would carry me great Lengths, I conclude from this, that a Piece which has no Merit in it but Nature, will please the Vulgar; whereas exalted Sentiments, and Purity and Nobleness of Diction, as well as Nature, are absolutely requisite to please those of a true Taste. And it is very possible, that a Play which turns upon some great Passion, seldom felt by the Vulgar, and wherein that Passion is treated with the greatest Delicacy and Justness; I say, it is very possible that such a Piece may please the Few, and displease the Many. And as a Proof of the bad Taste of the Multitude, we find in this Nation of ours, that a vile _Pantomime_ Piece, full of Machinery, or a lewd blasphemous Comedy, or wretched Farce, or an empty obscure low Ballad Opera, (in all which, to the scandal of our Nation and Age, we surpass all the World) shall draw together crowded Audiences, when there is full Elbow-Room at a noble Piece of _Shakespeare's_ or _Rowe's_. Before I conclude, I must point out another Beauty in the Tragedy of _Hamlet_, besides those already mentioned, which does indeed arise from our Author's conforming to a Rule which he followed, (probably, without knowing it,) only because it is agreeable to Nature; and this is, that there is not one Scene in this Play but what some way or other conduces towards the _Denoüement_ of the Whole; and thus the Unity of Action is indisputably kept up by every Thing tending to what we may call the main Design, and it all hangs by Consequence so close together, that no Scene can be omitted, without Prejudice to the Whole. Even _Laertes_ going to _France_, and _Ophelia's_ Madness, however trivial they may seem (and how much soever I dislike the Method of that last mentioned) are Incidents absolutely necessary towards the concluding of all; as will appear to any one upon due Consideration. This all holds good, notwithstanding it is my Opinion, that several of the Scenes might have been altered by our Author for the better; but as they all stand, it is, as I said, quite impossible to separate them, without a visible Prejudice to the Whole. I must add, that I am much in Doubt, whether Scenes of Prose are allowable, according to Nature and Reason, in Tragedies which are composed chiefly of Blank Verse; the Objection to them seems to be this, that as all Verse is not really in Nature, but yet Blank Verse is necessary in Tragedies, to ennoble the Diction, and by Custom is become natural to us, Prose mixed with it serves only, methinks, to discover the Effects of Art, by the Contraste between Verse and Prose. Add to all this, That it is not suitable to the Dignity of such Performances. In short, Vice is punished in this excellent Piece, and thereby the Moral Use of it is unquestionable. And if _Hamlet's_ Virtue is not rewarded as we could wish, Mr. _Addison's_ Maxim ought to satify us, which is this, "That no Man is so thoroughly Virtuous as to claim a Reward in Tragedy, or to have Reason to repine at the Dispensations of Providence; and it is besides more Instructive to the Audience, because it abates the Insolence of Human Nature, and teaches us not to judge of Men's Merit by their Successes. And he proceeds farther, and says, that though a virtuous Man may prove unfortunate, yet a vicious Man cannot be happy in a well wrought Tragedy." This last Rule is well observed here. Another Reason why we ought to bear with more Patience the Sufferings of a virtuous Character, is the Reflection on the future Rewards prepared for such, which is more suitable to the Moral Maxims established in a Christian Country. Besides, had it pleased our Author to have spared _Hamlet's_ Life, we had been deprived of that pleasing Sensation which always (as I have else where observed) accompanies a Consciousness that we are moved as we ought to be; which we most assuredly are, when we feel Compassion rise in us for the young Prince's Death in the last Scene. I shall just touch upon one Thing more, and then I shall end these Reflections. I am very sensible that our Nation has long been censur'd for delighting in bloody Scenes on the Stage, and our Poets have been found fault with for complying with this vicious Taste. I cannot but own, that there is a great deal of Justice in these Complaints; and must needs be of Opinion, that such Sights should never be exhibited but in order, visibly, to conduce to the Beauty of the Piece. This is sometimes so much the Case, that Action is often absolutely necessary. And to come more particularly to the Subject now in hand, I desire any unprejudiced Man, of any Nation whatever, (if such can be found) who understands our Language, to consider whether the Appearance of the Ghost, and the Deaths of the several principal Personages, (with whatever else may offend the Delicacy I mention) could possibly have that great, that noble Effect, by being told to the Audience, as they most undoubtedly have, by being brought on the Stage. If this Matter be well examined with all possible Candour, I am well perswaded that it would be found in the End, that this Piece would, by the Method I speak of, loose half its Beauty. The _French_, (as has been often observ'd) by their Rules of Criticism, have voluntarily imposed on themselves an unnecessary Slavery; and when little Genius's among them have written Tragedies with these Chains on, they have made most miserable work of it, and given Plays entirely void of Spirit. Even the great Genius's in that Nation, such as _Corneille_ and _Racine_, and Mr. _De Voltaire_ (which last being capacitated by having liv'd among us, and by learning our Language, to judge of the Defects and Merits of both Nations, is highly sensible of the Truth of what I now say, as appears in his Preface to his _Brutus_) even they have been forced to damp their Fire, and keep their Spirit from soaring in almost all their Pieces; and all this is owing to the false Notions of Decency, and a Refinement of Taste among our Neighbours, which is getting now to such a Height, that so far from being able to bear the Representation of Tragical Actions, they are hardly able to bear any Subjects which turn upon the weightier Passions; such as Ambition, Revenge, Jealousy, &c. The Form of their Government, indeed, is of such a Nature, that many Subjects cannot be treated as they ought, nor work'd up to that Height which they are here, and were formerly at _Athens_, &c. and Love, for that Reason among others is made to be the Basis of almost all their Tragedies. Nay, the Education of the People under such a Government, prevents their delighting in such Performances as pleased an _Athenian_ or a _Roman_, and now delight us _Britons_. Thus every Thing conduces to debase Tragedy among them, as every Thing here contributes to form good Tragick Writers; yet how few have we! And what is very remarkable, each Nation takes Delight in that, which, in the Main, they the least excel in, and are the least fit for. The Audience in _England_ is generally more crowded at a Comedy, and in _France_ at a Tragedy; yet I will venture to affirm, (and I shall be ready upon Occasion to support my Assertion by good Reasons) that no Comick Writer has ever equal'd _Moliere_, nor no Tragick Writer ever came up to _Shakespeare_, _Rowe_, and Mr. _Addison_. Besides the many Reasons I have already given in Relation to the _French_, I might add, that their Language is less fit for Tragedy, and the Servitude of their Rhime enervates the Force of the Diction. And as for Our Comedies, they are so full of Lewdness, Impiety and Immorality, and of such complicated perplexed Plots, so stuffed with Comparisons and Similies, so replenished with Endeavours at Wit and Smartness, that I cannot forbear saying, that whoever sees or reads them for Improvement (I make some Exceptions in this Censure) will find a contrary Effect; and whatever Man of a True Taste expects to see Nature, either in the Sentiments or Characters, will (in general) find himself very much mistaken. _FINIS_. The _Remarks_ was printed anonymously, in 1736, with the following title page: Some / Remarks / on the / Tragedy / of / _Hamlet_ Prince of _Denmark_, / Written by / Mr. _William Shakespeare_. / [double rule enclosing a printer's device] / _London_: / Printed for W. Wilkins, in _Lombard_-/ _Street_. M,DCC,XXXVI. price 1s. The edition of 1736 was reprinted in London, 1864, for sale by John Russell Smith, with an identical title page. 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9077	----	Charles Franks, and The Distributed Proofreaders [Transcriber's note: This aims to be an accurate transcription of the original text. To achieve this, we deviate from the standard Project Gutenberg guidelines in the following respects: * the original line breaks are preserved; * hyphenated words are not rejoined; * page breaks are noted (in the right margin); * printing errors are not corrected. Typographically, effort has been made to change the text as little as possible. The 'long s' has been converted, but none of the original spelling has been modified. Text which was centred has been indented eight spaces from the left margin. Right justified text is indifferently aligned in the original text; here all right justified text is aligned to the right-hand margin. The horizontal and vertical indentation of lines reflects the original text. Italics are indicated by underscores, and punctuation has not been included inside the italics except for periods which indicate an abbreviation, or when an entire sentence is italicised. There is a macron over an 'e' on the last line of E3v, which has been rendered as 'ê' in this transcription.] THE [TP] Tragicall Historie of HAMLET _Prince of Denmarke_ By William Shake-speare. As it hath beene diuerse times acted by his Highnesse ser- uants in the Cittie of London: as also in the two V- niuersities of Cambridge and Oxford, and else-where [Illustration] At London printed for N.L. and Iohn Trundell. 1603. [TPv] [Illustration] [B1] The Tragicall Historie of HAMLET Prince of Denmarke. _Enter two Centinels._ 1. Stand: who is that? 2. T'is I. 1. O you come most carefully vpon your watch, 2. And if you meet _Marcellus_ and _Horatio_, The partners of my watch, bid them make haste. 1. I will: See who goes there. _Enter Horatio and Marcellus._ _Hor._ Friends to this ground. _Mar._ And leegemen to the Dane, O farewell honest souldier, who hath releeued you? 1. _Barnardo_ hath my place, giue you goodnight. _Mar._ Holla, _Barnardo_. 2. Say, is _Horatio_ there? _Hor._ A peece of him. 2. Welcome _Horatio_, welcome good _Marcellus_. _Mar._ What hath this thing appear'd againe to night. 2. I haue seene nothing. _Mar._ _Horatio_ says tis but our fantasie, And wil not let beliefe take hold of him, Touching this dreaded sight twice seene by vs, Therefore I haue intreated him a long with vs [B1v] To watch the minutes of this night, That if againe this apparition come, He may approoue our eyes, and speake to it. _Hor._ Tut, t'will not appeare. 2. Sit downe I pray, and let vs once againe Assaile your eares that are so fortified, What we haue two nights seene. _Hor._ Wel, sit we downe, and let vs heare _Bernardo_ speake of this. 2. Last night of al, when yonder starre that's west- ward from the pole, had made his course to Illumine that part of heauen. Where now it burnes, The bell then towling one. _Enter Ghost._ _Mar._ Breake off your talke, see where it comes againe. 2. In the same figure like the King that's dead, _Mar._ Thou art a scholler, speake to it H_oratio_. 2. Lookes it not like the king? _Hor._ Most like, it horrors mee with feare and wonder. 2. It would be spoke to. _Mar._ Question it H_oratio_. _Hor._ What art thou that thus vsurps the state, in Which the Maiestie of buried _Denmarke_ did sometimes Walke? By heauen I charge thee speake. _Mar._ It is offended. _exit Ghost._ 2. See, it stalkes away. _Hor._ Stay, speake, speake, by heauen I charge thee speake. _Mar._ Tis gone and makes no answer. 2. How now H_oratio_, you tremble and looke pale, Is not this something more than fantasie? What thinke you on't? _Hor._ Afore my God, I might not this beleeue, without the sensible and true auouch of my owne eyes. _Mar._ Is it not like the King? [B2] _Hor._ As thou art to thy selfe, Such was the very armor he had on, When he the ambitious _Norway_ combated. So frownd he once, when in an angry parle He smot the sleaded pollax on the yce, Tis strange. _Mar._ Thus twice before, and iump at this dead hower, With Marshall stalke he passed through our watch. _Hor._ In what particular to worke, I know not, But in the thought and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to the state. _Mar._ Good, now sit downe, and tell me he that knowes Why this same strikt and most obseruant watch, So nightly toyles the subiect of the land, And why such dayly cost of brazen Cannon And forraine marte, for implements of warre, Why such impresse of ship-writes, whose sore taske Does not diuide the sunday from the weeke: What might be toward that this sweaty march Doth make the night ioynt labourer with the day, Who is't that can informe me? _Hor._ Mary that can I, at least the whisper goes so, Our late King, who as you know was by Forten- Brasse of _Norway_, Thereto prickt on by a most emulous cause, dared to The combate, in which our valiant H_amlet_, For so this side of our knowne world esteemed him, Did slay this Fortenbrasse, Who by a seale compact well ratified, by law And heraldrie, did forfeit with his life all those His lands which he stoode seazed of by the conqueror, Against the which a moity competent, Was gaged by our King: Now sir, yong Fortenbrasse, Of inapproued mettle hot and full, Hath in the skirts of _Norway_ here and there, [B2v] Sharkt vp a sight of lawlesse Resolutes For food and diet to some enterprise, That hath a stomacke in't: and this (I take it) is the Chiefe head and ground of this our watch. _Enter the Ghost._ But loe, behold, see where it comes againe, Ile crosse it, though it blast me: stay illusion, If there be any good thing to be done, That may doe ease to thee, and grace to mee. Speake to mee. If thou art priuy to thy countries fate, Which happly foreknowing may preuent, O speake to me, Or if thou hast extorted in thy life, Or hoorded treasure in the wombe of earth, For which they say you Spirites oft walke in death, speake to me, stay and speake, speake, stoppe it _Marcellus_. 2. Tis heere. _exit Ghost._ H_or._ Tis heere. _Marc._ Tis gone, O we doe it wrong, being so maiesti- call, to offer it the shew of violence, For it is as the ayre invelmorable, And our vaine blowes malitious mockery. 2. It was about to speake when the Cocke crew. H_or._ And then it faded like a guilty thing, Vpon a fearefull summons: I haue heard The Cocke, that is the trumpet to the morning, Doth with his earely and shrill crowing throate, Awake the god of day, and at his sound, Whether in earth or ayre, in sea or fire, The strauagant and erring spirite hies To his confines, and of the trueth heereof This present obiect made probation. _Marc._ It faded on the crowing of the Cocke, Some say, that euer gainst that season comes, Wherein our Sauiours birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long, [B3] And then they say, no spirite dare walke abroade, The nights are wholesome, then no planet frikes, No Fairie takes, nor Witch hath powre to charme, So gratious, and so hallowed is that time. H_or._ So haue I heard, and doe in parte beleeue it: But see the Sunne in russet mantle clad, Walkes ore the deaw of yon hie mountaine top, Breake we our watch vp, and by my aduise, Let vs impart what wee haue seene to night Vnto yong H_amlet_: for vpon my life This Spirite dumbe to vs will speake to him: Do you consent, wee shall acquaint him with it, As needefull in our loue, fitting our duetie? _Marc._ Lets doo't I pray, and I this morning know, Where we shall finde him most conueniently. _Enter King, Queene,_ H_amlet, Leartes, Corambis, and the two Ambassadors, with Attendants._ _King_ Lordes, we here haue writ to _Fortenbrasse_, Nephew to olde _Norway_, who impudent And bed-rid, scarely heares of this his Nephews purpose: and Wee heere dispatch Yong good _Cornelia_, and you _Voltemar_ For bearers of these greetings to olde _Norway_, giuing to you no further personall power To businesse with the King, Then those related articles do shew: Farewell, and let your haste commend your dutie. _Gent._ In this and all things will wee shew our dutie. _King._ Wee doubt nothing, hartily farewel: And now _Leartes_; what's the news with you? You said you had a sute what i'st _Leartes_? _Lea._ My gratious Lord, your fauorable licence, Now that the funerall rites are all performed, I may haue leaue to go againe to _France_, [B3v] For though the fauour of your grace might stay mee, Yet something is there whispers in my hart, Which makes my minde and spirits bend all for _France_. _King_ Haue you your fathers leaue, _Leartes_? _Cor._ He hath, my lord, wrung from me a forced graunt, And I beseech you grant your Highnesse leaue. _King_ With all our heart, _Leartes_ fare thee well. _Lear._ I in all loue and dutie take my leaue. _King._ And now princely Sonne _Hamlet_, _Exit._ What meanes these sad and melancholy moodes? For your intent going to _Wittenberg_, Wee hold it most vnmeet and vnconuenient, Being the Ioy and halfe heart of your mother. Therefore let mee intreat you stay in Court, All _Denmarkes_ hope our coosin and dearest Sonne. _Ham._ My lord, ti's not the sable sute I weare: No nor the teares that still stand in my eyes, Nor the distracted hauiour in the visage, Nor all together mixt with outward semblance, Is equall to the sorrow of my heart, Him haue I lost I must of force forgoe, These but the ornaments and sutes of woe. _King_ This shewes a louing care in you, Sonne _Hamlet_, But you must thinke your father lost a father, That father dead, lost his, and so shalbe vntill the Generall ending. Therefore cease laments, It is a fault gainst heauen, fault gainst the dead, A fault gainst nature, and in reasons Common course most certaine, None liues on earth, but hee is borne to die. _Que._ Let not thy mother loose her praiers H_amlet_, Stay here with vs, go not to _Wittenberg_. _Ham._ I shall in all my best obay you madam. _King_ Spoke like a kinde and a most louing Sonne, And there's no health the King shall drinke to day, But the great Canon to the clowdes shall tell [B4] The rowse the King shall drinke vnto Prince H_amlet_ _Exeunt all but_ H_amlet._ _Ham._ O that this too much grieu'd and sallied flesh Would melt to nothing, or that the vniuersall Globe of heauen would turne al to a Chaos! O God, within two months; no not two: married, Mine vncle: O let me not thinke of it, My fathers brother: but no more like My father, then I to _Hercules_. Within two months, ere yet the salt of most Vnrighteous teares had left their flushing In her galled eyes: she married, O God, a beast Deuoyd of reason would not haue made Such speede: Frailtie, thy name is Woman, Why she would hang on him, as if increase Of appetite had growne by what it looked on. O wicked wicked speede, to make such Dexteritie to incestuous sheetes, Ere yet the shooes were olde, The which she followed my dead fathers corse Like _Nyobe_, all teares: married, well it is not, Nor it cannot come to good: But breake my heart, for I must holde my tongue. _Enter_ Horatio _and_ Marcellus. _Hor._ Health to your Lordship. _Ham._ I am very glad to see you, (Horatio) or I much forget my selfe. _Hor._ The same my Lord, and your poore seruant euer. _Ham._ O my good friend, I change that name with you: but what make you from _Wittenberg_ H_oratio_? _Marcellus_. _Marc._ My good Lord. _Ham._ I am very glad to see you, good euen sirs; But what is your affaire in _Elsenoure_? Weele teach you to drinke deepe ere you depart. _Hor._ A trowant disposition, my good Lord. [B4v] _Ham._ Nor shall you make mee truster Of your owne report against your selfe: Sir, I know you are no trowant: But what is your affaire in _Elsenoure_? _Hor._ My good Lord, I came to see your fathers funerall. _Ham._ O I pre thee do not mocke mee fellow studient, I thinke it was to see my mothers wedding. _Hor._ Indeede my Lord, it followed hard vpon. _Ham._ Thrift, thrift, H_oratio_, the funerall bak't meates Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables, Would I had met my deerest foe in heauen Ere euer I had seene that day _Horatio_; O my father, my father, me thinks I see my father. _Hor._ Where my Lord? _Ham._ Why, in my mindes eye H_oratio_. _Hor._ I saw him once, he was a gallant King. _Ham._ He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not looke vpon his like againe. _Hor._ My Lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight, _Ham._ Saw, who? _Hor._ My Lord, the King your father. _Ham._ Ha, ha, the King my father ke you. _Hor._ Ceasen your admiration for a while With an attentiue eare, till I may deliuer, Vpon the witnesse of these Gentlemen This wonder to you. _Ham._ For Gods loue let me heare it. _Hor._ Two nights together had these Gentlemen, _Marcellus_ and _Bernardo_, on their watch In the dead vast and middle of the night. Beene thus incountered by a figure like your father, Armed to poynt, exactly _Capapea_ Appeeres before them thrise, he walkes Before their weake and feare oppressed eies Within his tronchions length, While they distilled almost to gelly. [C1] With the act of feare stands dumbe, And speake not to him: this to mee In dreadfull secresie impart they did. And I with them the third night kept the watch, Where as they had delivered forme of the thing. Each part made true and good, The Apparition comes: I knew your father, These handes are not more like. _Ham._ Tis very strange. _Hor._ As I do liue, my honord lord, tis true, And wee did thinke it right done, In our dutie to let you know it. _Ham._ Where was this? _Mar._ My Lord, vpon the platforme where we watched. _Ham._ Did you not speake to it? _Hor._ My Lord we did, but answere made it none, Yet once me thought it was about to speake, And lifted vp his head to motion, Like as he would speake, but euen then The morning cocke crew lowd, and in all haste, It shruncke in haste away, and vanished Our sight. _Ham._ Indeed, indeed sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to night? _All_ We do my Lord. _Ham._ Armed say ye? _All_ Armed my good Lord. _Ham._ From top to toe? _All._ My good Lord, from head to foote. _Ham._ Why then saw you not his face? _Hor._ O yes my Lord, he wore his beuer vp. _Ham._ How look't he, frowningly? _Hor._ A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. _Ham._ Pale, or red? _Hor._ Nay, verie pal _Ham._ And fixt his eies vpon you. [C1v] _Hor._ Most constantly. _Ham._ I would I had beene there. _Hor._ It would a much amazed you. _Ham._ Yea very like, very like, staid it long? _Hor._ While one with moderate pace Might tell a hundred. _Mar._ O longer, longer. _Ham._ His beard was grisleld, no. _Hor._ It was as I haue seene it in his life, A sable siluer. _Ham._ I wil watch to night, perchance t'wil walke againe. _Hor._ I warrant it will. _Ham._ If it assume my noble fathers person, Ile speake to it, if hell it selfe should gape, And bid me hold my peace, Gentlemen, If you haue hither consealed this sight, Let it be tenible in your silence still, And whatsoeuer else shall chance to night, Giue it an vnderstanding, but no tongue, I will requit your loues, so fare you well, Vpon the platforme, twixt eleuen and twelue, Ile visit you. _All._ Our duties to your honor. _exeunt_. _Ham._ O your loues, your loues, as mine to you. Farewell, my fathers spirit in Armes, Well, all's not well. I doubt some foule play, Would the night were come, Till then, sit still my soule, foule deeds will rise Though all the world orewhelme them to mens eies. _Exit_. _Enter Leartes_ and _Ofelia_. _Leart._ My necessaries are inbarkt, I must aboord, But ere I part, marke what I say to thee: I see Prince _Hamlet_ makes a shew of loue Beware _Ofelia_, do not trust his vowes, Perhaps he loues you now, and now his tongue, Speakes from his heart, but yet take heed my sister, [C2] The Chariest maide is prodigall enough, If she vnmaske hir beautie to the Moone. Vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious thoughts, Belieu't _Ofelia_, therefore keepe a loofe Lest that he trip thy honor and thy fame. _Ofel._ Brother, to this I haue lent attentiue care, And doubt not but to keepe my honour firme, But my deere brother, do not you Like to a cunning Sophister, Teach me the path and ready way to heauen, While you forgetting what is said to me, Your selfe, like to a carelesse libertine Doth giue his heart, his appetite at ful, And little recks how that his honour dies. _Lear._ No, feare it not my deere _Ofelia_, Here comes my father, occasion smiles vpon a second leaue. _Enter Corambis._ _Cor._ Yet here _Leartes_? aboord, aboord, for shame, The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, And you are staid for, there my blessing with thee And these few precepts in thy memory. "Be thou familiar, but by no meanes vulgare; "Those friends thou hast, and their adoptions tried, "Graple them to thee with a hoope of steele, "But do not dull the palme with entertaine, "Of euery new vnfleg'd courage, "Beware of entrance into a quarrell; but being in, "Beare it that the opposed may beware of thee, "Costly thy apparrell, as thy purse can buy. "But not exprest in fashion, "For the apparell oft proclaimes the man. And they of _France_ of the chiefe rancke and station Are of a most select and generall chiefe in that: "This aboue all, to thy owne selfe be true, And it must follow as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any one, [C2v] Farewel, my blessing with thee. _Lear._ I humbly take my leaue, farewell _Ofelia_, And remember well what I haue said to you. _exit._ _Ofel._ It is already lock't within my hart, And you your selfe shall keepe the key of it. _Cor._ What i'st _Ofelia_ he hath saide to you? _Ofel._ Somthing touching the prince _Hamlet_. _Cor._ Mary wel thought on, t'is giuen me to vnderstand, That you haue bin too prodigall of your maiden presence Vnto Prince Hamlet, if it be so, As so tis giuen to mee, and that in waie of caution I must tell you; you do not vnderstand your selfe So well as befits my honor, and your credite. _Ofel._ My lord, he hath made many tenders of his loue to me. _Cor._ Tenders, I, I, tenders you may call them. _Ofel._ And withall, such earnest vowes. _Cor._ Springes to catch woodcocks, What, do not I know when the blood doth burne, How prodigall the tongue lends the heart vowes, In briefe, be more scanter of your maiden presence, Or tendring thus you'l tender mee a foole. _Ofel._ I shall obay my lord in all I may. _Cor._ _Ofelia_, receiue none of his letters, "For louers lines are snares to intrap the heart; "Refuse his tokens, both of them are keyes To vnlocke Chastitie vnto Desire; Come in _Ofelia_, such men often proue, "Great in their wordes, but little in their loue. _Ofel._ I will my lord. _exeunt._ _Enter_ Hamlet, Horatio, _and_ Marcellus. _Ham._ The ayre bites shrewd; it is an eager and An nipping winde, what houre i'st? _Hor._ I think it lacks of twelue, _Sound Trumpets._ _Mar._ No, t'is strucke. _Hor._ Indeed I heard it not, what doth this mean my lord? [C3] _Ham._ O the king doth wake to night, & takes his rowse, Keepe wassel, and the swaggering vp-spring reeles, And as he dreames, big draughts of renish downe, The kettle, drumme, and trumpet, thus bray out, The triumphes of his pledge. _Hor._ Is it a custome here? _Ham._ I mary i'st and though I am Natiue here, and to the maner borne, It is a custome, more honourd in the breach, Then in the obseruance. _Enter the Ghost._ _Hor._ Looke my Lord, it comes. _Ham._ Angels and Ministers of grace defend vs, Be thou a spirite of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from heanen, or blasts from hell: Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou commest in such questionable shape, That I will speake to thee, Ile call thee _Hamlet_, King, Father, Royall Dane, O answere mee, let mee not burst in ignorance, But say why thy canonizd bones hearsed in death Haue burst their ceremonies: why thy Sepulcher, In which wee saw thee quietly interr'd, Hath burst his ponderous and marble Iawes, To cast thee vp againe: what may this meane, That thou, dead corse, againe in compleate steele, Reuissets thus the glimses of the Moone, Making night hideous, and we fooles of nature, So horridely to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our soules? Say, speake, wherefore, what may this meane? _Hor._ It beckons you, as though it had something To impart to you alone. _Mar._ Looke with what courteous action It waues you to a more remoued ground, But do not go with it. [C3v] _Hor._ No, by no meanes my Lord. _Ham._ It will not speake, then will I follow it. _Hor._ What if it tempt you toward the flood my Lord. That beckles ore his bace, into the sea, And there assume some other horrible shape, Which might depriue your soueraigntie of reason, And driue you into madnesse: thinke of it. _Ham._ Still am I called, go on, ile follow thee. _Hor._ My Lord, you shall not go. _Ham._ Why what should be the feare? I do not set my life at a pinnes fee, And for my soule, what can it do to that? Being a thing immortall, like it selfe, Go on, ile follow thee. _Mar._ My Lord be rulde, you shall not goe. _Ham._ My fate cries out, and makes each pety Artiue As hardy as the Nemeon Lyons nerue, Still am I cald, vnhand me gentlemen; By heauen ile make a ghost of him that lets me, Away I say, go on, ile follow thee. _Hor._ He waxeth desperate with imagination. _Mar._ Something is rotten in the state of _Denmarke_. _Hor._ Haue after; to what issue will this sort? _Mar._ Lets follow, tis not fit thus to obey him. _exit._ _Enter Ghost and Hamlet._ _Ham._ Ile go no farther, whither wilt thou leade me? _Ghost_ Marke me. _Ham._ I will. _Ghost_ I am thy fathers spirit, doomd for a time To walke the night, and all the day Confinde in flaming fire, Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature Are purged and burnt away. _Ham._ Alas poore Ghost. _Ghost_ Nay pitty me not, but to my vnfolding Lend thy listning eare, but that I am forbid [C4] To tell the secrets of my prison house I would a tale vnfold, whose lightest word Would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy yong blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular haire to stand on end Like quils vpon the fretfull Porpentine, But this same blazon must not be, to eares of flesh and blood Hamlet, if euer thou didst thy deere father loue. _Ham._ O God. _Gho._ Reuenge his foule, and most vnnaturall murder: _Ham._ Murder. _Ghost_ Yea, murder in the highest degree, As in the least tis bad, But mine most foule, beastly, and vnnaturall. _Ham._ Haste me to knowe it, that with wings as swift as meditation, or the thought of it, may sweepe to my reuenge. _Ghost_ O I finde thee apt, and duller shouldst thou be Then the fat weede which rootes it selfe in ease On _Lethe_ wharffe: briefe let me be. Tis giuen out, that sleeping in my orchard, A Serpent stung me; so the whole eare of _Denmarke_ Is with a forged Prosses of my death rankely abusde: But know thou noble Youth: he that did sting Thy fathers heart, now weares his Crowne. _Ham._ O my prophetike soule, my vncle! my vncle! _Ghost_ Yea he, that incestuous wretch, wonne to his will O wicked will, and gifts! that haue the power (with gifts, So to seduce my most seeming vertuous Queene, But vertne, as it neuer will be moued, Though Lewdnesse court it in a shape of heauen, So Lust, though to a radiant angle linckt, Would fate it selfe from a celestiall bedde, And prey on garbage: but soft, me thinkes I sent the mornings ayre, briefe let me be, Sleeping within my Orchard, my custome alwayes [C4v] In the after noone, vpon my secure houre Thy vncle came, with iuyce of Hebona In a viall, and through the porches of my eares Did powre the leaprous distilment, whose effect Hold such an enmitie with blood of man, That swift as quickesilner, it posteth through The naturall gates and allies of the body, And turnes the thinne and wholesome blood Like eager dropings into milke. And all my smoothe body, barked, and tetterd ouer. Thus was I sleeping by a brothers hand Of Crowne, of Queene, of life, of dignitie At once depriued, no reckoning made of, But sent vnto my graue, With all my accompts and sinnes vpon my head, O horrible, most horrible! _Ham._ O God! _ghost_ If thou hast nature in thee, beare it not, But howsoeuer, let not thy heart Conspire against thy mother aught, Leaue her to heauen, And to the burthen that her conscience beares. I must be gone, the Glo-worme shewes the Martin To be neere, and gin's to pale his vneffectuall fire: Hamlet adue, adue, adue: remember me. _Exit_ _Ham._ O all you hoste of heauen! O earth, what else? And shall I couple hell; remember thee? Yes thou poore Ghost; from the tables Of my memorie, ile wipe away all sawes of Bookes, All triuiall fond conceites That euer youth, or else obseruance noted, And thy remembrance, all alone shall sit. Yes, yes, by heauen, a damnd pernitious villaine, Murderons, bawdy, smiling damned villaine, (My tables) meet it is I set it downe, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villayne; [D1] At least I am sure, it may be so in _Denmarke_. So vncle, there you are, there you are. Now to the words; it is adue adue: remember me, Soe t'is enough I haue sworne. _Hor._ My lord, my lord. _Enter. Horatio,_ _Mar._ Lord Hamlet. _and Marcellus._ _Hor._ Ill, lo, lo, ho, ho. _Mar._ Ill, lo, lo, so, ho, so, come boy, come. _Hor._ Heauens secure him. _Mar._ How i'st my noble lord? _Hor._ What news my lord? _Ham._ O wonderfull, wonderful. _Hor._ Good my lord tel it. _Ham._ No not I, you'l reueale it. _Hor._ Not I my Lord by heauen. _Mar._ Nor I my Lord. _Ham._ How say you then? would hart of man Once thinke it? but you'l be secret. _Both_. I by heauen, my lord. _Ham._ There's neuer a villaine dwelling in all _Denmarke_, But hee's an arrant knaue. _Hor._ There need no Ghost come from the graue to tell you this. _Ham._ Right, you are in the right, and therefore I holde it meet without more circumstance at all, Wee shake hands and part; you as your busines And desiers shall leade you: for looke you, Euery man hath busines, and desires, such As it is; and for my owne poore parte, ile go pray. _Hor._ These are but wild and wherling words, my Lord. _Ham._. I am sory they offend you; hartely, yes faith hartily. _Hor._ Ther's no offence my Lord. _Ham._ Yes by Saint _Patrike_ but there is H_oratio_, And much offence too, touching this vision, It is an honest ghost, that let mee tell you, For your desires to know what is betweene vs, [D1v] Or emaister it as you may: And now kind frends, as yon are frends, Schollers and gentlmen, Grant mee one poore request. _Both_. What i'st my Lord? _Ham._ Neuer make known what you haue seene to night. _Both_. My lord, we will not. _Ham._ Nay but sweare. _Hor._ In faith my Lord not I. _Mar._ Nor I my Lord in faith. _Ham._ Nay vpon my sword, indeed vpon my sword. _Gho._ Sweare. _The Gost under the stage_. _Ham._ Ha, ha, come you here, this fellow in the sellerige, Here consent to sweare. _Hor._ Propose the oth my Lord. _Ham._ Neuer to speake what you haue seene to night, Sweare by my sword. _Gost_. Sweare. _Ham._ _Hic & vbique_; nay then weele shift our ground: Come hither Gentlemen, and lay your handes Againe vpon this sword, neuer to speake Of that which you haue seene, sweare by my sword. _Ghost_ Sweare. _Ham._ Well said old Mole, can'st worke in the earth? so fast, a worthy Pioner, once more remoue. _Hor._ Day and night, but this is wondrous strange. _Ham._ And therefore as a stranger giue it welcome, There are more things in heauen and earth _Horatio_, Then are Dream't of, in your philosophie, But come here, as before you neuer shall How strange or odde soere I beare my selfe, As I perchance hereafter shall thinke meet, To put an Anticke disposition on, That you at such times seeing me, neuer shall With Armes; incombred thus, or this head shake, [D2] Or by pronouncing some vndoubtfull phrase, As well well, wee know, or wee could and if we would, Or there be, and if they might, or such ambiguous. Giuing out to note, that you know aught of mee, This not to doe, so grace, and mercie At your most need helpe you, sweare. _Ghost_. sweare. _Ham._ Rest, rest, perturbed spirit: so gentlemen, In all my loue I do commend mee to you, And what so poore a man as _Hamlet_ may, To pleasure you, God willing shall not want, Nay come lett's go together, But stil your fingers on your lippes I pray, The time is out of ioynt, O cursed spite, That euer I was borne to set it right, Nay come lett's go together. _Exeunt._ _Enter Corambis, and Montano._ _Cor._ _Montano_, here, these letters to my sonne, And this same mony with my blessing to him, And bid him ply his learning good _Montano_. _Mon._ I will my lord. _Cor._ You shall do very well _Montano_, to say thus, I knew the gentleman, or know his father, To inquire the manner of his life, As thus; being amongst his acquaintance, You may say, you saw him at such a time, marke you mee, At game, or drincking, swearing, or drabbing, You may go so farre. _Mon._ My lord, that will impeach his reputation. _Cor._ I faith not a whit, no not a whit, Now happely hee closeth with you in the consequence, As you may bridle it not disparage him a iote. What was I a bout to say, _Mon._ He closeth with him in the consequence. _Cor._ I, you say right, he closeth with him thus, This will hee say, let mee see what hee will say, [D2v] Mary this, I saw him yesterday, or tother day, Or then, or at such a time, a dicing, Or at Tennis, I or drincking drunke, or entring Of a howse of lightnes viz. brothell, Thus sir do wee that know the world, being men of reach, By indirections, finde directions forth, And so shall you my sonne; you ha me, ha you not? _Mon._ I haue my lord. _Cor._ Wel, fare you well, commend mee to him. _Mon._ I will my lord, _Cor._ And bid him ply his musicke _Mon._ My lord I wil. _exit._ _Enter, Ofelia_. _Cor._ Farewel, how now _Ofelia_, what's the news with you? _Ofe._ O my deare father, such a change in nature, So great an alteration in a Prince, So pitifull to him, fearefull to mee, A maidens eye ne're looked on. _Cor._ Why what's the matter my _Ofelia_? _Of._ O yong Prince _Hamlet_, the only floure of _Denmark_, Hee is bereft of all the wealth he had, The Iewell that ador'nd his feature most Is filcht and stolne away, his wit's bereft him, Hee found mee walking in the gallery all alone, There comes hee to mee, with a distracted looke, His garters lagging downe, his shooes vntide, And fixt his eyes so stedfast on my face, As if they had vow'd, this is their latest obiect. Small while he stoode, but gripes me by the wrist, And there he holdes my pulse till with a sigh He doth vnclaspe his holde, and parts away Silent, as is the mid time of the night: And as he went, his eie was still on mee, For thus his head ouer his shoulder looked, He seemed to finde the way without his eies: For out of doores he went without their helpe, [D3] And so did leaue me. _Cor._ Madde for thy loue, What haue you giuen him any crosse wordes of late? _Ofelia_ I did repell his letters, deny his gifts, As you did charge me. _Cor._ Why that hath made him madde: By heau'n t'is as proper for our age to cast Beyond ourselues, as t'is for the yonger sort To leaue their wantonnesse. Well, I am sory That I was so rash: but what remedy? Lets to the King, this madnesse may prooue, Though wilde a while, yet more true to thy loue. _exeunt._ _Enter King and Queene, Rossencraft, and Gilderstone._ _King_ Right noble friends, that our deere cosin Hamlet Hath lost the very heart of all his sence, It is most right, and we most sory for him: Therefore we doe desire, euen as you tender Our care to him, and our great loue to you, That you will labour but to wring from him The cause and ground of his distemperancie. Doe this, the king of _Denmarke_ shal be thankefull. _Ros._ My Lord, whatsoeuer lies within our power Your maiestie may more commaund in wordes Then vse perswasions to your liege men, bound By loue, by duetie, and obedience. _Guil._ What we may doe for both your Maiesties To know the griefe troubles the Prince your sonne, We will indeuour all the best we may, So in all duetie doe we take our leaue. _King_ Thankes Guilderstone, and gentle Rossencraft. _Que._ Thankes Rossencraft, and gentle Gilderstone. _Enter Corambis and Ofelia._ _Cor._ My Lord, the Ambassadors are ioyfully Return'd from _Norway_. _King_ Thou still hast beene the father of good news. _Cor._ Haue I my Lord? I assure your grace, [D3v] I holde my duetie as I holde my life, Both to my God, and to my soueraigne King: And I beleeue, or else this braine of mine Hunts not the traine of policie so well As it had wont to doe, but I haue found The very depth of Hamlets lunacie. _Queene_ God graunt he hath. _Enter the Ambassadors._ _King_ Now _Voltemar_, what from our brother _Norway_? _Volt._ Most faire returnes of greetings and desires, Vpon our first he sent forth to suppresse His nephews leuies, which to him appear'd To be a preparation gainst the Polacke: But better look't into, he truely found It was against your Highnesse, whereat grieued, That so his sickenesse, age, and impotence, Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests On _Fortenbrasse_, which he in briefe obays, Receiues rebuke from _Norway_: and in fine, Makes vow before his vncle, neuer more To giue the assay of Armes against your Maiestie, Whereon olde _Norway_ ouercome with ioy, Giues him three thousand crownes in annuall fee, And his Commission to employ those souldiers, So leuied as before, against the Polacke, With an intreaty heerein further shewne, That it would please you to giue quiet passe Through your dominions, for that enterprise On such regardes of safety and allowances As therein are set downe. _King_ It likes vs well, and at fit time and leasure Weele reade and answere these his Articles, Meane time we thanke you for your well Tooke labour: go to your rest, at night weele feast togither: Right welcome home. _exeunt Ambassadors._ _Cor._ This busines is very well dispatched. [D4] Now my Lord, touching the yong Prince Hamlet, Certaine it is that hee is madde: mad let vs grant him then: Now to know the cause of this effect, Or else to say the cause of this defect, For this effect defectiue comes by cause. _Queene_ Good my Lord be briefe. _Cor._ Madam I will: my Lord, I haue a daughter, Haue while shee's mine: for that we thinke Is surest, we often loose: now to the Prince. My Lord, but note this letter, The which my daughter in obedience Deliuer'd to my handes. _King_ Reade it my Lord. _Cor._ Marke my Lord. Doubt that in earth is fire, Doubt that the starres doe moue, Doubt trueth to be a liar, But doe not doubt I loue. To the beautifull _Ofelia_: Thine euer the most vnhappy Prince _Hamlet_. My Lord, what doe you thinke of me? I, or what might you thinke when I sawe this? _King_ As of a true friend and a most louing subiect. _Cor._ I would be glad to prooue so. Now when I saw this letter, thus I bespake my maiden: Lord _Hamlet_ is a Prince out of your starre, And one that is vnequall for your loue: Therefore I did commaund her refuse his letters, Deny his tokens, and to absent her selfe. Shee as my childe obediently obey'd me. Now since which time, seeing his loue thus cross'd, Which I tooke to be idle, and but sport, He straitway grew into a melancholy, From that vnto a fast, then vnto distraction, Then into a sadnesse, from that vnto a madnesse, And so by continuance, and weakenesse of the braine [D4v] Into this frensie, which now possesseth him: And if this be not true, take this from this. _King_ Thinke you t'is so? _Cor._ How? so my Lord, I would very faine know That thing that I haue saide t'is so, positiuely, And it hath fallen out otherwise. Nay, if circumstances leade me on, Ile finde it out, if it were hid As deepe as the centre of the earth. _King_. how should wee trie this same? _Cor._ Mary my good lord thus, The Princes walke is here in the galery, There let _Ofelia_, walke vntill hee comes: Your selfe and I will stand close in the study, There shall you heare the effect of all his hart, And if it proue any otherwise then loue, Then let my censure faile an other time. _King_. See where hee comes poring vppon a booke. _Enter Hamlet._ _Cor._ Madame, will it please your grace To leaue vs here? _Que._ With all my hart. _exit._ _Cor._ And here _Ofelia_, reade you on this booke, And walke aloofe, the King shal be vnseene. _Ham._ To be, or not to be, I there's the point, To Die, to sleepe, is that all? I all: No, to sleepe, to dreame, I mary there it goes, For in that dreame of death, when wee awake, And borne before an euerlasting Iudge, From whence no passenger euer retur'nd, The vndiscouered country, at whose sight The happy smile, and the accursed damn'd. But for this, the ioyfull hope of this, Whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? The widow being oppressd, the orphan wrong'd; [E1] The taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne, And thousand more calamities besides, To grunt and sweate vnder this weary life, When that he may his full _Quietus_ make, With a bare bodkin, who would this indure, But for a hope of something after death? Which pusles the braine, and doth confound the sence, Which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue, Than flie to others that we know not of. I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of vs all, Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred. _Ofel._ My Lord, I haue sought opportunitie, which now I haue, to redeliuer to your worthy handes, a small remem- brance, such tokens which I haue receiued of you. _Ham._ Are you faire? _Ofel._ My Lord. _Ham._ Are you honest? _Ofel._ What meanes my Lord? _Ham._ That if you be faire and honest, Your beauty should admit no discourse to your honesty. _Ofel._ My Lord, can beauty haue better priuiledge than with honesty? _Ham._ Yea mary may it; for Beauty may transforme Honesty, from what she was into a bawd: Then Honesty can transforme Beauty: This was sometimes a Paradox, But now the time giues it scope. I neuer gaue you nothing. _Ofel._ My Lord, you know right well you did, And with them such earnest vowes of loue, As would haue moou'd the stoniest breast aliue, But now too true I finde, Rich giftes waxe poore, when giuers grow vnkinde. _Ham._ I neuer loued you. _Ofel._ You made me beleeue you did. _Ham._ O thou shouldst not a beleeued me! [E1v] Go to a Nunnery goe, why shouldst thou Be a breeder of sinners? I am my selfe indifferent honest, But I could accuse my selfe of such crimes It had beene better my mother had ne're borne me, O I am very prowde, ambitious, disdainefull, With more sinnes at my becke, then I haue thoughts To put them in, what should such fellowes as I Do, crawling between heauen and earth? To a Nunnery goe, we are arrant knaues all, Beleeue none of vs, to a Nunnery goe. _Ofel._ O heauens secure him! _Ham._ Wher's thy father? _Ofel._ At home my lord. _Ham._ For Gods sake let the doores be shut on him, He may play the foole no where but in his Owne house: to a Nunnery goe. _Ofel._ Help him good God. _Ham._ If thou dost marry, Ile giue thee This plague to thy dowry: Be thou as chaste as yce, as pure as snowe, Thou shalt not scape calumny, to a Nunnery goe. _Ofel._ Alas, what change is this? _Ham._ But if thou wilt needes marry, marry a foole, For wisemen know well enough, What monsters you make of them, to a Nunnery goe. _Ofel._ Pray God restore him. _Ham._ Nay, I haue heard of your paintings too, God hath giuen you one face, And you make your selues another, You fig, and you amble, and you nickname Gods creatures, Making your wantonnesse, your ignorance, A pox, t'is scuruy, Ile no more of it, It hath made me madde: Ile no more marriages, All that are married but one, shall liue, The rest shall keepe as they are, to a Nunnery goe, To a Nunnery goe. _exit._[E2] _Ofe._ Great God of heauen, what a quicke change is this? The Courtier, Scholler, Souldier, all in him, All dasht and splinterd thence, O woe is me, To a seene what I haue seene, see what I see. _exit._ _King_ Loue? No, no, that's not the cause, _Enter King and_ Some deeper thing it is that troubles him. _Corambis._ _Cor._ Wel, something it is: my Lord, content you a while, I will my selfe goe feele him; let me worke, Ile try him euery way: see where he comes, Send you those Gentlemen, let me alone To finde the depth of this, away, be gone. _exit King._ Now my good Lord, do you know me? _Enter Hamlet._ _Ham._ Yea very well, y'are a fishmonger. _Cor._ Not I my Lord. _Ham._ Then sir, I would you were so honest a man, For to be honest, as this age goes, Is one man to be pickt out of tenne thousand. _Cor._ What doe you reade my Lord? _Ham._ Wordes, wordes. _Cor._ What's the matter my Lord? _Ham._ Betweene who? _Car._ I meane the matter you reade my Lord. _Ham._ Mary most vile heresie: For here the Satyricall Satyre writes, That olde men haue hollow eyes, weake backes, Grey beardes, pittifull weake hammes, gowty legges, All which sir, I most potently beleeue not: For sir, your selfe shalbe olde as I am, If like a Crabbe, you could goe backeward. _Cor._ How pregnant his replies are, and full of wit: Yet at first he tooke me for a fishmonger: All this comes by loue, the vemencie of loue, And when I was yong, I was very idle, And suffered much extasie in loue, very neere this: Will you walke out of the aire my Lord? _Ham._ Into my graue. [E2v] _Cor._ By the masse that's out of the aire indeed, Very shrewd answers, My lord I will take my leaue of you. _Enter Gilderstone, and Rossencraft._ _Ham._ You can take nothing from me sir, I will more willingly part with all, Olde doating foole. _Cor,_ You seeke Prince Hamlet, see, there he is. _exit._ _Gil._ Health to your Lordship. _Ham._ What, Gilderstone, and Rossencraft, Welcome kinde Schoole-fellowes to _Elsanoure_. _Gil._ We thanke your Grace, and would be very glad You were as when we were at _Wittenberg_. _Ham._ I thanke you, but is this visitation free of Your selues, or were you not sent for? Tell me true, come, I know the good King and Queene Sent for you, there is a kinde of confession in your eye: Come, I know you were sent for. _Gil._ What say you? _Ham._ Nay then I see how the winde sits, Come, you were sent for. _Ross._ My lord, we were, and willingly if we might, Know the cause and ground of your discontent. _Ham._ Why I want preferment. _Ross._ I thinke not so my lord. _Ham._ Yes faith, this great world you see contents me not, No nor the spangled heauens, nor earth, nor sea, No nor Man that is so glorious a creature, Contents not me, no nor woman too, though you laugh. _Gil._ My lord, we laugh not at that. _Ham._ Why did you laugh then, When I said, Man did not content mee? _Gil._ My Lord, we laughed when you said, Man did not content you. What entertainment the Players shall haue, We boorded them a the way: they are comming to you. [E3] _Ham._ Players, what Players be they? _Ross._ My Lord, the Tragedians of the Citty, Those that you tooke delight to see so often. (stie? _Ham._ How comes it that they trauell? Do they grow re- _Gil._ No my Lord, their reputation holds as it was wont. _Ham._ How then? _Gil._ Yfaith my Lord, noueltie carries it away, For the principall publike audience that Came to them, are turned to priuate playes, And to the humour of children. _Ham._ I doe not greatly wonder of it, For those that would make mops and moes At my vncle, when my father liued, Now giue a hundred, two hundred pounds For his picture: but they shall be welcome, He that playes the King shall haue tribute of me, The ventrous Knight shall vse his foyle and target, The louer shall sigh gratis, The clowne shall make them laugh (for't, That are tickled in the lungs, or the blanke verse shall halt And the Lady shall haue leaue to speake her minde freely. _The Trumpets sound, Enter Corambis._ Do you see yonder great baby? He is not yet out of his swadling clowts. _Gil._ That may be, for they say an olde man Is twice a childe. (Players, _Ham._ Ile prophecie to you, hee comes to tell mee a the You say true, a monday last, t'was so indeede. _Cor._ My lord, I haue news to tell you. _Ham._ My Lord, I haue news to tell you: When _Rossios_ was an Actor in _Rome_. _Cor._ The Actors are come hither, my lord. _Ham._ Buz, buz. _Cor._ The best Actors in Christendome, Either for Comedy, Tragedy, Historie, Pastorall, Pastorall, Historicall, Historicall, Comicall, [E3v] Comicall historicall, Pastorall, Tragedy historicall: _Seneca_ cannot be too heauy, nor _Plato_ too light: For the law hath writ those are the onely men. _Ha._ O _Iepha_ Iudge of _Israel_! what a treasure hadst thou? _Cor._ Why what a treasure had he my lord? _Ham._ Why one faire daughter, and no more, The which he loued passing well. _Cor._ A, stil harping a my daughter! well my Lord, If you call me _Iepha_, I hane a daughter that I loue passing well. _Ham._ Nay that followes not. _Cor._ What followes then my Lord? _Ham._ Why by lot, or God wot, or as it came to passe, And so it was, the first verse of the godly Ballet Wil tel you all: for look you where my abridgement comes: Welcome maisters, welcome all, _Enter players._ What my olde friend, thy face is vallanced Since I saw thee last, com'st thou to beard me in _Denmarke_? My yong lady and mistris, burlady but your (you were: Ladiship is growne by the altitude of a chopine higher than Pray God sir your voyce, like a peece of vncurrant Golde, be not crack't in the ring: come on maisters, Weele euen too't, like French Falconers, Flie at any thing we see, come, a taste of your Quallitie, a speech, a passionate speech. _Players_ What speech my good lord? _Ham._ I heard thee speake a speech once, But it was neuer acted: or if it were, Neuer aboue twice, for as I remember, It pleased not the vulgar, it was cauiary To the million: but to me And others, that receiued it in the like kinde, Cried in the toppe of their iudgements, an excellent play, Set downe with as great modestie as cunning: One said there was no sallets in the lines to make thê sauory, But called it an honest methode, as wholesome as sweete. [E4] Come, a speech in it I chiefly remember Was _Æneas_ tale to _Dido_, And then especially where he talkes of Princes slaughter, If it liue in thy memory beginne at this line, Let me see. The rugged _Pyrrus_, like th'arganian beast: No t'is not so, it begins with _Pirrus_: O I haue it. The rugged _Pirrus_, he whose sable armes, Blacke as his purpose did the night resemble, When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now his blacke and grimme complexion smeered With Heraldry more dismall, head to foote, Now is he totall guise, horridely tricked With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sonnes, Back't and imparched in calagulate gore, Rifted in earth and fire, olde grandsire _Pryam_ seekes: So goe on. (accent. _Cor._ Afore God, my Lord, well spoke, and with good _Play._ Anone he finds him striking too short at Greeks, His antike sword rebellious to this Arme, Lies where it falles, vnable to resist. _Pyrrus_ at _Pryam_ driues, but all in rage, Strikes wide, but with the whiffe and winde Of his fell sword, th' unnerued father falles. _Cor._ Enough my friend, t'is too long. _Ham._ It shall to the Barbers with your beard: A pox, hee's for a Iigge, or a tale of bawdry, Or else he sleepes, come on to _Hecuba_, come. _Play._ But who O who had seene the mobled Queene? _Cor._ Mobled Queene is good, faith very good. _Play._ All in the alarum and feare of death rose vp, And o're her weake and all ore-teeming loynes, a blancket And a kercher on that head, where late the diademe stoode, Who this had seene with tongue inuenom'd speech, Would treason haue pronounced, [E4v] For if the gods themselues had seene her then, When she saw _Pirrus_ with malitious strokes, Mincing her husbandes limbs, It would haue made milch the burning eyes of heauen, And passion in the gods. _Cor._ Looke my lord if he hath not changde his colour, And hath teares in his eyes: no more good heart, no more. _Ham._ T'is well, t'is very well, I pray my lord, Will you see the Players well bestowed, I tell you they are the Chronicles And briefe abstracts of the time, After your death I can tell you, You were better haue a bad Epiteeth, Then their ill report while you liue. _Cor._ My lord, I will vse them according to their deserts. _Ham._ O farre better man, vse euery man after his deserts, Then who should scape whipping? Vse them after your owne honor and dignitie, The lesse they deserue, the greater credit's yours. _Cor._ Welcome my good fellowes. _exit._ _Ham._ Come hither maisters, can you not play the mur- der of _Gonsago_? _players_ Yes my Lord. _Ham._ And could'st not thou for a neede study me Some dozen or sixteene lines, Which I would set downe and insert? _players_ Yes very easily my good Lord. _Ham._ T'is well, I thanke you: follow that lord: And doe you heare sirs? take heede you mocke him not. Gentlemen, for your kindnes I thanke you, And for a time I would desire you leaue me. _Gil._ Our loue and duetie is at your commaund. _Exeunt all but Hamlet._ _Ham._ Why what a dunghill idiote slaue am I? Why these Players here draw water from eyes: For Hecuba, why what is Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba? [F1] What would he do and if he had my losse? His father murdred, and a Crowne bereft him, He would turne all his teares to droppes of blood, Amaze the standers by with his laments, Strike more then wonder in the iudiciall eares, Confound the ignorant, and make mute the wise, Indeede his passion would be generall. Yet I like to an asse and Iohn a Dreames, Hauing my father murdred by a villaine, Stand still, and let it passe, why sure I am a coward: Who pluckes me by the beard, or twites my nose, Giue's me the lie i'th throate downe to the lungs, Sure I should take it, or else I haue no gall, Or by this I should a fatted all the region kites With this slaues offell, this damned villaine, Treachcrous, bawdy, murderous villaine: Why this is braue, that I the sonne of my deare father, Should like a scalion, like a very drabbe Thus raile in wordes. About my braine, I haue heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play, Hath, by the very cunning of the scene, confest a murder Committed long before. This spirit that I haue seene may be the Diuell, And out of my weakenesse and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such men, Doth seeke to damne me, I will haue sounder proofes, The play's the thing, Wherein I'le catch the conscience of the King. _exit._ _Enter the King, Queene, and Lordes._ _King_ Lordes, can you by no meanes finde The cause of our sonne Hamlets lunacie? You being so neere in loue, euen from his youth, Me thinkes should gaine more than a stranger should. _Gil._ My lord, we haue done all the best we could, [F1v] To wring from him the cause of all his griefe, But still he puts vs off, and by no meanes Would make an answere to that we exposde. _Ross._ Yet was he something more inclin'd to mirth Before we left him, and I take it, He hath giuen order for a play to night, At which he craues your highnesse company. _King_ With all our heart, it likes vs very well: Gentlemen, seeke still to increase his mirth, Spare for no cost, our coffers shall be open, And we vnto your selues will still be thankefull. _Both_ In all wee can, be sure you shall commaund. _Queene_ Thankes gentlemen, and what the Queene of May pleasure you, be sure you shall not want. (_Denmarke_ _Gil._ Weele once againe vnto the noble Prince. _King_ Thanks to you both; Gertred you'l see this play. _Queene_ My lord I will, and it ioyes me at the soule He is incln'd to any kinde of mirth. _Cor._ Madame, I pray be ruled by me: And my good Soueraigne, giue me leaue to speake, We cannot yet finde out the very ground Of his distemperance, therefore I holde it meete, if so it please you, Else they shall not meete, and thus it is. _King_ What i'st _Corambis_? (done, _Cor._ Mary my good lord this, soone when the sports are Madam, send you in haste to speake with him, And I my selfe will stand behind the Arras, There question you the cause of all his griefe, And then in loue and nature vnto you, hee'le tell you all: My Lord, how thinke you on't? _King_ It likes vs well, Gerterd, what say you? _Queene_ With all my heart, soone will I send for him. _Cor._ My selfe will be that happy messenger, Who hopes his griefe will be reueal'd to her. _exeunt omnes_ _Enter Hamlet and the Players_. [F2] _Ham._ Pronounce me this spcech trippingly a the tongue as I taught thee, Mary and you mouth it, as a many of your players do I'de rather heare a towne bull bellow, Then such a fellow speake my lines. Nor do not saw the aire thus with your hands, But giue euerything his action with temperance. (fellow, O it offends mee to the soule, to heare a rebellious periwig To teare a passion in totters, into very ragges, To split the eares of the ignorant, who for the (noises, Most parte are capable or nothing but dumbe shewes and I would haue such a fellow whipt, or o're doing, tarmagant It out, Herodes Herod. _players_ My Lorde, wee haue indifferently reformed that among vs. _Ham._ The better, the better, mend it all together: There be fellowes that I haue seene play, And heard others commend them, and that highly too, That hauing neither the gate or Christian, Pagan, Nor Turke, haue so strutted and bellowed, That you would a thought, some of Natures journeymen Had made men, and not made them well, They imitated humanitie, so abhominable: Take heede, auoyde it. _players_ I warrant you my Lord. _Ham._ And doe you heare? let not your Clowne speake More then is set downe, there be of them I can tell you That will laugh themselues, to set on some Quantitie of barren spectators to laugh with them, Albeit there is some necessary point in the Play Then to be obserued: O t'is vile, and shewes A pittifull ambition in the foole that vseth it. And then you haue some agen, that keepes one sute Of ieasts, as a man is knowne by one sute of Apparell, and Gentlemen quotes his ieasts downe In their tables, before they come to the play, as thus: [F2v] Cannot you stay till I eate my porrige? and, you owe me A quarters wages: and, my coate wants a cullison: And, your beere is sowre: and, blabbering with his lips, And thus keeping in his cinkapase of ieasts, When, God knows, the warme Clowne cannot make a iest Vnlesse by chance, as the blinde man catcheth a hare: Maisters tell him of it. _players_ We will my Lord. _Ham._ Well, goe make you ready. _exeunt players._ _Horatio_. Heere my Lord. _Ham._ _Horatio_, thou art euen as iust a man, As e're my conuersation cop'd withall. _Hor._ O my lord! _Ham._ Nay why should I flatter thee? Why should the poore be flattered? What gaine should I receiue by flattering thee, That nothing hath but thy good minde? Let flattery sit on those time-pleasing tongs, To glose with them that loues to heare their praise, And not with such as thou _Horatio_. There is a play to night, wherein one Sceane they haue Comes very neere the murder of my father, When thou shalt see that Act afoote, Marke thou the King, doe but obserue his lookes, For I mine eies will riuet to his face: And if he doe not bleach, and change at that, It is a dammed ghost that we haue seene. _Horatio_, haue a care, obserue him well. _Hor._ My lord, mine eies shall still be on his face, And not the smallest alteration That shall appeare in him, but I shall note it. _Ham._ Harke, they come. _Enter King, Queene, Corambis, and other Lords._ (a play? _King_. How now son _Hamlet_, how fare you, shall we haue _Ham_. Yfaith the Camelions dish, not capon cramm'd, feede a the ayre. [F3] I father: My lord, you playd in the Vniuersitie. _Cor._ That I did my L: and I was counted a good actor. _Ham_. What did you enact there? _Cor._ My lord, I did act _Iulius Cæsar_, I was killed in the Capitol, _Brutus_ killed me. _Ham_. It was a brute parte of him, To kill so capitall a calfe. Come, be these Players ready? _Queene_ Hamlet come sit downe by me. _Ham._ No by my faith mother, heere's a mettle more at- Lady will you giue me leaue, and so forth: (tractiue: To lay my head in your lappe? _Ofel._ No my Lord. (trary matters? _Ham._ Vpon your lap, what do you thinke I meant con- _Enter in Dumbe Shew, the King and the Queene, he sits downe in an Arbor, she leaues him: Then enters Luci- anus with poyson in a Viall, and powres it in his eares, and goes away: Then the Queene commmeth and findes him dead: and goes away with the other._ _Ofel._ What meanes this my Lord? _Enter the Prologue._ _Ham._ This is myching Mallico, that meanes my chiefe. _Ofel._ What doth this meane my lord? _Ham._ You shall heare anone, this fellow will tell you all. _Ofel._ Will he tell vs what this shew meanes? _Ham._ I, or any shew you'le shew him, Be not afeard to shew, hee'le not be afeard to tell: O, these Players cannot keepe counsell, thei'le tell all. _Prol._ For vs, and for our Tragedie, Here stowpiug to your clemencie, We begge your hearing patiently. _Ham._ Is't a prologue, or a poesie for a ring? _Ofel._ T'is short, my Lord. _Ham._ As womens loue. _Enter the Duke and Dutchesse._ _Duke_ Full fortie yeares are past, their date is gone, Since happy time ioyn'd both our hearts as one: [F3v] And now the blood that fill'd my youthfull veines, Runnes weakely in their pipes, and all the straines Of musicke, which whilome pleasde mine eare, Is now a burthen that Age cannot beare: And therefore sweete Nature must pay his due, To heauen must I, and leaue the earth with you. _Dutchesse_ O say not so, lest that you kill my heart, When death takes you, let life from me depart. _Duke_ Content thy selfe, when ended is my date, Thon maist (perchance) haue a more noble mate, More wise, more youthfull, and one. _Dutchesse_ O speake no more for then I am accurst, None weds the second, but she kils the first: A second time I kill my Lord that's dead, When second husband kisses me in bed. _Ham._ O wormewood, wormewood! _Duke_ I doe beleeue you sweete, what now you speake, But what we doe determine oft we breake, For our demises stil are ouerthrowne, Our thoughts are ours, their end's none of our owne: So thinke you will no second husband wed, But die thy thoughts, when thy first Lord is dead. _Dutchesse_ Both here and there pursue me lasting strife, If once a widdow, euer I be wife. _Ham._ If she should breake now. _Duke_ T'is deepely sworne, sweete leaue me here a while, My spirites growe dull, and faine I would beguile the tedi- ous time with sleepe. _Dutchesse_ Sleepe rocke thy braine, And neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine. _exit Lady_ _Ham._ Madam, how do you like this play? _Queene_ The Lady protests too much. _Ham._ O but shee'le keepe her word. _King_ Haue you heard the argument, is there no offence in it? _Ham._ No offence in the world, poyson in iest, poison in [F4] _King_ What do you call the name of the play? (iest. _Ham._ Mouse-trap: mary how trapically: this play is The image of a murder done in _guyana_, _Albertus_ Was the Dukes name, his wife _Baptista_, Father, it is a knauish peece a worke: but what A that, it toucheth not vs, you and I that haue free Soules, let the galld iade wince, this is one _Lucianus_ nephew to the King. _Ofel._ Ya're as good as a _Chorus_ my lord. _Ham._ I could interpret the loue you beare, if I sawe the poopies dallying. _Ofel._ Y'are very pleasant my lord. _Ham._ Who I, your onlie jig-maker, why what shoulde a man do but be merry? for looke how cheerefully my mother lookes, my father died within these two houres. _Ofel._ Nay, t'is twice two months, my Lord. _Ham._ Two months, nay then let the diuell weare blacke, For i'le haue a sute of Sables: Iesus, two months dead, And not forgotten yet? nay then there's some Likelyhood, a gentlemans death may outliue memorie, But by my faith hee must build churches then, Or els hee must follow the olde Epitithe, With hoh, with ho, the hobi-horse is forgot. _Ofel._ Your iests are keene my Lord. _Ham._ It would cost you a groning to take them off. _Ofel._ Still better and worse. _Ham._ So you must take your husband, begin. Murdred Begin, a poxe, leaue thy damnable faces and begin, Come, the croking rauen doth bellow for reuenge. _Murd._ Thoughts blacke, hands apt, drugs fit, and time Confederate season, else no creature seeing: (agreeing. Thou mixture rancke, of midnight weedes collected, With _Hecates_ bane thrise blasted, thrise infected, Thy naturall magicke, and dire propertie, One wholesome life vsurps immediately. _exit._ _Ham._ He poysons him for his estate. [F4v] _King_ Lights, I will to bed. _Cor._ The king rises, lights hoe. _Exeunt King and Lordes._ _Ham._ What, frighted with false fires? Then let the stricken deere goe weepe, The Hart vngalled play, For some must laugh, while some must weepe, Thus runnes the world away. _Hor._ The king is mooued my lord. _Hor._ I _Horatio_, i'le take the Ghosts word For more then all the coyne in _Denmarke_. _Enter Rossencraft and Gilderstone._ _Ross._ Now my lord, how i'st with you? _Ham._ And if the king like not the tragedy, Why then belike he likes it not perdy. _Ross._ We are very glad to see your grace so pleasant, My good lord, let vs againe intreate (ture To know of you the ground and cause of your distempera- _Gil._ My lord, your mother craues to speake with you. _Ham._ We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. _Ross._ But my good Lord, shall I intreate thus much? _Ham._ I pray will you play vpon this pipe? _Ross._ Alas my lord I cannot. _Ham._ Pray will you. _Gil._ I haue no skill my Lord. _Ham._ Why looke, it is a thing of nothing, T'is but stopping of these holes, And with a little breath from your lips, It will giue most delicate musick. _Gil._ But this cannot wee do my Lord. _Ham._ Pray now, pray hartily, I beseech you. _Ros._ My lord wee cannot. (me? _Ham._ Why how vnworthy a thing would you make of You would seeme to know my stops, you would play vpon [G1] You would search the very inward part of my hart, mee, And diue into the secreet of my soule. Zownds do you thinke I am easier to be pla'yd On, then a pipe? call mee what Instrument You will, though you can frett mee, yet you can not Play vpon mee, besides, to be demanded by a spunge. _Ros._ How a spunge my Lord? _Ham._ I sir, a spunge, that sokes vp the kings Countenance, fauours, and rewardes, that makes His liberalitie your store house: but such as you, Do the king, in the end, best seruise; For hee doth keep you as an Ape doth nuttes, In the corner of his Iaw, first mouthes you, Then swallowes you: so when hee hath need Of you, t'is but squeesing of you, And spunge, you shall be dry againe, you shall. _Ros._ Wel my Lord wee'le take our leaue. _Ham_ Farewell, farewell, God blesse you. _Exit Rossencraft and Gilderstone._ _Enter Corambis_ _Cor._ My lord, the Queene would speake with you. _Ham._ Do you see yonder clowd in the shape of a camell? _Cor._ T'is like a camell in deed. _Ham._ Now me thinkes it's like a weasel. _Cor._ T'is back't like a weasell. _Ham._ Or like a whale. _Cor._ Very like a whale. _exit Coram._ _Ham._ Why then tell my mother i'le come by and by. Good night Horatio. _Hor._ Good night vnto your Lordship. _exit Horatio._ _Ham._ My mother she hath sent to speake with me: O God, let ne're the heart of _Nero_ enter This soft bosome. Let me be cruell, not vnnaturall. I will speake daggers, those sharpe wordes being spent, [G1v] To doe her wrong my soule shall ne're consent. _exit._ _Enter the King_. _King_. O that this wet that falles vpon my face Would wash the crime cleere from my conscience! When I looke vp to heauen, I see my trespasse, The earth doth still crie out vpon my fact, Pay me the murder of a brother and a king, And the adulterous fault I haue committed: O these are sinnes that art vnpardonable: Why say thy sinnes were blacker then is ieat, Yet may contrition make them as white as snowe: I but still to perseuer in a sinne, It is an act gainst the vniuerfall power, Most wretched man, stoope, bend thee to thy prayer, Aske grace of heauen to keepe thee from despaire. _hee kneeles._ _enters Hamlet_ _Ham._ I so, come forth and worke thy last, And thus hee dies: and so, am I reuenged: No, not so: he tooke my father sleeping, his sins brim full, And how his soule floode to the state of heauen Who knowes, saue the immortall powres, And shall I kill him now When he is purging of his soule? Making his way for heauen, this is a benefit, And not reuenge: no, get thee vp agen, (drunke, When hee's at game swaring, taking his carowse, drinking Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed, Or at some act that hath no relish Of saluation in't, then trip him That his heeles may kicke at heauen, And fall as lowe as hel: my mother stayes, This phisicke but prolongs they weary dayes. _exit Ham._ _King_. My wordes fly vp, my sinnes remaine below. No King on earth is safe, if Gods his foe. _exit King._[G2] _Enter Queene and Corambis._ _Cor._ Madame, I heare yong Hamlet comming, I'le shrowde my selfe behinde the Arras. _exit Cor._ _Queene_ Do so my Lord. _Ham._ Mother, mother, O are you here? How i'st with you mother? _Queene_ How i'st with you? _Ham,_ I'le tell you, but first weele make all safe. _Queene_ Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. _Ham._ Mother, you haue my father much offended. _Queene_ How now boy? _Ham._ How now mother! come here, sit downe, for you shall heare me speake. _Queene_ What wilt thou doe? thou wilt not murder me: Helpe hoe. _Cor._ Helpe for the Queene. _Ham._ I a Rat, dead for a Duckat. Rash intruding foole, farewell, I tooke thee for thy better. _Queene_ Hamlet, what hast thou done? _Ham._ Not so much harme, good mother, As to kill a king, and marry with his brother. _Queene_ How! kill a king! _Ham._ I a King: nay sit you downe, and ere you part, If you be made of penitrable stuffe, I'le make your eyes looke downe into your heart, And see how horride there and blacke it shews. (words? _Queene_ Hamlet, what mean'st thou by these killing _Ham._ Why this I meane, see here, behold this picture, It is the portraiture, of your deceased husband, See here a face, to outface _Mars_ himselfe, An eye, at which his foes did tremble at, A front wherin all vertues are set downe For to adorne a king, and guild his crowne, Whose heart went hand in hand euen with that vow, He made to you in marriage, and he is dead. [G2v] Murdred, damnably murdred, this was your husband, Looke you now, here is your husband, With a face like _Vulcan_. A looke fit for a murder and a rape, A dull dead hanging looke, and a hell-bred eie, To affright children and amaze the world: And this same haue you left to change with this. What Diuell thus hath cosoned you at hob-man blinde? A! haue you eyes and can you looke on him That slew my father, and your deere husband, To liue in the incestuous pleasure of his bed? _Queene_ O Hamlet, speake no more. _Ham._ To leaue him that bare a Monarkes minde, For a king of clowts, of very shreads. _Queene_ Sweete Hamlet cease. _Ham._ Nay but still to persist and dwell in sinne, To sweate vnder the yoke of infamie, To make increase of shame, to seale damnation. _Queene_ Hamlet, no more. _Ham._ Why appetite with you is in the waine, Your blood runnes backeward now from whence it came, Who'le chide hote blood within a Virgins heart, When lust shall dwell within a matrons breast? _Queene_ Hamlet, thou cleaues my heart in twaine. _Ham._ O throw away the worser part of it, and keepe the better. _Enter the ghost in his night gowne._ Saue me, saue me, you gratious Powers aboue, and houer ouer mee, With your celestiall wings. Doe you not come your tardy sonne to chide, That I thus long haue let reuenge slippe by? O do not glare with lookes so pittifull! Lest that my heart of stone yeelde to compassion, And euery part that should assist reuenge, [G3] Forgoe their proper powers, and fall to pitty. _Ghost_ Hamlet, I once againe appeare to thee, To put thee in remembrance of my death: Doe not neglect, nor long time put it off. But I perceiue by thy distracted lookes, Thy mother's fearefull, and she stands amazde: Speake to her Hamlet, for her sex is weake, Comfort thy mother, Hamlet, thinke on me. _Ham._ How i'st with you Lady? _Queene_ Nay, how i'st with you That thus you bend your eyes on vacancie, And holde discourse with nothing but with ayre? _Ham._ Why doe you nothing heare? _Queene_ Not I. _Ham._ Nor doe you nothing see? _Queene_ No neither. (habite _Ham._ No, why see the king my father, my father, in the As he liued, looke you how pale he lookes, See how he steales away out of the Portall, Looke, there he goes. _exit ghost._ _Queene_ Alas, it is the weakeness of thy braine, Which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: But as I haue a soule, I sweare by heauen, I neuer knew of this most horride murder: But Hamlet, this is only fantasie, And for my loue forget these idle fits. _Ham._ Idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, It is not madnesse that possesseth Hamlet. O mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, Forbeare the adulterous bed to night, And win your selfe by little as you may, In time it may be you wil lothe him quite: And mother, but assist mee in reuenge, And in his death your infamy shall die. _Queene_ _Hamlet_, I vow by that maiesty, That knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, [G3v] I will conceale, consent, and doe my best, What stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise. _Ham._ It is enough, mother good night: Come sir, I'le provide for you a graue, Who was in life a foolish prating knaue. _Exit Hamlet with the dead body._ _Enter the King and Lordes._ _King_ Now Gertred, what sayes our sonne, how doe you finde him? _Queene_ Alas my lord, as raging as the sea: Whenas he came, I first bespake him faire, But then he throwes and tosses me about, As one forgetting that I was his mother: At last I call'd for help: and as I cried, _Corambis_ Call'd, which Hamlet no sooner heard, but whips me Out his rapier, and cries, a Rat, a Rat, and in his rage The good olde man he killes. _King_ Why this his madnesse will vndoe our state. Lordes goe to him, inquire the body out. _Gil._ We will my Lord. _Exeunt Lordes._ _King_ Gertred, your sonne shall presently to England, His shipping is already furnished, And we have sent by _Rossencraft_ and _Gilderstone_, Our letters to our deare brother of England, For Hamlets welfare and his happinesse: Happly the aire and climate of the Country May please him better than his natiue home: See where he comes. _Enter Hamlet and the Lordes._ _Gil._ My lord, we can by no meanes Know of him where the body is. _King_ Now sonne Hamlet, where is this dead body? _Ham._ At supper, not where he is eating, but Where he is eaten, a certaine company of politicke wormes [G4] are euen now at him. Father, your fatte King, and your leane Beggar Are but variable seruices, two dishes to one messe: Looke you, a man may fish with that worme That hath eaten of a King, And a Beggar eate that fish, Which that worme hath caught. _King_ What of this? _Ham._ Nothing father, but to tell you, how a King May go a progresse through the guttes of a Beggar. _King_ But sonne _Hamlet_, where is this body? _Ham._ In heau'n, if you chance to misse him there, Father, you had best looke in the other partes below For him, aud if you cannot finde him there, You may chance to nose him as you go vp the lobby. _King_ Make haste and finde him out. _Ham._ Nay doe you heare? do not make too much haste, I'le warrant you hee'le stay till you come. _King_ Well sonne _Hamlet_, we in care of you: but specially in tender preseruation of your health, The which we price euen as our proper selfe, It is our minde you forthwith goe for _England_, The winde sits faire, you shall aboorde to night, Lord _Rossencraft_ and _Gilderstone_ shall goe along with you. _Ham._ O with all my heart: farewel mother. _King_ Your louing father, _Hamlet_. _Ham._ My mother I say: you married my mother, My mother is your wife, man and wife is one flesh, And so (my mother) farewel: for England hoe. _exeunt all but the king._ _king_ Gertred, leaue me, And take your leaue of _Hamlet_, To England is he gone, ne're to returne: Our Letters are vnto the King of England, That on the sight of them, on his allegeance, He presently without demaunding why, [G4v] That _Hamlet_ loose his head, for he must die, There's more in him than shallow eyes can see: He once being dead, why then our state is free. _exit._ _Enter Fortenbrasse, Drumme and Souldiers._ _Fort._ Captaine, from vs goe greete The king of Denmarke: Tell him that _Fortenbrasse_ nephew to old _Norway_, Craues a free passe and conduct ouer his land. According to the Articles agreed on: You know our Randevous, goe march away. _exeunt all._ _enter King and Queene._ _King_ _Hamlet_ is ship't for England, fare him well, I hope to heare good newes from thence ere long, If euery thing fall out to our content, As I doe make no doubt but so it shall. _Queene_ God grant it may, heau'ns keep my _Hamlet_ safe: But this mischance of olde _Corambis_ death, Hath piersed so the yong _Ofeliaes_ heart, That she, poore maide, is quite bereft her wittes. _King_ Alas deere heart! And on the other side, We vnderstand her brother's come from _France_, And he hath halfe the heart of all our Land, And hardly hee'le forget his fathers death, Vnlesse by some meanes he be pacified. _Qu._ O see where the yong _Ofelia_ is! _Enter Ofelia playing on a Lute, and her haire downe singing_. _Ofelia_ How should I your true loue know From another man? By his cockle hatte, and his staffe, And his sandall shoone. [H1] White his shrowde as mountaine snowe, Larded with sweete flowers, That bewept to the graue did not goe With true louers showers: He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse greene turffe, At his heeles a stone. _king_ How i'st with you sweete _Ofelia_? _Ofelia_ Well God yeeld you, It grieues me to see how they laid him in the cold ground, I could not chuse but weepe: And will he not come againe? And will he not come againe? No, no, hee's gone, and we cast away mone, And he neuer will come againe. His beard as white as snowe: All flaxen was his pole, He is dead, he is gone, And we cast away moane: God a mercy on his soule. And of all christen soules I pray God. God be with you Ladies, God be with you. _exit Ofelia._ _king_ A pretty wretch! this is a change indeede: O Time, how swiftly runnes our ioyes away! Content on earth was neuer certaine bred, To day we laugh and liue, tomorrow dead. How now, what noyse is that? _A noyse within._ _enter Leartes._ _Lear._ Stay there vntill I come, O thou vilde king, give me my father: Speake, say, where's my father? _king_ Dead. _Lear._ Who hath murdred him? speake, i'le not Be juggled with, for he is murdred. _Queene_ True, but not by him. _Lear._ By whome, by heau'n I'll be resolued. [H1v] _king_ Let him goe _Gertred_, away, I feare him not, There's such diuinitie doth wall a king, That treason dares not looke on. Let him goe _Gertred_, that your father is murdred, T'is true, and we most sory for it, Being the chiefest piller of our state: Therefore will you like a most desperate gamster, Swoop-stake-like, draw at friend, and foe, and all? _Lear._ To his good friends thus wide I'le ope mine arms, And locke them in my hart, but to his foes, I will no reconcilement but by bloud. _king_ Why now you speake like a most louing sonne: And that in soule we sorrow for for his death, Yourselfe ere long shall be a witnesse, Meane while be patient, and content your selfe. _Enter Ofelia as before._ _Lear._ Who's this, _Ofelia?_ O my deere sister! I'st possible a yong maides life, Should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe? O heau'ns themselues! how now _Ofelia_? _Ofel._ Wel God a mercy, I a bin gathering of floures: Here, here is rew for you, You may call it hearb a grace a Sundayes, Heere's some for me too: you must weare your rew With a difference, there's a dazie. Here Loue, there's rosemary for you For remembrance: I pray Loue remember, And there's pansey for thoughts. _Lear._ A document in madnes, thoughts, remembrance: O God, O God! _Ofelia_ There is fennell for you, I would a giu'n you Some violets, but they all withered, when My father died: alas, they say the owle was A Bakers daughter, we see what we are, But can not tell what we shall be. For bonny sweete Robin is all my ioy. [H2] _Lear._ Thoughts & afflictions, torments worse than hell. _Ofel._ Nay Loue, I pray you make no words of this now: I pray now, you shall sing a downe, And you a downe a, t'is a the Kings daughter And the false steward, and if any body Aske you of any thing, say you this. Tomorrow is saint Valentines day, All in the morning betime, And a maide at your window, To be your Valentine: The yong man rose, and dan'd his clothes, And dupt the chamber doore, Let in the maide, that out a maide Neuer departed more. Nay I pray marke now, By gisse, and by saint Charitie, Away, and fie for shame: Yong men will doo't when they come too't: By cocke they are too blame. Quoth she, before you tumbled me, You promised me to wed. So would I a done, by yonder Sunne, If thou hadst not come to my bed. So God be with you all, God bwy Ladies. God bwy you Loue. _exit Ofelia._ _Lear._ Griefe vpon griefe, my father murdered, My sister thus distracted: Cursed be his soule that wrought this wicked act. _king_ Content you good Leartes for a time, Although I know your griefe is as a floud, Brimme full of sorrow, but forbeare a while, And thinke already the reuenge is done On him that makes you such a haplesse sonne. _Lear._ You haue preuail'd my Lord, a while I'le striue, To bury griefe within a tombe of wrath, Which once vnhearsed, then the world shall heare [H2v] Leartes had a father he held deere. _king_ No more of that, ere many days be done, You shall heare that you do not dreame vpon. _exeunt om._ _Enter Horatio and the Queene._ _Hor._ Madame, your sonne is safe arriv'de in _Denmarke_, This letter I euen now receiv'd of him, Whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, And subtle treason that the king had plotted, Being crossed by the contention of the windes, He found the Packet sent to the king of _England_, Wherein he saw himselfe betray'd to death, As at his next conuersion with your grace, He will relate the circumstance at full. _Queene_ Then I perceiue there's treason in his lookes That seem'd to sugar o're his villanie: But I will soothe and please him for a time, For murderous mindes are always jealous, But know not you _Horatio_ where he is? _Hor._ Yes Madame, and he hath appoyntd me To meete him on the east side of the Cittie To morrow morning. _Queene_ O faile not, good _Horatio_, and withall, com- A mothers care to him, bid him a while (mend me Be wary of his presence, lest that he Faile in that he goes about. _Hor._ Madam, neuer make doubt of that: I thinke by this the news be come to court: He is arriv'de, obserue the king, and you shall Quickely finde, _Hamlet_ being here, Things fell not to his minde. _Queene_ But what became of _Gilderstone_ and _Rossencraft_? _Hor._ He being set ashore, they went for _England_, And in the Packet there writ down that doome To be perform'd on them poynted for him: And by great chance he had his fathers Seale, So all was done without discouerie. [H3] _Queene_ Thankes be to heauen for blessing of the prince, _Horatio_ once againe I take my leaue, With thowsand mothers blessings to my sonne. _Horat._ Madam adue. _Enter King and Leartes._ _King._ Hamlet from _England_! is it possible? What chance is this? they are gone, and he come home. _Lear._ O he is welcome, by my soule he is: At it my iocund heart doth leape for ioy, That I shall liue to tell him, thus he dies. _king_ Leartes, content your selfe, be rulde by me, And you shall haue no let for your reuenge. _Lear._ My will, not all the world. _King_ Nay but Leartes, marke the plot I haue layde, I haue heard him often with a greedy wish, Vpon some praise that he hath heard of you Touching your weapon, which with all his heart, He might be once tasked for to try your cunning. _Lea._ And how for this? _King_ Mary Leartes thus: I'le lay a wager, Shalbe on _Hamlets_ side, and you shall giue the oddes, The which will draw him with a more desire, To try the maistry, that in twelue venies You gaine not three of him: now this being granted, When you are hot in midst of all your play, Among the foyles shall a keene rapier lie, Steeped in a mixture of deadly poyson, That if it drawes but the least dramme of blood, In any part of him, he cannot liue: This being done will free you from suspition, And not the deerest friend that _Hamlet_ lov'de Will euer haue Leartes in suspect. _Lear._ My lord, I like it well: But say lord _Hamlet_ should refuse this match. _King_ I'le warrant you, wee'le put on you Such a report of singularitie, [H3v] Will bring him on, although against his will. And lest that all should misse, I'le haue a potion that shall ready stand, In all his heate when that he calles for drinke, Shall be his period and our happinesse. _Lear._ T'is excellent, O would the time were come! Here comes the Queene. _enter the Queene._ _king_ How now Gertred, why looke you heauily? _Queene_ O my Lord, the yong _Ofelia_ Hauing made a garland of sundry sortes of floures, Sitting vpon a willow by a brooke, The enuious sprig broke, into the brooke she fell, And for a while her clothes spread wide abroade, Bore the yong Lady vp: and there she sate smiling, Euen Mermaide-like, twixt heauen and earth, Chaunting olde sundry tunes vncapable As it were of her distresse, but long it could not be, Till that her clothes, being heauy with their drinke, Dragg'd the sweete wretch to death. _Lear._ So, she is drownde: Too much of water hast thou _Ofelia_, Therefore I will not drowne thee in my teares, Reuenge it is must yeeld this heart releese, For woe begets woe, and griefe hangs on griefe. _exeunt._ _enter Clowne and an other_ _Clowne_ I say no, she ought not to be buried In christian buriall. 2. Why sir? _Clowne_ Mary because shee's drownd. 2. But she did not drowne her selfe. _Clowne_ No, that's certaine, the water drown'd her. 2. Yea but it was against her will. _Clowne_ No, I deny that, for looke you sir, I stand here, If the water come to me, I drowne not my selfe: But if I goe to the water, and am there drown'd, _Ergo_ I am guiltie of my owne death: [H4] Y'are gone, goe y'are gone sir. 2. I but see, she hath christian buriall, Because she is a great woman. _Clowne_ Mary more's the pitty, that great folke Should haue more authoritie to hang or drowne Themselues, more than other people: Goe fetch me a stope of drinke, but before thou Goest, tell me one thing, who buildes strongest, Of a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter? 2. Why a Mason, for he buildes all of stone, And will indure long. _Clowne_ That's prety, too't agen, too't agen. 2. Why then a Carpenter, for he buildes the gallowes, And that brings many a one to his long home. _Clowne_ Prety agen, the gallowes doth well, mary howe dooes it well? the gallowes dooes well to them that doe ill, goe get thee gone: And if any one aske thee hereafter, say, A Graue-maker, for the houses he buildes Last till Doomes-day. Fetch me a stope of beere, goe. _Enter Hamlet and Horatio._ _Clowne_ A picke-axe and a spade, A spade for and a winding sheete, Most fit it is, for t'will be made, _he throwes vp a shouel._ For such a ghest most meete. _Ham._ Hath this fellow any feeling of himselfe, That is thus merry in making of a graue? See how the slaue joles their heads against the earth. _Hor._ My lord, Custome hath made it in him seeme no- _Clowne_ A pick-axe and a spade, a spade, (thing. For and a winding sheete, Most fit it is for to be made, For such a ghest most meet. _Ham._ Looke you, there's another _Horatio_. Why mai't not be the soull of some Lawyer? [H4v] Me thinkes he should indite that fellow Of an action of Batterie, for knocking Him about the pate with's shouel: now where is your Quirkes and quillets now, your vouchers and Double vouchers, your leases and free-holde, And tenements? why that same boxe there will scarce Holde the conueiance of his land, and must The honor lie there? O pittifull transformance! I prethee tell me _Horatio_, Is parchment made of sheep-skinnes? _Hor._ I my Lorde, and of calues-skinnes too. _Ham._ Ifaith they prooue themselues sheepe and calues That deale with them, or put their trust in them. There's another, why may not that be such a ones Scull, that praised my Lord such a ones horse, When he meant to beg him? _Horatio_, I prethee Lets question yonder fellow. Now my friend, whose graue is this? _Clowne_ Mine sir. _Ham._ But who must lie in it? (sir. _Clowne_ If I should say, I should, I should lie in my throat _Ham._ What man must be buried here? _Clowne_ No man sir. _Ham._ What woman? _Clowne_. No woman neither sir, but indeede One that was a woman. _Ham._ An excellent fellow by the Lord _Horatio_, This seauen yeares haue I noted it: the toe of the pesant, Comes so neere the heele of the courtier, That hee gawles his kibe, I prethee tell mee one thing, How long will a man lie in the ground before hee rots? _Clowne_ I faith sir, if hee be not rotten before He be laide in, as we haue many pocky corses, He will last you, eight yeares, a tanner Will last you eight yeares full out, or nine. _Ham._ And why a tanner? [I1] _Clowne_ Why his hide is so tanned with his trade, That it will holde out water, that's a parlous Deuourer of your dead body, a great soaker. Looke you, heres a scull hath bin here this dozen yeare, Let me see, I euer since our last king _Hamlet_ Slew _Fortenbrasse_ in combat, yong _Hamlets_ father, Hee that's mad. _Ham._ I mary, how came he madde? _Clowne_ Ifaith very strangely, by loosing of his wittes. _Ham._ Vpon what ground? _Clowne_ A this ground, in _Denmarke_. _Ham._ Where is he now? _Clowne_ Why now they sent him to _England_. _Ham._ To _England_! wherefore? _Clowne_ Why they say he shall haue his wittes there, Or if he haue not, t'is no great matter there, It will not be seene there. _Ham._ Why not there? _Clowne_ Why there they say the men are as mad as he. _Ham._ Whose scull was this? _Clowne_ This, a plague on him, a madde rogues it was, He powred once a whole flagon of Rhenish of my head, Why do not you know him? this was one _Yorickes_ scull. _Ham._ Was this? I prethee let me see it, alas poore _Yoricke_ I knew him _Horatio_, A fellow of infinite mirth, he hath caried mee twenty times vpon his backe, here hung those lippes that I haue Kissed a hundred times, and to see, now they abhorre me: Wheres your iefts now _Yoricke_? your flashes of meriment: now go to my Ladies chamber, and bid her paint her selfe an inch thicke, to this she must come _Yoricke_. _Horatio_, I prethee tell me one thing, doost thou thinke that _Alexander_ looked thus? _Hor._ Euen so my Lord. _Ham._ And smelt thus? _Hor._ I my lord, no otherwise. [I1v] _Ham._ No, why might not imagination worke, as thus of _Alexander_, _Alexander_ died, _Alexander_ was buried, _Alexander_ became earth, of earth we make clay, and _Alexander_ being but clay, why might not time bring to passe, that he might stoppe the boung hole of a beere barrell? Imperious Cæsar dead and turnd to clay, Might stoppe a hole, to keepe the winde away. _Enter King and Queene, Leartes, and other lordes, with a Priest after the coffin._ _Ham._ What funerall's this that all the Court laments? It shews to be some noble parentage: Stand by a while. _Lear._ What ceremony else? say, what ceremony else? _Priest_ My Lord, we haue done all that lies in vs, And more than well the church can tolerate, She hath had a Dirge sung for her maiden soule: And but for fauour of the king, and you, She had beene buried in the open fieldes, Where now she is allowed christian buriall. _Lear._ So, I tell thee churlish Priest, a ministring Angell shall my sister be, when thou liest howling. _Ham._ The faire _Ofelia_ dead! _Queene_ Sweetes to the sweete, farewell: I had thought to adorne thy bridale bed, faire maide, And not to follow thee vnto thy graue. _Lear._ Forbeare the earth a while: sister farewell: L_eartes leapes into the graue._ Now powre your earth on, _Olympus_ hie, And make a hill to o're top olde _Pellon_: _Hamlet leapes_ Whats he that coniures so? _in after _L_eartes_ _Ham._ Beholde tis I, _Hamlet_ the Dane. _Lear._ The diuell take thy soule. _Ham._ O thou praiest not well, I prethee take thy hand from off my throate, For there is something in me dangerous, Which let thy wisedome feare, holde off thy hand: [I2] I lou'de _Ofelia_ as deere as twenty brothers could: Shew me what thou wilt doe for her: Wilt fight, wilt fast, wilt pray, Wilt drinke vp vessels, eate a crocadile? Ile doot: Com'st thou here to whine? And where thou talk'st of burying thee a liue, Here let vs stand: and let them throw on vs, Whole hills of earth, till with the heighth therof, Make Oosell as a Wart. _King_. Forbeare _Leartes_, now is hee mad, as is the sea, Anone as milde and gentle as a Doue: Therfore a while giue his wilde humour scope. _Ham._ What is the reason sir that you wrong mee thus? I neuer gaue you cause: but stand away, A Cat will meaw, a Dog will haue a day. _Exit Hamlet and Horatio._ _Queene_. Alas, it is his madnes makes him thus, And not his heart, _Leartes_. _King_. My lord, t'is so: but wee'le no longer trifle, This very day shall _Hamlet_ drinke his last, For presently we meane to send to him, Therfore _Leartes_ be in readynes. _Lear._ My lord, till then my soule will not bee quiet. _King_. Come _Gertred_, wee'l haue _Leartes_, and our sonne, Made friends and Louers, as befittes them both, Even as they tender vs, and loue their countrie. _Queene_ God grant they may. _exeunt omnes._ _Enter Hamlet and Horatio_ _Ham._ beleeue mee, it greeues mee much _Horatio_, That to _Leartes_ I forgot my selfe: For by my selfe me thinkes I feele his griefe, Though there's a difference in each others wrong. _Enter a Bragart Gentleman._ _Horatio_, but marke yon water-flie, The Court knowes him, but hee knowes not the Court. _Gent._ Now God saue thee, sweete prince _Hamlet_. [I2v] _Ham._ And you sir: soh, how the muske-cod smels! _Gen._ I come with an embassage from his maiesty to you _Ham._ I shall sir giue you attention: By my troth me thinkes t'is very colde. _Gent._ It is indeede very rawish colde. _Ham._ T'is hot me thinkes. _Gent._ Very swoltery hote: The King, sweete Prince, hath layd a wager on your side, Six Barbary horse, against six french rapiers, With all their acoutrements too, a the carriages: In good faith they are curiously wrought. _Ham._ The cariages sir, I do not know what you meane. _Gent._ The girdles, and hangers sir, and such like. _Ham._ The worde had beene more cosin german to the phrase, if he could haue carried the canon by his side, And howe's the wager? I vnderstand you now. _Gent._ Mary sir, that yong Leartes in twelue venies At Rapier and Dagger do not get three oddes of you, And on your side the King hath laide, And desires you to be in readinesse. _Ham._ Very well, if the King dare venture his wager, I dare venture my skull: when must this be? _Gent._ My Lord, presently, the king, and her maiesty, With the rest of the best iudgement in the Court, Are comming downe into the outward pallace. _Ham._ Goe tell his maiestie, I will attend him. _Gent._ I shall deliuer your most sweet answer. _exit._ _Ham._ You may sir, none better, for y'are spiced, Else he had a bad nose could not smell a foole. _Hor._ He will disclose himself without inquirie. _Ham._ Beleeue me _Horatio_, my hart is on the sodaine Very sore, all here about. _Hor._ My lord, forebeare the challenge then. _Ham._ No _Horatio_, not I, if danger be now, Why then it is not to come, theres a predestinate prouidence in the fall of a sparrow: heere comes the King. [I3] _Enter King, Queene, Leartes, Lordes._ _King_ Now sonne _Hamlet,_ we hane laid vpon your head, And make no question but to haue the best. _Ham._ Your maiestie hath laide a the weaker side. _King_ We doubt it not, deliuer them the foiles. _Ham._ First Leartes, heere's my hand and loue, Protesting that I neuer wrongd _Leartes_. If _Hamlet_ in his madnesse did amisse, That was not _Hamlet_, but his madnes did it, And all the wrong I e're did to _Leartes_, I here proclaime was madnes, therefore lets be at peace, And thinke I haue shot mine arrow o're the house, And hurt my brother. _Lear._ Sir I am satisfied in nature, But in termes of honor I'le stand aloofe, And will no reconcilement, Till by some elder maisters of our time I may be satisfied. _King_ Giue them the foyles. _Ham._ I'le be your foyle _Leartes_, these foyles, Haue all a laught, come on sir: _a hit._ _Lear._ No none. _Heere they play:_ _Ham._ Iudgement. _Gent._ A hit, a most palpable hit. _Lear._ Well, come againe. _They play againe._ _Ham._ Another. Iudgement. _Lear._ I, I grant, a tuch, a tuch. _King_ Here _Hamlet_, the king doth drinke a health to thee _Queene_ Here _Hamlet_, take my napkin, wipe thy face. _King_ Giue him the wine. _Ham._ Set it by, I'le haue another bowt first, I'le drinke anone. _Queene_ Here _Hamlet_, thy mother drinkes to thee. _Shee drinkes._ _King_ Do not drinke _Gertred_: O t'is the poysned cup! _Ham_. _Leartes_ come, you dally with me, [I3v] I pray you passe with your most cunningst play. _Lear_. I! say you so? haue at you, Ile hit you now my Lord: And yet it goes almost against my conscience. _Ham._ Come on sir. _They catch one anothers Rapiers, and both are wounded, Leartes falles downe, the Queene falles downe and dies._ _King_ Looke to the Queene. _Queene_ O the drinke, the drinke, H_amlet_, the drinke. _Ham_. Treason, ho, keepe the gates. _Lords_ How ist my Lord _Leartes_? _Lear._ Euen as a coxcombe should, Foolishly slaine with my owne weapon: _Hamlet_, thou hast not in thee halfe an houre of life, The fatall Instrument is in thy hand. Vnbated and invenomed: thy mother's poysned That drinke was made for thee. _Ham._ The poysned Instrument within my hand? Then venome to thy venome, die damn'd villaine: Come drinke, here lies thy vnion here. _The king dies._ _Lear._ O he is iustly serued: _Hamlet_, before I die, here take my hand, And withall, my loue: I doe forgiue thee. _Leartes dies._ _Ham._ And I thee, O I am dead _Horatio_, fare thee well. _Hor._ No, I am more an antike Roman, Then a Dane, here is some poison left. _Ham._ Vpon my loue I charge thee let it goe, O fie _Horatio_, and if thou shouldst die, What a scandale wouldst thou leaue behinde? What tongue should tell the story of our deaths, If not from thee? O my heart sinckes _Horatio_, Mine eyes haue lost their sight, my tongue his vse: Farewel _Horatio_, heauen receiue my soule. _Ham. dies._ _Enter Voltemar and the Ambassadors from England. [I4] enter Fortenbrasse with his traine._ _Fort._ Where is this bloudy fight? _Hor._ If aught of woe or wonder you'ld behold, Then looke vpon this tragicke spectacle. _Fort._ O imperious death! how many Princes Hast thou at one draft bloudily shot to death? (_land_, _Ambass._ Our ambassie that we haue brought from _Eng-_ Where be these Princes that should heare vs speake? O most most vnlooked for time! vnhappy country. _Hor._ Content your selues, Ile shew to all, the ground, The first beginning of this Tragedy: Let there a scaffold be rearde vp in the market place, And let the State of the world be there: Where you shall heare such a sad story tolde, That neuer mortall man could more vnfolde. _Fort._ I haue some rights of memory to this kingdome, Which now to claime my leisure doth inuite mee: Let foure of our chiefest Captaines Beare _Hamlet_ like a souldier to his graue: For he was likely, had he liued, To a prou'd most royall. Take vp the bodie, such a fight as this Becomes the fieldes, but here doth much amisse. _Finis_ 
8139	----	Editorial note: "Shakspere" is the spelling used by the author and therefore was not changed SHAKSPERE AND MONTAIGNE An Endeavour to Explain the Tendency of 'Hamlet' from Allusions in Contemporary Works BY JACOB FEIS CONTENTS. I. INTRODUCTION II. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR POLITICAL AND RELIGIOUS CONTROVERSIES SHAKSPERE'S POLITICAL CREED FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS III. MONTAIGNE IV. HAMLET V. THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND DEKKER MENTION OF A DISPUTE BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND SHAKSPERE IN 'THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS' CHARACTERISTIC OF BEN JONSON BEN JONSON'S HOSTILE ATTITUDE TOWARDS SHAKSPERE DRAMATIC SKIRMISH BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND SHAKSPERE BEN JONSON'S 'POETASTER' DEKKER'S 'SATIROMASTIX' VI. 'VOLPONE,' BY BEN JONSON 'EASTWARD HOE,' BY CHAPMAN, BEN JONSON, AND MARSTON 'THE MALCONTENT,' BY JOHN MARSTON I. INTRODUCTION. It has always been a daring venture to attempt finding out Shakspere's individuality, and the range of his philosophical and political ideas, from his poetical productions. We come nearest to his feelings in his 'Sonnets;' but only a few heavy sighs, as it were, from a time of languish in his life can be heard therefrom. All the rest of those lyrical effusions, in spite of the zealous exertions of commentators full of delicate sentiment and of deep thought, remain an unsolved secret. In his historical dramas, a political creed has been pointed out, which, with some degree of certainty, may be held to have been his. From his other dramas, the most varied evidence has been drawn. A perfect maze of contradictions has been read out of them; so much so that, on this ground, we might almost despair of trustworthy results from further inquiry. The wildest and most incongruous theories have been founded upon 'Hamlet' --the drama richest in philosophical contents. Over and over again men have hoped to be able to ascertain, from this tragedy, the great master's ideas about religion. It is well-nigh impossible to say how often such attempts have been made, but the reward of the exertions has always remained unsatisfactory. On the feelings which this masterwork of dramatic art still excites to-day--nearly three hundred years after its conception--thousands have based the most different conclusions; every one being convinced of the correctness of his own impressions. There is a special literature, composed of such rendering of personal impressions which that most enigmatical of all dramas has made upon men of various disposition. Every hypothesis finds its adherents among a small group, whilst those who feel differently smile at the infatuation of their antagonists. Nothing that could give true and final satisfaction has yet been reached in this direction. It is our intention to regard 'Hamlet' from a new point of view, which seems to promise more success than the critical endeavours hitherto made. We propose to enter upon a close investigation of a series of circumstances, events, and personal relations of the poet, as well as of certain indications contained in other dramatic works--all of the period in which 'Hamlet' was written and brought into publicity. This valuable material, properly arranged and put in its true connection, will, we believe, furnish us with such firm and solid stepping-stones as to allow us, on a perfectly trustworthy path, to approach the real intentions of this philosophical tragedy. It has long ago been felt that, in it, Shakspere has laid down his religious views. By the means alluded to we will now explain that _credo_. We believe we can successfully show that the tendency of 'Hamlet' is of a controversial nature. In closely examining the innovations by which the augmented second quarto edition [1](1604) distinguishes itself from the first quarto, published the year before (1603), we find that almost every one of these innovations is directed against the principles of a new philosophical work--_The Essays of Michel Montaigne_--which had appeared at that time in England, and which was brought out under the high auspices of the foremost noblemen and protectors of literature in this country. From many hints in contemporary dramas, and from some clear passages in 'Hamlet' itself, it follows at the same time that the polemics carried on by Shakspere in 'Hamlet' are in most intimate connection with a controversy in which the public took a great interest, and which, in the first years of the seventeenth century, was fought out with much bitterness on the stage. The remarkable controversy is known, in the literature of that age, under the designation of the dispute between Ben Jonson and Dekker. A thorough examination of the dramas referring to it shows that Shakspere was even more implicated in this theatrical warfare than Dekker himself. The latter wrote a satire entitled 'Satiromastix,' in which he replies to Ben Jonson's coarse personal invectives with yet coarser abuse. 'Hamlet' was Shakspere's answer to the nagging hostilities of the quarrelsome adversary, Ben Jonson, who belonged to the party which had brought the philosophical work in question into publicity. And the evident tendency of the innovations in the second quarto of 'Hamlet,' we make bold to say, convinces us that it must have been far more Shakspere's object to oppose, in that masterly production of his, the pernicious influence which the philosophy of the work alluded to threatened to exercise on the better minds of his nation, than to defend himself against the personal attacks of Ben Jonson. The controversy itself is mentioned in 'Hamlet.' It is a disclosure of the poet, which sheds a little ray of light into the darkness in which his earthly walk is enveloped. The master, who otherwise is so sparing with allusions as to his sphere of action, speaks [2] bitter words against an 'aery of children' who were then 'in fashion,' and were 'most tyrannically clapped for it.' We are further told that these little eyases cry out on the top of the question and so berattle the common stages (so they call them), that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither.' The 'goose-quills' are, of course, the writers of the dramas played by the 'little eyases.' We then learn 'that there was for a while no money bid for argument' (Shakspere, we see, was not ashamed of honest gain) 'unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.' Lastly, the reproach is made to the nation that it 'holds it no sin to tarre them (the children) to controversy.' This satire is undoubtedly--all commentators agree upon this point--directed against the performances of the children who at that time flourished. The most popular of these juvenile actors were the Children of Paul's, the Children of the Revels, the Children of the Chapel Royal. Shakspere's remarks, directed against these forward youngsters, may appear to us to-day as of very secondary importance in the great drama. To the poet, no doubt, it was not so. The words by which he alludes to this episode in his life come from his very heart, and were written for the purpose of reproving the conduct of the public in regard to himself. 'Hamlet' was composed in the atmosphere of this literary feud, from which we draw confirmatory proof that our theory stands on the solid ground of historical fact. Even should our endeavour to finally solve the great problem of 'Hamlet' be made in vain, we believe we shall at least have pointed out a way on which others might be more successful. In contradistinction to the manner hitherto in use of drawing conclusions from impressions only, our own matter-of-fact attempt will have this advantage, that the time spent in it will not be wholly wasted; for, in looking round on the scene of that eventful century, we shall become more intimate with its literature and the characters of Shakspere's contemporaries. Before entering upon the theme itself, it is necessary to cast a rapid glance at the condition of the dramatic art of that period. 1: 'Enlarged to almost as much-againe as it was.' 2: Act ii. sc. 2. II. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. THE STAGE A MEDIUM FOR POLITICAL AND RELIGIOUS CONTROVERSIES. SHAKSPERE'S POLITICAL CREED. FLORIO'S TRANSLATION OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS. Long before Shakspere, perhaps with fardel on his back, travelled to London, the stage, not only in the capital, but in the whole country, had begun to exercise its attractive power upon the people's imagination. In the year 1586, a Protestant zealot, a soldier, [1] writes:--'When the belles tole to the Lectorer, the trumpetts sound to the Stages, whareat the wicked faction of Rome lawgeth for joy, while the godly weepe for sorrowe. Woe is me! the play houses are pestered when the churches are naked. At the one it is not possible to gett a place; at the other voyde seates are plentie.... Yt is a wofull sight to see two hundred proude players jett in their silks where five hundred pore people sterve in the streets.' Already in the reign of Henry VIII. a 'Master of the Revels' was required, whose task it was to control the public representations and amusements. Queen Elizabeth had to issue several special ordinances to define more closely the functions, and provide with fresh power this office, which had been created by her father. Like all other great achievements of the English nation, the drama, too, developed itself in this country unhampered by foreign influence. Its rapid growth was owing to the free and energetic spirit of Englishmen, to their love for public life. Every event which in some way attracted public attention, furnished the material for a new ballad, or a new drama. Among the dramatists of that time, there was a specially active group of malcontents--men of culture, who had been at the colleges and universities; such as Peel, Greene, Marlowe, Chapman, Marston, Ben Jonson, and others. If we ask ourselves how it came about that these disciples of erudition turned over to a calling so despised in their days (for the dramatist, with few exceptions, was then mostly held in as low a repute as the player), the cause will be found in the peculiar circumstances of that epoch. The revival of classical studies, and the art of printing, were, in the hands of the peace-loving citizen, fresh means for strengthening his position in the State. The handicraftsman or the merchant, who had gained a small fortune, was no longer satisfied with the modest prospects which he could offer to his talented son in an ordinary workshop, or in his narrow store-rooms. Since Rome no longer exercised her once all-powerful influence in every walk of life, university men, owing to their superior education, saw before them a brighter, a more hopeful, future. In the sixteenth century the number of students in colleges and at theuniversities increased in an astonishing degree, especially from the middle classes. The sons of simple burghers entered upon the contests of free, intellectual aspirations with a zeal mostly absent in those whose position is already secured by birth. At Court, no doubt, the feudal aristocracy were yet powerful indeed. They could approach their sovereign according to their pleasure; influence him; and procure, by artful intrigue, positions of dignity and useful preferments for themselves and their favourites. Against these abuses the written word, multiplied a thousandfold, was a new weapon. Whoever could handle it properly, gained the esteem of his fellow-men; and a means was at his disposal for earning a livelihood, however scanty. Towards the middle and the end of the sixteenth century there were many students and scholars possessing a great deal of erudition, but very little means of subsistence. Nor were their prospects very encouraging. They first went through that bitter experience, which, since then, so many have made after them--that whoever seeks a home in the realm of intellect runs the risk of losing the solid ground on which the fruits for maintaining human life grow. The eye directed towards the Parnassus is not the most apt to spy out the small tortuous paths of daily gain. To get quick returns of interest, even though it be small, from the capital of knowledge and learning, has always been, and still is, a question of difficult solution. These young scholars, grown to manhood in the Halls of Wisdom, were unable, and even unwilling, to return to simple industrial pursuits, or to the crafty tactics of commerce. Alienated from practical activity, and too shy to take part in the harder struggles of life, many of them rather contented themselves with a crust of bread, in order to continue enjoying the 'dainties of a book.' The manlier and bolder among them, dissatisfied with the prospect of such poor fare, looked round and saw, in the hands of incapables, fat livings and lucrative emoluments to which they, on account of their superior culture, believed they had a better claim. There were yet many State institutions which by no means corresponded to the ideal gathered from Platon, Cicero, and other writers of antiquity. Men began expressing these feelings of dissatisfaction in ballads and pamphlets. Even as the many home and foreign products of industry were distributed by commerce, so it was also the case with these new products of the intellectual workshop, which were carried to the most distant parts of the land. At the side of his other wares, the pedlar, eager for profit, offered the new and much-desired achievements of the Muse to the dwellers in the smallest village, in the loneliest farm. Moreover, the cunning stationers had their own men, to whom they lent 'a dossen groates worth of ballads.' If these hucksters--as Henry Chettle relates--proved thrifty, they were advanced to the position of 'prety (petty) chapman,' 'able to spred more pamphlets by the State forbidden, then all the bookesellers in London; for only in this Citie is straight search, abroad smale suspition, especially of such petty pedlars.' [2] Chettle speaks strongly against these 'intruders in the printings misserie, by whome that excelent Art is not smally slandered, the government of the State not a little blemished, nor Religion in the least measure hindred.' Besides the profit to be derived from the Press by the malcontent travelling scholars, there was yet another way of acquiring the means of sustenance and of making use of mental culture; and in it there existed the further advantage of independence from grumbling publishers. This was the Stage. For it no great preparations were necessary, nor was any capital required. A few chairs, some boards; in every barn there was room. Wherever one man was found who could read, there were ten eager to listen. A most characteristic drama, 'The Return from Parnassus,' depicts some poor scholars who turn away from pitiless Cambridge, of which one of them says-- For had not Cambridge been to me unkind, I had not turn'd to gall a milky mind. [3] After having long since completed their studies, they go to London to seek for the most modest livelihood. Bitter experience had taught these disciples of learning that the employment for which they waited could only be gained by bribery; and bribe they certainly could not, owing to their want of means. Some of them already show a true Werther-like yearning for solitude:-- We will be gone unto the downs of Kent.... STUDIOSO. So shall we shun the company of men, That grows more hateful as the world grows old. We'll teach the murm'ring brooks in tears to flow, And sleepy rocks to wail our passed woe. [4] Another utters sentiments of grief, coming near the words of despair of Faust. There is a tone in them of what the Germans call _Weltschmerz_:-- Curs'd be our thoughts, whene'er they dream of hope, Bann'd be those haps that henceforth flatter us, When mischief dogs us still and still for aye, From our first birth until our burying day. [5] In the difficult choice of a calling which is to save them from need and misery, these beggar-students also think of the stage:-- And must the basest trade yield us relief? So Philomusus, in a woebegone tone, asks his comrade Studioso; and the latter looks with the following envious words upon the players whose prospects must have been brighter and more enticing than those of the learned poor scholars:-- England affords those glorious vagabonds, That carried erst their fardles on their backs, Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets, Sweeping it in their glaring satin suits, And pages to attend their masterships: With mouthing words that better wits have framed, They purchase lands, and now esquires are made. [6] Shakspere, as well as Alleyn, bought land with the money earned by their art. For many, the stage was the port of refuge to which they fled from the lonely habitations of erudition, where they-- ... sit now immur'd within their private cells, Drinking a long lank watching candle's smoke, Spending the marrow of their flow'ring age In fruitless poring on some worm-eat leaf. [7] Many of these beggar students sought a livelihood by joining the players. That which the poor scholar had read and learnt in books old and new; all that he had heard from bold, adventurous warriors and seamen returning from foreign lands or recently discovered islands; in short, everything calculated to awaken interest and applause among the great mass, was with feverish haste put on the stage, and, in order to render it more palatable, mixed with a goodly dose of broad humour. The same irreconcilable spirit of the Reformation, which would not tolerate any saint's image in the places of worship, also destroyed the liking for Miracle Plays. The tendency of the time was to turn away from mysteries and abstract notions, and to draw in art and poetry nearer to real life. Where formerly 'Miracles and Moralities' were the delight of men, and Biblical utterances, put in the mouth of prophets and saints, served to edify the audience, there the wordy warfare and the fisticuffs exchanged between the Mendicant Friar and the Seller of Indulgences [8] or Pardoner, whose profane doings were satirised on the stage, became now the subject of popular enjoyment and laughter. Every question of the day was boldly handled, and put in strong language, easily understood by the many, before a grateful public of simple taste. The drama, thus created anew, soon became the most popular amusement in the whole country. Every other sport was forgotten over it. In every market town, in every barn, a crowd of actors met. In those days no philosophical hair-splitting was in vogue on the boards. Everything was drawn from real life; a breath of freedom pervaded all this exuberant geniality. That which a man felt to-day, tomorrow he was able to communicate to his public. The spoken word was freer than the printed one. The latter had to pass a kind of censorship; the author and the publisher could be ascertained, and be made responsible. But who would be so severe against an extemporised satirical hit, uttered perhaps by a clown? Who would, for that sake, be the denouncing traitor? Yet it must not be thought that poets and players could do exactly as they listed. They, too, had their enemies. More especially, the austere Puritans were their bitter foes; they never ceased bringing their influence to bear upon highly-placed persons, in order to check the daring and forward doings of the stage, whose liberty they on every occasion wished to see curtailed, and its excesses visited by punishment. The ordinary players, if they did not possess licences from at least two justices of the peace, might be prosecuted, in accordance with an old law, as 'rogues and vagabonds,' and subjected to very hard sentences. It was not so easy to proceed against the better class of actors, who, with a view of escaping from the chicanery which their calling rendered them liable to, had placed themselves under the protection of the first noblemen, calling themselves their 'servants.' An ordinance of the Privy Council was required in order to bring actors who were thus protected, before a court of justice. Nevertheless, these restless people got into incessant conflicts with the authorities. Actors would not allow themselves to be deprived of the right of saying a word on matters of the State and the Church; and what did occupy men's minds more than the victory of the Reformation? Already, in the year 1550, Cardinal Wolsey felt bound to cast an author, Roo, [9] and 'a fellow-player, a young gentleman,' into prison, because they had put a piece on the stage, the aim of which was to show that 'Lord Governaunce (Government) was ruled by Dissipation and Negligence, by whose misgovernment and evil order Lady Public-Weal was put from Governaunce; which caused Rumor-populi, Inward Grudge, and Disdain of Wanton Sovereigntie to rise with a great multitude to expel Negligence and Dissipation, and to restore Publike-weal again to her estate--which was so done.' The reproaches made to the bishops about the year 1544 prove, that the stage had already long ago boldly ventured upon the territory of religion, in order to imbue the masses with anti-ecclesiastical tendencies. In this connection the following words of an actor, addressed to the clerics, are most significant. 'None,' he says, 'leave ye unvexed and untroubled; no, not so much as the poor minstrels and players of interludes. So long as they played lies and sang bawdy songs, blaspheming God, and corrupting men's consciences, ye never blamed them, but were very well contented; but since they persuaded the people to worship the Lord aright, according to His holy laws and not yours, ye never were pleased with them.' [10] The first Act of Parliament for 'the controul and regulation of stages and dramatic representations' was passed in the reign of Henry VIII. (1543). Its title is, 'An Act for the Advancement of True Religion and the Punishment of the Contrary.' In 1552 Edward VI. issued a further proclamation both in regard to the stage and the sellers of prints and books; this time mainly from political reasons. Whilst poets and players under Henry VIII. and his youthful successor could bring out, without hindrance, that which promoted their ideas of 'true religion,' they ran great risk, in the reign of Queen Mary, with any Protestant tendencies; for, scarcely had this severe queen been a month on the throne than she issued an ordinance (August 16, 1553) forbidding such dramas and interludes as were calculated to spread the principles and doctrines of the Reformation. Under this sovereign, spectacles furthering the Roman Catholic cause were of course favoured. On the other hand, it may be assumed that, during the long and popular reign of Queen Elizabeth, Protestant tendencies on the stage often passed the censorship, although from the first years of her government there is an Act prohibiting any drama in which State and Church affairs were treated, 'being no meete matters to be written or treated upon but by men of authoritie, nor to be handled before any audience, but of grave and discreete persons.' However, like all previous ordinances, proclamations, and Acts of Parliament, this one also remained without effect. The dramatists and the disciples of the mimic art continued busying themselves, in their customary bold manner, with that which awakened the greatest interest among the public at large; and one would think that at a certain time they had become a little power in the State, against which it was no longer possible to proceed in arbitrary fashion, but which, on the contrary, had to be reckoned with. Only such measures, it appears, were afterwards passed which were calculated to harmonise the religious views uttered on the stage with the tenets of the Established Church. This follows from a letter of Lord Burleigh, addressed, in 1589, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which he requests him to appoint 'some fytt person well learned in divinitie.' The latter, together with the Master of the Revels and a person chosen by the Lord Mayor of the City of London, were to form a kind of Commission, which had to examine all pieces that were to be publicly acted, and to give their approval. It would be an error to believe that this threefold censorship had any greater success than the former measures. The contrary was the case; matters rather became worse. Actors were imprisoned; whereupon they drew up beautiful petitions to their august protectors who brought about their deliverance--that is, until they were once more clapped into prison. Then they were threatened with having their ears and noses cut off; [11] but still they would not hold their tongues. We know from a letter of the French ambassador (1606)--who himself had several times to ask at the Court of James I. for the prohibition of pieces in which the Queen of France and Mademoiselle Verneuil, as well as the Duke of Biron, were severely handled--that the bold expounders of the dramatic art dared to bring their own king on the stage. Upon this there came an ordinance forbidding all further theatrical representations in London. In the words of the French ambassador:--'I caused certain players to be forbid from acting the history of the Duke of Biron. When, however, they saw that the whole Court had left the town, they persisted in acting it; nay, they brought upon the stage the Queen of France and Mademoiselle de Verneuil.... He (the King) has upon this made order that no play shall henceforth be acted in London; for the repeal of which order they (the players) have offered 100,000 livres. Perhaps the permission will be again granted, but upon condition that they represent no recent history, nor speak of the present time.' [12] From this sum--a very large one at that time--the importance of the theatre of those days may be gathered. The Corporation of the City of London was among those most hostile to all theatrical representations. It exerted itself to the utmost in order to render them impossible in the centre of the capital; issuing, with that object, the most whimsical decrees. Trying, on their part, to escape from the despotic restrictions, the various players' companies settled down beyond the boundary of the Lord Mayor's jurisdiction. The citizens of London, wishing to have their share of an amusement which had become a national one, eagerly flocked to Bankside, to Blackfriars, to Shoreditch, or across green fields to the more distant Newington Butts. Comparatively speaking, very little has come down to us from the hey-day of the English drama. That which we possess is but an exceedingly small portion of the productions of that epoch. Henslowe's 'Diary' tells us that a single theatre (Newington Butts) in about two years (June 3, 1594, to July 18, 1596) brought out not less than forty new pieces; and London, at that time, had already more than a dozen play-houses. The dramas handed down to us are mostly purged of those passages which threatened to give offence in print. The dramatists did not mean to write books. When they went to the press at all, they often excused themselves that 'scenes invented merely to be spoken, should be inforcibly published to be read.' They were well aware that this could not afford to the reader the same pleasure he felt 'when it was presented with the soule of living action.' [13] The stage was the forum of the people, on which everything was expressed that created interest amidst a great nation rising to new life. The path towards political freedom of speech was not yet opened in Parliament; and of our important safety-valve of to-day, the public press, there was yet only the first vestige, in the shape of pamphlets secretly hawked about. The stage as rapidly decayed as it had grown, when the chief interest on which it had thriven for a while--namely, the representation of affairs of public interest--obtained more practical expression in other spheres. In the meantime, however, it remained the platform on which everything could be subjected to the criticism and jurisdiction of public opinion. In Chettle's 'Kind-Harte's Dreame' (1592) the proprietor of a house of evil fame concludes his speech with reproaches against actors on account of their spoiling his trade; 'for no sooner have we a tricke of deceipt, but they make it common, singing jigs, and making jeasts of us, that everie boy can point out our houses as they passe by.' Again, in Ben Jonson's 'Poetaster,' we read that 'your courtier cannot kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet for them; nor your white innocent gallant pawn his revelling suit to make his punk a supper;' or that 'an honest, decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, nor be seen in a bawdy house, but he shall be straight in one of their wormwood comedies.' [14] Not less boldly than social affairs were political matters treated; but in order to avoid a prosecution, these questions had to be cautiously approached in parable fashion. Never was greater cleverness shown in this respect than at Shakspere's time. Every poet, every statesman, or otherwise highly-placed person, was 'heckled' under an allegorical name--a circumstance which at present makes it rather difficult for us to fully fathom the meaning of certain dramatic productions. In order to attract the crowd, the stage-poets had to present their dishes with the condiments of actual life; thus studying more the taste of the guests than showing that of the cook. Prologues and Epilogues always appealed more to the public at large as the highest judge; its verdict alone was held to be the decisive one. Manuscripts--the property of companies whose interest it was not to make them generally known in print--were continually altered according to circumstances. Guided by the impressions of the public, authors struck out what had been badly received; whilst passages that had earned applause, remained as the encouraging and deciding factor for the future. At one time dramas were written almost with the same rapidity as leading articles are to-day. Even as our journalists do in the press, so the dramatists of that period carried on their debates about certain questions of the day on the stage. In language the most passionate, authors fell upon each other--a practice for which we have to thank them, in so far as we thereby gain matter-of-fact points for a correct understanding of 'Hamlet.' In the last but one decennium of the sixteenth century, the first dramatists arose who pursued fixed literary tendencies. Often their compositions are mere exercises of style after Greek or Roman models which never became popular on the Thames. The taste of the English people does not bear with strange exotic manners for any length of time. It is lost labour to plant palm-trees where oaks only can thrive. Lily and others endeavoured to gain the applause of the mass by words of finely-distilled fragrance, to which no coarse grain, no breath or the native atmosphere clung. A fruitless beginning, as little destined to succeed as the exertions of those who tried to shine by pedantic learning and hollow glittering words. Marlowe's powerful imagination attempts marshalling the whole world, in his booth of theatrical boards, after the rhythm of drumming decasyllabon and bragging blank-verse. In his dramas, great conquerors pass the frontiers of kingdoms with the same ease with which one steps over the border of a carpet. The people's fancy willingly follows the bold poet. In the short space of three hours he makes his 'Faust' [15] live through four-and-twenty years, in order 'to conquer, with sweet pleasure, despair.' The earth becomes too small for this dramatist. Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, have to respond to his inquiries. Like some of his colleagues, Marlowe is a sceptic: he calls Moses a 'conjurer and seducer of the people,' and boasts that, if he were to try, he would succeed in establishing a better religion than the one he sees around himself. The apostle of these high thoughts, not yet thirty years old, breathed his last, in consequence of a duel in a house of evil repute. Another hopeful disciple of lyric and dramatic poetry and prose-writer, Robert Greene, once full of similar free-thinking ideas, lay on his deathbed at the age of thirty-two, after a life of dissipation. Thence he writes to his forsaken wife:-- 'All my wrongs muster themselves about me; every evill at once plagues me. For my contempt of God, I am contemned of men; for my swearing and forswearing, no man will believe me; for my gluttony, I suffer hunger; for my drunkenesse, thirst; for my adulterie, ulcerous sores. Thus God has cast me downe, that I might be humbled; and punished me, for examples of others' sinne.' Greene offers his own wretched end to his colleagues as a warning example; admonishing them to employ their 'rare wits in more profitable courses;' to look repentingly on the past; to leave off profane practices, and not 'to spend their wits in making plaies.' He especially warns them against actors--because these, it seems, had given him up. His rancorous spite against them he expresses in the well-known words:--'Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that _with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide_, supposes he is as well able to bumbast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute _Johannes Fac-totum_, is in his owne conceit the onely 'SHAKE-SCENE in a countrie.' This satirical point, directed, without doubt, against Shakspere, is the only thing reliable which, down to the year 1592, we know of his dramatic activity. He had then been only about four years in London. Yet he must already have wielded considerable authority, seeing that he is publicly, though with sneering arrogance, called a complete Johannes Fac-totum--a man who has laid himself out in every direction. It is the divine mission of a genius to bring order out of chaos, to regulate matters with the directing force of his superior glance. Certainly, Shakspere, from the very beginning of his activity, sought, with all the energy of his power, to rule out all ignoble, anarchical elements from the stage, and thus to obtain for it the sympathies of the best of his time. Fate so willed it, that one of the greatest minds which Heaven ever gave to mankind, entered, on this occasion, the modest door of a playhouse, as if Providence had intended showing that a generous activity can effect noble results everywhere, and that the most despised calling (such, still, was that of the actors then) can produce most excellent fruits. Shakspere's life is a beneficial harmony between will and deed; no attempt to draw down Heaven to Earth, or to raise up Earth to Heaven. His are rather the ways and manners peculiar to a people which likes to adapt itself to given circumstances, to make use of the existing practical good, in order to produce from it that which is better. It is an ascertained fact that Shakspere, who had received some training at school--but no University education--began, at the age of twenty-four, to arrange the pieces of other writers, to make modest additions to them; in short, to render them fit and proper for stage purposes. This may have been one of the causes why Greene dubbed him a 'Johannes Fac-totum.' Others, too, have accused him, during his lifetime, of 'application' (plagiarism), because he took his subjects mostly from other authors. Among those who so charged him, were, as we shall show, more especially Ben Jonson and Marston. Shakspere never allowed himself to be induced by these reproaches to change his mode of working. Down to his death it remained the same. Is his merit, on that account, a lesser one? Certainly not: in the Poetical Art, in the Realm of Feeling and Thought, there are no regular boundary-stones. No author has the right to say: 'Thou must not step into the circle drawn by me; thou hast to do thy work wholly outside of it!' An author who so expresses an idea, or so describes a situation as to fix it most powerfully in men's imagination, is to be looked upon as the true owner or creator of the image: to him belongs the crown. The Greeks reckoned it to be the highest merit of the masters of their plastic art when they retained the great traits with which their predecessors had invested a conception; only endeavouring to better those parts in which a lesser success had been achieved--until that section of the work, too, had attained the highest degree of perfection. Thus arose the Jupiter of Pheidias, a Venus of Milo, an Apollo of Belvedere. Thus the noblest ideal of beauty as created, and in this wise the Greek national epic became the model of all kindred poetry. There is a most characteristic fact which shows how greatly the drama had risen in universal esteem after Shakspere had devoted to it twelve years of his life. It is this. The Corporation of the City of London, once so hostile to all theatrical representations, and which had used every possible chicanery against the stage, had become so friendly to it towards the year 1600, that, when it was asked from governmental quarters to enforce a certain decree which had been launched against the theatre, it refused to comply with the request. On the contrary, the Lord Mayor, as well as the other magistrates, held it to be an injustice towards the actors that the Privy Council gave a hearing to the charges brought forward by the Puritans. Truly, the feelings of this conservative Corporation, as well of a large number of those who once looked down upon the stage with the greatest contempt, must, in the meanwhile, have undergone a great change. Unquestionably the Company of the Lord Chamberlain--which in summer gave its masterly representations in the Globe Theatre, beyond the Thames, and in winter in Black-Friars--had been the chief agency in working that change. The first noblemen, the Queen herself, greatly enjoyed the pieces which Shakspere, in fact, wrote for that society; but the public at large were not less delighted with them. When, the day after such a representation, conversation arose in the family circle as to the three happy hours passed in the theatre, an opportunity was given for discussing the most important events of the past and the present. The people's history had not yet been written then. Solitary events only had been loosely marked down in dry folios. The stage now brought telling historical facts in vivid colours before the eye. The powerful speeches of high and mighty lords, of learned bishops, and of kings were heard--of exalted persons, all different in character, but all moved, like other mortals, by various passions, and driven by a series of circumstances to definite actions. It was felt that they, too, were subject to a certain spirit of the time, the tendency of which, if the poet was attentively listened to, could be plainly gathered. In this way conclusions might be drawn which shed light even upon the events of the present. True, it was forbidden to bring questions of the State and of religion upon the stage. But has Shakspere really avoided treating upon them? Richard Simpson has successfully shown that Shakspere, in his historical plays, carried on a political discussion easily understood by his contemporaries. [16] The maxims thus enunciated by the poet have been ascertained by that penetrating critic in such a manner that the results obtained can scarcely be subjected to doubt any more. On comparing the older plays and chronicles of which the poet made use for his historical dramas, with the creations that arose on this basis under his powerful hand, one sees that he suppresses certain tendencies of the subject-matter before him, placing others in their stead. Taking fully into account all the artistic technicalities calculated to produce a strong dramatic effect, we still find that he has evidently made a number of changes with the clear and most persistent intention of touching upon political questions of his time. If, for instance, Shakspere's 'King John' is compared with the old play, 'The Troublesome Raigne,' and with the chronicles from which (but more especially from the former piece) the poet has drawn the plan of his dramatic action, it will be seen that very definite political tendencies of what he had before him were suppressed. New ones are put in their place. Shakspere makes his 'King John' go through two different, wholly unhistorical struggles: _one against a foe at home, who contests the King's legitimate right; the other against Romanists who think it a sacred duty to overthrow the heretic_. These were not the feuds with which the King John of history had to contend. But the daughter from the unhappy marriage of Henry VIII. and the faithless Anne Boleyn--Queen Elizabeth--had, during her whole lifetime, to contend against rebels who held Mary Stuart to be the legitimate successor; and it was Queen Elizabeth who had always to remain armed against a confederacy of enemies who, encouraged by the Pope, made war upon the 'heretic' on the throne of England. Thus, in the Globe Theatre, questions of the State were discussed; and politics had their distinct place there. Yet who would enforce the rules of censorship upon such language as this:-- This England never did, and never shall, Lie at the proud feet of a Conqueror But when it first did help to wound itself. ... Nought shall make us rue If England to herself do rest but true? Such thoughts were not taken from any old chronicle, but came from the very soul of the age that had gained the great victory over the Armada. They emphasized a newly-acquired independent position, which could only be maintained by united strength against a foreign foe. Even as 'King John,' so all the other historical plays contain a clearly provable political tendency. Not everything done by the great queen met with applause among the people. Dissatisfaction was felt at the prominence of personal favourites, who made much abuse of commercial monopolies granted to them. The burdens of taxation had become heavier than in former times. In 'Richard the Second' a king is produced, who by his misgovernment and by his maintenance of selfish favourites loses his crown. Shakspere's sympathies are with a prince whom Nature has formed into a strong ruler; and such an aristocrat of the intellect is depicted in his 'Henry the Fifth.' In this ideal of a king, all the good national qualities attain their apotheosis. This hero combines strength of character with justice and bravery. With great severity he examines his own conscience before proceeding to any action, however small. War he makes with all possible humanity, and only for the furtherance of civilisation. Nothing is more hated by Shakspere than a government of weak hands. From such an unfortunate cause came the Wars of the Two Roses. It seems that, in order to bring this fact home to the understanding of the people, Shakspere put the sanguinary struggles between the Houses of York and Lancaster on the stage. (See Epilogue of 'King Henry the Fifth.') More strongly even than in his plays referring to English history, the deep aversion he felt to divided dominion pierces through his Roman tragedies; for in Shakspere the aristocratic vein was not less developed than in Goethe. To him, too, the multitude-- ...This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide To rot itself with motion. [17] As in politics, so also in the domain of religion (of all things the most important to his contemporaries), Shakspere has made his profession of faith. For its elucidation we believe we possess a means not less sure than that which Richard Simpson has made use of for fixing the political maxims of the great master. 'Hamlet' first appeared in a quarto edition of the year 1603. The little book thus announces itself:-- 'The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke, By William Shakespeare. As it hath been diverse times acted by his Highnesse servants in the Cittie of London: as also in the two Vniversities of Cambridge & Oxford, and elsewhere.' This drama is different, in most essential traits, from the piece we now possess, which came out a year later (1604), also in quarto edition. The title of the latter is:-- 'The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. By William Shakespeare, Newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as much-againe as it was, according to the true & perfect coppie.' The most diverse hypotheses have been started as to the relation between the older 'Hamlet' and the later one. [18] We share the view of those who maintain that the first quarto edition was a rough-draught, advanced to a certain degree, and for which the poet, as is the case with so many of his other plays, had used an older play as a kind of model. A 'rough-draught advanced to a certain degree' may be explained as a piece already produced on the stage. The public, always eager to see novelties, allowed the dramatists little time for fully working out their conceptions. The plays matured, as it were, on the stage itself; there they received their final shape and completion. As mentioned before, that which had displeased was struck out, whilst the passages that had obtained applause were often augmented, in order to confer upon the play the attraction of novelty. 'Enlarged to almost as much-againe as it was' is an expression which shows that 'Hamlet' had drawn from the very beginning. The poet, thereby encouraged, then worked out this drama into the powerful, comprehensive tragedy which we now possess. Now, in closely examining the changes and additions made in the second 'Hamlet,' we find that most of the freshly added philosophical thoughts, and many characteristic peculiarities, have clear reference to the philosophy of a certain book and the character of its author--namely, to Michel Montaigne and his 'Essais.' This work first appeared in an English translation in 1603, after it had already been entered at Stationers' Hall for publication in 1599. The cause which may have induced Shakspere to confer upon his 'Hamlet' the thoughts and the peculiarities of Montaigne, and to give that play the shape in which we now have it, will become apparent when we have to explain the controversy between Jonson and Dekker. We have thus the advantage over Simpson's method, that our theory will be confirmed from other sources. Montaigne's 'Essais' were a work which made a strong mark, and created a deep sensation, in his own country. There, it had already gone through twelve editions before it was introduced in England--eleven years after the death of its author--by means of a translation. Here it found its first admirers among the highest aristocracy and the patrons of literature and art. Under such august auspices it penetrated into the English public at large. The translator was a well-known teacher of the Italian language, John Florio. From the preface of the first book of the 'Essais' we learn that, at the request of Sir Edward Wotton, Florio had first Englished one chapter, doing it in the house of Lady Bedford, a great lover of art. In that preface, Florio, in most extravagant and euphuistic style, describes how this noblewoman, after having 'dayned to read it (the first chapter) without pitty of my fasting, my fainting, my laboring, my langishing, my gasping for some breath ... yet commaunded me on'--namely, to turn the whole work into English. It was a heavy task for the poor schoolmaster. He says:--'I sweat, I wept, and I went on sea-tosst, weather-beaten ... shippe-wrackt--almost drowned.' 'I say not,' the polite maestro adds, 'you took pleasure at shore' (as those in this author, iii. 1). No; my lady was 'unmercifull, but not so cruell;' she ever and anon upheld his courage, bringing 'to my succour the forces of two deare friends.' One of them was Theodore Diodati, tutor of Lady Bedford's brother, the eldest son of Lady Harrington whose husband also was a poet. The grateful Florio calls this worthy colleague, 'Diodati as in name, so indeed God's gift to me,' and a 'guide-fish' who in this 'rockie-rough ocean' helped him to capture the 'Whale'--that is, Montaigne. He also compares him to a 'bonus genius sent to me, as the good angel to Raimond in "Tasso," for my assistant to combat this great Argante.' The other welcome fellow-worker was 'Maister Doctor Guinne;' according to Florio, 'in this perilous, crook't passage a monster-quelling Theseus or Herkules;' aye, in his eyes the best orator, poet, philosopher, and medical man (_non so se meglior oratore e poeta, o philosopho e medico_), and well versed in Greek, Latin, Italian, and French poetry. It was he who succeeded in tracing the many passages from classic and modern writers which are strewn all over Montaigne's Essays to the divers authors, and the several places where they occur, so as to properly classify them. Samuel Daniel, a well-known and much respected poet of that time, and a brother-in-law of Florio, also made his contribution. He opens this powerful, highly important work with a eulogistic poem. Florio, in his bombastic style, says:--'I, in this, serve but as Vulcan to hatchet this Minerva from that Jupiter's bigge braine.' He calls himself 'a fondling foster-father, having transported it from France to England, put it in English clothes, taught it to talke our tongue, though many times with a jerke of French jargon.' The 'Essais' consist of three different books. Each of them is dedicated to two noblewomen, the foremost of this country. The first book isdedicated to Lucy, Countess of Bedford, and her mother, Lady Anne Harrington. The second to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland, daughter of the famous poet Sir Philip Sidney, therefore a near relation of Shakspere's youthful friend, William Herbert, the later Earl of Pembroke ('the only begetter' of the 'Sonnets'), whose mother also was a daughter of that much-admired poet. The second book is dedicated to the renowned as well as evilly notorious Lady Penelope Rich, sister of the unfortunate Earl of Essex. She shone by her extraordinary beauty as well as by her intellectual gifts. Of her Sir Philip Sidney was madly enamoured, but she married a Croesus, Lord Rich. This union was a most unhappy one. Her husband, a man far below her in strength of mind, did not know how to value the jewel that had come into his possession. A crowd of admirers flocked around her, among whom was William Herbert, much younger in years than herself. It is suspected that Shakspere's last sonnets (127-152) touch upon this connection, with the object of warning the friend against the true character of that sinful woman. The last book is dedicated to Lady Elizabeth Grey, the wife of Henry Grey, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and to Lady Mary Nevill, the latter being the daughter of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and wife of Sir Henry Nevill of Abergavenny. Each of the noblewomen mentioned is praised in a sonnet. No book of that period had such a number of aristocratic sponsors. Yet it was of foreign origin, and for the first time a French philosopher had appeared in an English version on this side of the Channel. His easy, chatty tone must have created no small sensation. The welcome given to him by a great number of men is proved by the fact of the 'Essais' soon reaching their third edition, a rare occurrence with a book so expensive as this. [19] We will endeavour to sketch the character of Michel Montaigne and his writings. His individuality, owing to the minute descriptions he gives of his own self in the Essays, comes out with rare distinctness from the dark environs of his time--more clearly so than the personality of any other author, even of that seventeenth century which is so much nearer to us. This French nobleman devoted the last thirty years of his life to philosophical speculations, if that expression is allowable; for fanciful inclination and changing sentiment, far more than strict logic and sound common sense, decided the direction of his thoughts. The book in which he tries to render his ideas is meant to be the flesh and blood of his own self. The work and the author--so he says--are to be one. 'He who touches one of them, attacks both.' In the words of Florio's translation, he observes:--'Authors communicate themselves unto the world by some speciall and strange marke, I the first by my generall disposition as Michael Montaigne; not as a Grammarian, or a Poet, or a Lawyer.' Few writers have been considered from such different points of view as Montaigne. The most passionate controversies have arisen about him. Theologians have endeavoured to make him one of their own; but the more far seeing ones soon perceived that there was too much scepticism in his work. Some sceptics would fain attach him to their own ranks; but the more consistent among them declined the companionship of one who was too bigoted for them. The great mass of men, as usual, plucked, according to each one's taste and fancy, some blossom or leaf from his 'nosegay of strange flowers,' [20] and then classified him from that casual selection. Montaigne, a friend of truth, admonishes posterity, if it would judge him, to do so truthfully and justly. With gladsome heart, he says, he would come back from the other world in order to give the lie to those who describe him different from what he is, 'even if it were done to his honour.' We shall strive to comply with his wish by drawing the picture of this most interesting, and in his intellectual features thoroughly modern, man, from the contours furnished by his own hand. We shall exert ourselves to lay stress on those characteristics by which he must have created most surprise among his logically more consistent contemporaries on the other side of the Channel. In taking up Montaigne's 'Essais' for perusal we are presently under the spell of a feeling as though we were listening to the words of a most versatile man of the world, in whom we become more and more interested. We find in him not only an amiable representative of the upper classes, but also a man who has deeply entered into the spirit of classic antiquity. Soon he convinces us that he is honestly searching after truth; that he pursues the noble aim of placing himself in harmony with God and the world. Does he succeed in this? Does he arrive at a clear conclusion? What are the fruits of his thoughts? what his teachings? In what relation did he stand to his century? As in no other epoch, men had, especially those who came out into the fierce light of publicity, to take sides in party warfare during the much-agitated time of the Reformation. To which party did Montaigne belong? Was he one of the Humanists, who, averse to all antiquated dogmas, preached a new doctrine, which was to bring mankind once more into unison with the long despised laws of Nature? We hope to show successfully that Shakspere wrote his 'Hamlet' for the great and noble object of warning his contemporaries against the disturbing inconsistencies of the philosophy of Montaigne who preached the rights of Nature, whilst yet clinging to dogmatic tenets which cannot be reconciled with those rights. We hope to prove that Shakspere who made it his task 'to hold the mirror up to Nature,' and who, like none before him, caught up her innermost secrets, rendering them with the chastest expression; that Shakspere, who denied in few but impressive words the vitality of any art or culture which uses means not consistent with the intentions of Nature: Yet Nature is made better by no mean, But Nature makes that mean; so o'er that art Which, you say, adds to Nature, is an art That Nature makes; [21]-- we hope to prove successfully that Shakspere, this true apostle of Nature, held it to be sufficient, ay, most godly, to be a champion of 'natural things;' that he advocated a true and simple obedience to her laws, and a renunciation of all transcendental dogmas, miscalled 'holy and reverent,' which domineer over human nature, and hinder the free development of its nobler faculties. Let us then impartially examine the character and the work of Montaigne. If we discover contradictions in both, we shall not endeavour to argue them away, but present them with matter-of-fact fidelity; for it is on those very contradictions that the enigmatic, as yet unexplained, character of Hamlet reposes. 1: Collier's _Drama_, i. 265. 2: _Kind-hartes Dreame_, 1592. 3: Act v. sc. 4. 4: Act v sc. 4. 5: Act iii sc. 5. 6: _The Return from Parnassus_, act v. sc. I. 7: _Ibid._, act iv. sc. 3. 8: _The Pardoner and the Friar_: 1533. 9: Collier's _Drama_, i. 104. 10: _The Political Use of the Stage in Shakspere's Time_. New Shakspere Society: 1874, ii. p. 371. Henry Stalbrydge, _Epistle Exhortatory_, &c.: 1544. 11: This threat was uttered against Chapman, Ben Jonson, and Marston on account of _Eastward Hoe_. 12: Von Raumer, ii. p. 219. 13: Marston's _Malcontent_: Dedication. 14: Act i. sc. I. 15: It is very characteristic that, in this serious piece also, low humour was still largely employed. In printing--the publisher remarks--the passages in question were left out, as derogatory 'to so honourable and stately a history.' 16: _The Politics of Shakspere's Historical Plays_. New Shakspere Society, ii. 1874. 17: _Antonius and Cleopatra_, act i. sc. 4. 18: We mean the usually received text, seeing that the folio edition of 1623 contains some passages which are wanting in the quarto edition, and _vice versâ_. 19: Montaigne's _Essays_, which were published in folio, may have had the same price as Shakspere's folio of 1623. The latter was only re-issued in 1632 and 1664, whilst the former came out in new editions in 1613 and 1632. 20: 'Icy un amas de fleur estrangieres, n'y ayant fourny du mien que le filet à les lier' (iii. 12). 21: _Winter's Tale_, act iv. sc. 3. III. MONTAIGNE. Michel Montaigne was favoured by birth as few writers have been. He was the son of a worthy nobleman who gave him, from early childhood, a most carefully conducted education. He never tires in praising the good qualities of his father, who had followed Francis I. to his Italian campaigns, and, like that monarch, had conceived a preference for those classical studies which were then again reviving. Even as his king, he, too, wished to promote the new knowledge, and was bent upon so initiating young Michel into it as to make him in the fullest manner conversant with the conquests of Greece and Rome in the realm of intellect. In this, as a practical man who felt the greatest respect for erudition without personally possessing a proper share of it, he allowed himself to be thoroughly guided by 'men of learning and judgment.' He had been told that the only reason why we do not 'attain to the greatness of soul and intellect of the ancient Greeks and Romans was the length of time we give to learning these languages which cost them nothing.' In bringing up the boy, to whom the best masters were given, the procedures chosen were therefore such that young Michel, in his sixth year, spoke Latin thoroughly before he was able to converse in his own mother-tongue. Montaigne relates [1] that he was much more at home on the banks of the Tiber than on the Seine. Before he knew the Louvre, his mind's eye rested on the Forum and the Capitol. He boasts of having always been more occupied with the life and the qualities of Lucullus, of Metellus, and Scipio, than with the fate of any of his own countrymen. Of the hey-day of classic Rome he, who otherwise uses such measured terms, speaks with a glowing enthusiasm. He often avers that he belongs to no special school of thought; that he advocates no theory; that he is not the adherent of any party or sect. To him--so he asserts--an unprejudiced examination of all knowledge is sufficient. His endeavour was, to prove the devise of his escutcheon: 'Que sçais-je?' Have the humanistic studies not given to him, as to so many of his contemporaries, a distinctive mental bent? Have Greek and Roman philosophy and poetry remained without any influence upon him? Has his character not been formed by them? Does he not once reckon himself among 'nous autres naturalistes?' [2] Once only, it is true, he does this; but even if he who would not belong to any special school of thought, and who would rather be 'a good equerry than a logician,' [3] had not ascribed to himself this designation, a hundred passages of his work would bear witness to the fact of his having been one of the Humanists, on whose banner 'Nature' was written as the parole. Ever and anon he says (I here direct attention more specially to his last Essays) that we ought willingly to follow her prescriptions; and incessantly he asserts that, in doing so, we cannot err. He designates her as a guide as mild as she is just, whose footprints, blurred over as they are by artificial ones, we ought everywhere to trace anew. 'Is it not folly,' he asks with Seneca, [4] 'to bend the body this way, and the mind that way, and thus to stand distorted between two movements utterly at variance with each other?' To bring up and to guide man in accordance with his capacities, is with him a supreme law. 'Le glorieux chef-d'oeuvre de l'homme, c'est de vivre a propos.' He, the sage, is already so much in advance of his century that he yearns for laws and religions which are not arbitrarily founded, but drawn from the roots and the buds of a universal Reason, contained in every person not degenerate or divorced from nature _desnature_. A mass of passages in the Essays strengthen the opinion that Montaigne was an upright, noble-minded Humanist, a disciple of free thought, who wished to fathom human nature, and was anxious to help in delivering mankind from the fetters of manifold superstitions. Read his Essay on Education; and the conviction will force itself upon you that in many things he was far in advance of his time. But now to the reverse of the medal--to Montaigne as the adherent of Romanist dogmas! 'The bond,' he says--and here we quote Florio's translation, [5] only slightly changed into modern orthography--'which should bind our judgment, tie our will, enforce and join our souls to our Creator, should be a bond taking his doublings and forces, not from our considerations, reasons, and passions, but from a divine and supernatural compulsion, having but one form; one countenance, and one grace; which is the authority and grace of God.' The latter, be it well understood, are to Montaigne identical with the Church of Rome, to which he thinks it best blindly to submit. Men--he observes--who make bold to sit in judgment upon their judges, are never faithful and obedient to them. As a warning example he points to England, which, since his birth, had already three or four times changed its laws, not only in matters political, in which constancy is not insisted upon, but in the most important matter imaginable--namely, in religion. He declares himself all the more ashamed of, and vexed by, this, as his own family were allied by close private ties with the English nation. An attempt has been made to show [6] that in Montaigne's 'Apologie de Raymond Sebond,' in which he expounds his theological opinions in the most explicit manner, a hidden attack is contained upon the Church. But it bespeaks an utter misconception of the character of this writer to hold him capable of such perfidious craftiness; for he calls it 'a cowardly and servile humour if a man disguises and hides his thoughts under a mask, not daring to let himself be seen under his true aspect.' [7] We know of not a few, especially Italian, Humanists who publicly made a deep bow before the altar, whilst behind it they cynically laughed, in company with their friends; making sport of the silly crowd that knelt down in profound reverence. Montaigne was no such double-dealer. We can fully believe him when he states that it is to him no small satisfaction and pleasure to 'have been preserved from the contagion of so corrupt an age; to have never brought affliction and ruin upon any person; not to have felt a desire for vengeance, or any envy; nor to have become a defaulter to his word.' [8] His word, his honour, were to him the most sacred treasure. He never would have descended so low as to fling them to the winds. Let us, therefore, not endeavour to deny any logical inconsistencies in his writings--inconsistencies which many other men since his time have equally shown. Let us rather institute a strict and close inquiry into these two modes of thought of his, which, contradictory as they are, yet make up his very character and individuality. We can fully believe in Montaigne's sincerity when elsewhere he asserts that we must not travel away from the paths marked down by the Roman Catholic Church, lest we should be driven about helplessly and aimlessly on the unbounded sea of human opinions. He tells us [9] that 'he, too, had neglected the observance of certain ceremonies of the Church, which seemed to him somewhat vain and strange; but that, when he communicated on that subject with learned men, he found that these things had a very massive and solid foundation, and that it is only silliness and ignorance which make us receive them with less reverence than the other doctrines of religion.' Hence he concludes that we must put ourselves wholly under the protection of ecclesiastical authority, or completely break with it. He never made a single step to withdraw himself from that authority. He rather prides himself on having never allowed himself, by any philosophy, to be turned away from his first and natural sic opinions, and from the condition in which God had placed him; being well aware of his own variability _volubilité_. 'Thus I have, by the grace of God, remained wholly attached, without internal agitation and troubles of conscience, to the ancient beliefs of our religion, during the conflict of so many sects and party divisions which our century has produced.' [10] Receiving the holy Host, he breathed his last. In the 'Apologie de Raymond Sebond,' Montaigne defends the 'Theologia Naturalis' of the latter--a book in which the author, who was a medical man, a philosopher, and a theologian, endeavours to prove that the Roman Catholic dogmas are in harmony with the laws of nature. That which is to be received in full faith, Sebond exerts himself to make comprehensible by arguments of the reason. This book--so Montaigne relates--had been given to his father, at the time when Luther's new doctrines began to be popular, by a man of great reputation for learning, Pierre Bunel, who 'well foresaw, by his penetration, [11] that this budding disease would easily degenerate into an execrable atheism.' Old Pierre Montaigne, a very pious man, esteemed this work very highly; and a few days before his death, having fortunately found it among a lot of neglected papers, commanded his son to translate it from 'that kind of Spanish jargon with Latin endings,' in which it was written. Michel, with filial piety, fulfilled his task. He translated the work, and in the above-mentioned Essay--the largest of the series--he advocates its philosophy. The essence of this panegyric of the Church (for logic would in vain be sought for in that Essay) is: that knowledge and curiosity are simply plagues of mankind, and that the Roman Catholic religion, therefore, with great wisdom, recommends ignorance. Man would be most likely to attain happiness if, like the animal, he were to allow himself to be guided by his simple instinct. All philosophising is declared to be of no use. Faith only is said to afford security to the weakest of all beings, to man, who more than any other creature is exposed to the most manifold dangers. No elephant, no whale, or crocodile, was required to overcome him who proudly calls himself the 'lord of creation.' 'Little lice are sufficient to make Sylla give up his dictatorship. The heart and the life of a mighty and triumphant emperor form but the breakfast of a little worm.' [12] (Compare 'Hamlet,' iv. 3). Montaigne, who, in his thirty-eighth year, 'long weary of the bondage of Court and of public employment, while yet in the vigour of life, hath withdrawn himself into the bosom of the Learned Virgins (Doctarum Virginum),' [13] so as to be able to spend the rest of his days in his ancestral home, in peaceful, undisturbed devotion to ennobling studies, and to present the world with a new book, in which he means to give expression to his innermost thoughts--Montaigne, in his Essay 'On Prayers,' calls his writings 'rhapsodies,' which he submits to the judgment of the Church, so that it may deal with anything he, 'either ignorantly or unadvisedly, may have set down contrary to the sacred decrees, and repugnant to the holy prescriptions of the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church, wherein I die, and in which I was born.' Let us not dwell too long on the contradictions of a man who professes to think independently, and who yet is content with having a mind-cramping dogmatic creed imposed upon him. Let us look at a few other, not less irreconcilable, inconsistencies of his logic. Montaigne, the Humanist, advocates toleration. Justice, he says, is to be done to every party, to every opinion. 'Men are different in feeling and in strength; they must be directed to their good, according to themselves, and by diverse ways.' [14] He bears no grudge to anyone of heterodox faith; he feels no indignation against those who differ from him in ideas. The ties of universal humanity he values more than those of national connection. He has some good words for the Mexicans, so cruelly persecuted by the Spaniards. 'I hold all men to be my compatriots; I feel the same love for a Pole as for a Frenchman.' [15] But when we read what the Roman Catholic Montaigne writes, there is a different tone:-- 'Now that which, methinks, brings so much disorder into our consciences--namely, in these troubles of religion in which we are--is the easy way with which Catholics treat their faith. They suppose they show themselves properly moderate and skilful when they yield to their adversaries some of the articles that are under debate. But--besides that they do not see what an advantage it is to your antagonist if you once begin making a concession, thus encouraging him to follow up his point--it may further be said that the articles which they choose as apparently the lightest, are sometimes most important indeed.' [16] Again, the humane nobleman who looks with pity and kindliness upon 'the poor, toiling with heads bent, in their hard work;' he who calls the application of the torture 'a trial of patience rather than of truth'--he maintains that 'the public weal requires that one should commit treachery, use falsehoods, and perform massacres.' [17] Personally, he shrinks from such a mission. His softer heart is not strong enough for these deeds. He relates [18] that he 'never could see without displeasure an innocent and defenceless beast pursued and killed, from which we have received no offence at all.' He is moved by the aspect of 'the hart when it is embossed and out of breath, and, finding its strength gone, has no other resource left but to yield itself up to us who pursue it, asking for mercy from us by its tears. He calls this 'a deplorable spectacle.' Yet, this sentimental nobleman advocates the commission of treachery and cruelty, in the interest of the State, by certain more energetic, less timorous men. Nor does he define their functions so as to raise a bar against a second St. Bartholomew massacre. A deed of this kind he would submissively take to be an act of Heaven, shirking all responsibility for, or discussion of, anything that 'begins to molest him.' He merely says:--'Like those ancients who sacrificed their lives for the welfare of their country, so they (the guardians of the State) must be ready to sacrifice their honour and their conscience. We who are weaker, take easier, less risky parts.' [19] In Montaigne, the Humanist, we read that beautiful passage (in his last Essay [20]) where he says that 'those who would go beyond human nature, trying to transform themselves into angels, only make beasts of themselves.' [21] Yet, elsewhere [22] he writes that he shall be exalted, who, renouncing his own natural means, allows himself to be guided by means purely celestial--by which he clearly understands the dogmas of Roman Catholicism. As a humanistic thinker, Montaigne fears nothing more than any strivings after transcendentalism. Such yearnings terrify him like inaccessible heights. In the life of Sokrates, of that sage for whom he felt a special preference, the 'ecstasies and daimons' greatly repel him. Nevertheless, Montaigne, the mystic, attributes a great magic power to such daimons; for he says: 'I, too, have sometimes felt within myself an image of such internal agitations, as weak in the light of reason as they were violent in instinctive persuasion or dissuasion (a state of mind more ordinary to Sokrates), by which I have so profitably, and so happily, suffered myself to be drawn on, that these mental agitations might perhaps be thought to contain something of divine inspiration.' [23] Montaigne, the admirer of classic antiquity, says that serving the Commonwealth is the most honourable calling. [24] Acts without some splendour of freedom have, in his eyes, neither grace, nor do they merit being honoured. [25] But elsewhere [26] we come upon his other view, less imbued with the spirit of antiquity--namely, that 'man alone, without other help, armed only with his own weapons, and unprovided with the grace and knowledge of God, in which all his honour, his strength, and the whole ground of his being are contained,' is a sorry specimen of force indeed. His own reason gives him no advantage over other creatures; the Church alone confers this privilege upon him! During several years, Montaigne was Mayor of Bordeaux. With great modesty, he relates [27] that in his mere passive conduct lay whatever little merit he may have had in serving his town. This fully harmonises with the view expressed in his last but one Essay, in which he declares that we are to be blamed for not sufficiently trusting in Heaven; expecting from ourselves more than behoves us: 'Therefore do our designs so often miscarry. Heaven is envious of the large extent which we attribute to the rights of human wisdom, to the prejudice of its own rights; and it curtails ours all the more that we endeavour to enlarge them.' [28] Montaigne by no means ignores the troublous character of the times in which he lived. He often alludes to it. He thinks astrologers cannot have any great difficulty in presaging changes and revolutions near at hand:--'Their prophetic indications are practically in our very midst, and most palpable; one need not search the Heavens for that.' 'Cast we our eyes about us' (here again we follow Florio's translation), 'and in a generall survay consider all the world: all is tottring; _all is out of frame_. Take a perfect view of all great states, both in Christendome and where ever else we have knowledge of, and in all places you shall finde a most evident threatning of change and ruine ... Astrologers may spout themselves, with warning us, as they doe of iminent alterations and succeeding revolutions: their divinations are present and palpable, we need not prie into the heavens to find them out.' [29] But Montaigne, always resigned to the will of God, inactively stands by. Not even a manly counsel comes from his lips. He believes he has fulfilled his Christian duty by trusting in Heaven for the conduct of human affairs, and trying to comfort his fellow-men by the hollow words that he 'sees no cause for despair. Perchance we have not yet arrived at the last stage. The maintenance of states is most probably something that goes beyond our powers of understanding.' [30] Montaigne, the Humanist, says that 'it is an absolute perfection, and, as it were, a divine accomplishment for a man to know how to loyally enjoy his existence.' The most commendable life for him is 'that which adapts itself, in an orderly way, to a common human model, without miracle, and without extravagance.' [31] But Montaigne, the Christian, relates that he has 'never occupied himself with anything more than with ideas of death, even at the most licentious time of his youth.' With touching ingenuousness he confesses his weaknesses and his vanities, of which he scarcely dares to think any longer. The descriptions he often gives of himself--such as, 'a dreamer' (_songe-creux_), 'soft' (_molle_), 'heavy' (_poisante_), 'pensive,' and so forth [32]--prove that he cannot have arrived at a pure enjoyment of life. He questions the happiness of being a husband and father. We shall touch upon his views as regards woman, and many other peculiarities of his, in the passages of 'Hamlet' referring to them. In nothing does Montaigne arrive at any clear conclusion within himself. Though he knows how to speak much and well about everything, it is all mere _bel esprit_, a display of glittering words, hollow verbiage, which only lands us in a labyrinth of contradictions, from which we seek an issue as vainly as the author himself. Striving, through all his life, to arrive at a knowledge of himself, he at last lays down his arms, considering the attempt a fruitless and impossible task, and, in his last Essay, [33] he makes this avowal:-- 'That which in Perseus, the King of Macedon, was remarked as a rare thing--viz. that his mind, not settling down into any kind of condition, went wandering through every manner of life, thus showing such flighty and erratic conduct that neither he nor others knew what sort of man he was: this seems to me to apply nearly to the whole world, and more especially to one of that ilk whom this description would eminently fit. This, indeed, is what I believe of him (he speaks of himself):--"No average attitude; being always driven from one extreme to the other by indivinable chances; no manner of course without cross-runnings and marvellous controversies; no clear and plain faculty, so that the likeliest idea that could one day be put forth about him will be this: that he affected and laboured to make himself known by the impossibility of really knowing him" ('qu'il affectoit et estudioit de se rendre cogneu par estre mecognoissable').' This is Montaigne all over. In the British Museum there is a copy of the Essays of Montaigne, in Florio's translation, with Shakspere's name, it is alleged, written in it by his own hand, and with notes which possibly may in part have been jotted down by him. Sir Frederick Madden, one of the greatest authorities in autographs, has recognised Shakspere's autograph as genuine. [34] Whatever disputes may be carried on on this particular point, we think we shall be able to prove that Shakspere about the year 1600 must have been well acquainted with Montaigne. We shall show that in the first text of 'Hamlet,' which, it is assumed, was represented on the stage between 1601 and 1602, there are already to be found some allusions to Montaigne, especially as far as the middle of the second and towards the end of the fifth act. In all likelihood, Shakspere knew the 'Essais' even in the original French text or perhaps from the manuscript of the translation which, as above stated, had been begun towards the year 1599; for Shakspere, it is to be supposed, had access to the houses of, at least, two of the noble ladies to whom the Italian teacher dedicated his translation. In the 'Tempest,' assumed to be of later date than 'Hamlet,' there is a passage unmistakably taken from Florio's version of Montaigne. [35] Ben Jonson, the most quarrelsome and the chief adversary of Shakspere, was an intimate friend of Florio. When Montaigne, in 'Hamlet'--as Jonson says--became the target of 'railing rhetoric,' the latter took sides with Florio and his colleagues; launching out against Shakspere in his comedy, 'Volpone.' This play, as well as an Introduction in which it is dedicated to the two Universities, gives us a clue to a great many things otherwise difficult to understand. A new book, especially a philosophical work like that of Michel Montaigne, was then still a remarkable event. [36] To counteract the pernicious influence which the frivolous, foreign talker threatened to exercise, in large circles, through an English translation--this, in our opinion, was the object which Shakspere had when touching upon ground interdicted, as a rule, to the stage--namely, upon questions of religion. We shall find that it was not through any preference for ghost and murder scenes that, a year after the second quarto, in 1605, 'Hamlet' was reprinted--a circumstance occurring with but one other drama of Shakspere; which testifies that this particular play attained great popularity from its first appearance. [37] A very instructive insight into the intellectual movement of the great Reformation epoch here opens itself to us. In this case, also, we shall gain the conviction that a true genius takes the liveliest interest in the fate of his own nation, and does not occupy himself with distant, abstruse problems (such as fussy metaphysicians would fain philosophise into 'Hamlet'), whilst the times are going out of joint. The greatest Englishman remained, in the most powerful drama of his, within the sphere of the questions that agitated his time. In 'Hamlet' he identifies Montaigne's philosophy with madness; branding it as a pernicious one, as contrary to the intellectual conquests his own English nation has made, when breaking with the Romanist dogmas. What sense of duty do Montaigne's Essays promote? What noble deed can ripen in the light of the disordered and discordant ideas they contain? All they can do is, to disturb the mind, not to clear it; to give rise to doubts, not to solve them; to nip the buds from which great actions may spring, not to develop them. Instead of furthering the love for mankind, they can only produce despair as to all higher aims and ideals. In 'Hamlet,' Shakspere personified many qualities of the complex character of Montaigne. Before all, he meant to draw this conclusion: that whoever approaches a high task of life with such wavering thoughts and such logical inconsistencies, must needs suffer shipwreck. Hamlet's character has only remained an enigma to us for so long a time because he is flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood; 'but, to knew a man well, were to know himself.' 1: Essay III. 9. 2: Essay III. 12, 235. 3: _Ibid_. 9. 4: Essay III. 13 (_Edition Variorum_, par Charles Louandre, Paris; which we always refer to). 5: The _Essayes, or Morall, Politike, and Millitarie Discourses_ of Lo. Michaell de Montaigne, London, 1603, p. 256. 6: Sainte-Beuve. 7: Essay II. 17, p. 71. 8: III. 2, 330. 9: Essay I. 26, 257. 10: II. 12, 487-8. 11: Montaigne, _Discours de Raison_ (Discourse of Reason). Florio, 252. 12: Essay II. 12, 297. Florio, 266. 13: Part of an inscription still legible in Montaigne's castle. 14: Essay II. 12. 15: III. 9. 16: I. 26. 17: Essay III. 1 18: II. 11. 19: III. 1. 20: III. 13. 21: Essay III. 13. 22: II. 12. 23: I. 11. 24: III. 9. 25: _Ibid_. 26: II. 12. 27: Essay III. 10. 28: _Ibid_. 12. 29. Florio, 575. 30: Essay III. 9. 31: III. 13. 32: Essay II. 12. 33: III. 13. 34: _Observations on an Autograph of Shakspere_. London, 1838. 35: This is the passage, which occurs in the _Tempest_, act ii. sc. I: '_Gonzalo_.--I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things: for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate: Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation: all men idle, all; And women too.' This passage is almost literally taken from Essay I. 30, 'On Cannibals.' We shall later on show Shakspere's reason for giving us this fanciful description of such an Utopian commonwealth. 36: Florio, after enumerating the difficulties he encountered in the translation of the _Essays_, concludes his preface to the courteous reader with the following words:-- 'In summe, if any think he could do better, let him trie, then will he better think of what is done. Seven or eight of great wit and worth have assayed, but found those Essais no attempt for French apprentises or Littletonians. If thus done it may please you, as I wish it may and I hope it shall, and I with you shall be pleased: though not, yet still I am.' We learn, from this remark, of what great importance the _Essais_ must have been considered in literary circles, and it is not improbable that a few attempts 'of the seven or eight of great wit and worth' may have appeared in print long before Florio's translation. We may well ask: Is it likely that the greatest literary genius of his age should have been unaware of the existence of a work which was considered of such importance that 'seven or eight of great wit and worth' thought it worth while to attempt to translate it? Shakspere, who in _King Henry the Fifth_ (1599) wrote some scenes in French, must surely have had sufficient knowledge of this language to read it. 37: Besides the quartos of 1603 and 1604, thee were reprints of the latter in 1605 and 1611; also another edition without date. IV. HAMLET. In the foregoing sketch of Montaigne our especial object was to point out the inconsistency of the French writer in advising us to follow Nature as our guide, yet at the same time maintaining a strict adherence to tenets and dogmas which qualify the impulses and inclinations of nature as sinful, and which even declare war against them. Let us see how Shakspere incarnates these contrasts in the character of Hamlet. He makes the Danish Prince come back from the University of Wittenberg. There, we certainly may assume, he has become imbued with the new spirit that then shook the world. We refrain from mentioning it by name, because the designation we now confer upon it has become a lifeless word, comprising no longer those free thoughts of the Humanist, for which Shakspere, in this powerful tragedy, boldly enters the lists. Hamlet longs to be back to Wittenberg. This desire represents his inclination towards free, humanistic studies. On the other hand, his adherence to old dogmatic views can be deduced from the fact of his being so terribly impressed by the circumstance of his father having had to die Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneled; a fact recorded with a threefold outcry:-- Oh, horrible! Oh, horrible! most horrible! Again, we must direct the reader's attention to this very noteworthy point, that the first quarto edition of 'Hamlet' was already worked out tolerably well as far as the middle of the second act. For the completion of this part, only a few details were necessary. From them, we must all the more be enabled to gather Shakspere's intention. In the speech of the Ghost in the second quarto--otherwise of well-nigh identical contents with the one in the first edition--there is only one new line, but one which deserves the closest consideration. It is that which we have quoted-- Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneled. The effect this statement has on the course of the dramatic action we shall explain later on. In act iii. sc. 3, where Hamlet's energy is paralysed by this disclosure of the Ghost, we afterwards again come upon a short innovation, and a most characteristic one, though but consisting of two lines. In the first quarto we see Hamlet, in the beginning of the play, seized with an unmanly grief which makes him wish that heaven and earth would change back into chaos. But a new addition to this weariness of life is the contempt of all earthly aspirations: the aversion to Nature as the begetter of sin. The following passages are not to be found in the first quarto:-- Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 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! 't is an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. The scene between Hamlet and Horatio (act i. sc. 4), which in both texts is about the same, contains an innovation in which the Prince's mistrust of nature is even more sharply expressed. These lines are new:-- This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations-- as far as-- ... The dram of eale (evil) Doth (drawth) all the substance of a doubt To his own scandal. The contents of this interpolated speech may concisely be thus given: that the virtues of man, however pure and numerous they may be, are often infected by 'some vicious mole of Nature,' wherein he himself is guiltless; and that from such a fault in the chance of birth a stamp of defect is impressed upon his character, and thus contaminates the whole. These innovations are evidently introduced for the purpose of making us understand why Hamlet does not trust to the excitements of his own reason and his own blood, in order to find out by natural means whether it be true what his 'prophetic soul' anticipates--namely, that his uncle may 'smile and smile, and yet be a villain.' Man, says Montaigne, has no hold-fast, no firm and fixed point, within himself, in spite of his apparently splendid outfit. [1] Man can do nothing with his own weapons alone without help from outside. In the Essay 'On the Folly of Referring the True and the False to the Trustworthiness of our Judgment,' [2] he maintains that 'it is a silly presumption to go about despising and condemning as false that which does not seem probable to us; which is a common fault of those who think they have more self-sufficiency than the vulgar. So was I formerly minded; and if I heard anybody speak either of ghosts coming back, or of the prophecy of coming things, of spells, of witchcraft, or of any other tale I could not digest-- Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala-- I felt a kind of compassion for the poor people who were made the victims of such follies. And now I find that I was, at least, to be as much pitied myself.... Reason has taught me that, so resolutely to condemn a thing as false and impossible, is to boldly assume that we have in our head the bounds and limits of the will of God and of our common mother, Nature; and I now see that there is no more notable folly in the world than to reduce them to the measure of our capacity and of our self-sufficient judgment.' [3] Not less weak than Montaigne's trust in human reason is that of Hamlet when he fears 'the pales and forts of reason' may be broken down-- by the o'ergrowth of some complexion. With such a mode of thought it is not to be wondered at that he should welcome the first occasion when the task of his life may be revealed to him by a heavenly messenger. Hoping that 'the questionable shape' would not let him 'burst in ignorance,' but tell him why 'we fools of Nature so horridly shake our disposition with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls,' he follows the spectral apparition. Good Horatio does his best to restrain his friend, who has waxed 'desperate with imagination,' from approaching the 'removed ground,' that might deprive him of the 'sovereignity of reason,' and whither the Ghost beckons him. Here there are several new lines:-- Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff.... 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. Here we have one of those incipient ecstasies of which Montaigne says that 'such transcending humours affright me as much as _steep, high, and inaccessible places_.' [4] In the following scene between Hamlet and the Ghost the introduction is new:-- _Ghost_. My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous 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 shall hear. This picturing of the torments of hell--how very characteristic! It is forbidden to the Ghost to communicate to 'ears of flesh and blood' the secrets of its fiery prison-house. Yet it knows how to tell enough of the horrors of that gruesome place to make the hair of a stronger mortal than Hamlet is, stand on end, 'like quills upon the fretful porcupine.' With masterly hand, the poet depicts the distance which henceforth separates Hamlet's course of thought from that of his friends who have remained on the firm ground of human reason. Hamlet cannot say more than-- that there's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave. When Horatio answers that 'there needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave to tell us this,' [5] Hamlet asks his friends to shake hands with him and part, giving them to understand that every man has his own business and desire, and that-- for my own poor part, Look you, I'll go pray. Horatio calls this 'wild and whirling words.' The Prince who at this moment, no doubt, expresses his own true inclination, says:--'I am sorry they offend you--heartily; yes, 'faith, heartily.' It is difficult for him to justify his own procedure. He feels unable to explain his thoughts and sentiments to the clear, unwarped reason of a Horatio, to whom the Ghost did not reply, and to whom no ghost would. Hamlet assures his friend, for whose sympathy he greatly cares, that the apparition is a true one, an honest ghost. He advises Horatio to give the 'wondrous strange' a welcome even as to 'a stranger;' and, lest he might endeavour to test the apparition by human reason, he speaks the beautiful words:-- There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy Hamlet tells his friends that in future he will put on 'an antic disposition.' Towards them he has, in fact, already done so. His desire for a threefold oath; his repeated shifting of ground; his swearing by the sword on which the hands are laid (a custom referable to the time of the Crusades, and considered tantamount to swearing by the cross, but which, at the same time, is an older Germanic, and hence Danish, custom); his use of a Latin formula, _Hic et ubique_--all these procedures have the evident object of throwing his comrades into a mystic frame of mind, and to make them keep silence ('so help you mercy!') as to what they have seen. These are the mysterious means which those have to use that would make themselves the medium of a message supernaturally revealed. [5] A perusal of the fifty-sixth chapter of the first Essay of Montaigne will show with what great reverence he treated ceremonial customs and hollow formulas; for instance, the sign of the cross, of which he 'continually made use, even if he be but yawning' (_sic_). It is not a mere coincidence, but a well-calculated trait in the character of Hamlet, that in his speech he goes through a scale of exclamations and asseverations such as Shakspere employs in no other of his poetical creations. Hamlet incessantly mentions God, Heaven, Hell, and the Devil, the Heavenly Hosts, and the Saints. He claims protection from the latter at the appearance of the Ghost. He swears 'by St. Patrick,' by his faith, by God's wounds, by His blood, by His body, by the Cross, and so forth. [6] Stubbs, in his 'Anatomy of Abuses' (1583), [7] lays stress, among other characteristics of the Papists, upon their terrible inclination to swearing: 'in so muche, as if they speake but three or fower words, yet must thei needes be interlaced with a bloudie othe or two, to the great dishonour of God and offence of the hearers.' An overwhelming grief and mistrust in his own nature filled Hamlet's bold imagination with the desire of receiving a complete mandate for his mission from the hands of superior powers. So he enters the realm of mysticism, where mind wields no authority, and where no sound fruit of human reason can ripen. Between the first and the second act there is an interval of a few months. The poet gives us no other clue to the condition and the doings of his hero than that, in the words of Polonius, [8] he 'fell into sadness; then into a fast; thence to a watch; thence into a weakness,' and so forth. We may therefore assume that he has followed his inclination to go to pray; that he tries by fasting, watching, and chastising, as so many before him, to find his way in the dreamland which he has entered following the Ghost; sincerely striving to remain true to his resolution to 'wipe from the table of his memory all pressures past.' A new passage in the monologue of Hamlet, after the Ghost has left him, is this:-- And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter; yes, by Heaven! O most pernicious woman! We next hear about the Prince from Ophelia after the interval which, as mentioned above, lies between the first and the second act. [9] In the old play she relates that, when 'walking in the gallery all alone,' he, the lover, came towards her, altogether 'bereft of his wits.' In the scene of the later play he comes to her closet with a purpose, appearing before her in a state of mental struggle. No doubt, he then approaches her with the intention, which afterwards he carries out, of renouncing woman, the begetter of all evil in the world, which makes such monsters of wise men. The sight of his true love has shaken him. He stands before her: [10] ... with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors... 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. Thus he leaves her, not daring to speak the word which is to separate him from her. In the following scene between Hamlet and Polonius (act ii. sc. 2 [11]) there is again a new passage which equally proves that Hamlet's thoughts only dwell upon one theme; that is, the sinfulness of our human nature:-- _Hamlet_. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god, kissing carrion--Have you a daughter? _Polonius_. I have, my lord. _Hamlet_. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception is a blessing; but not as your daughter may conceive:--friend, look to't. Hamlet said before, that 'To be honest, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.' There is method in Hamlet's madness. With correct logic he draws from dogmas which pronounce Nature to be sinful, the conclusion that we need not wonder at the abounding of evil in this world, seeing that a God himself assists in creating it. He, therefore, warns Polonius against his daughter, too, becoming 'a breeder of sinners.' Before we follow Hamlet now to the scene with Ophelia, where, 'in an ecstasy of divine inspiration, equally weak in reason, and violent in persuasion and dissuasion,' [12] he calls upon her to go to a nunnery, we must direct attention to the concluding part of an Essay [13] of Montaigne. It is only surprising that nobody should as yet have pointed out how unmistakeably, in that famous scene, the inconsistencies of the whimsical French writer are scourged. In that Essay the following thought occurs, which one would gladly accept as a correct one: 'Falsely do we judge the _honesty_ and the _beauty_ of an action from its usefulness. Equally wrong it is to conclude that everyone is bound to do the same, and that it is an honest action for everybody, if it be a useful one.' Now, Montaigne endeavours to apply this thought to the institution of marriage; and he descends, in doing so, to the following irrational argument:--'Let us select the most necessary and most useful institution of human society: _it is marriage_. Yet the counsel of the saints deems the contrary side to be more _honest_; thus excluding the most venerable vocation of men.' The satire of that famous scene in 'Hamlet' is here apparent. It will now be understood why the Danish Prince comes with a warning to his beloved, 'not to admit _honesty_ in discourse with _beauty_,' and why his resolution is that 'we will have no more _marriage_.' Those words of Hamlet, too, '_this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof_,' are easy of explanation. It was not yet so long ago that celibacy had been abolished in England. The 'time' now confirms celibacy once more in this French book. Most characteristic is the following passage: in this scene the only new one. It goes far to show the intention with which the poet partly re-wrought the play. I mean the words in which Hamlet confesses to Ophelia that he has deceived her. The repentant sinner says: '_You should not have believed me: for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it_.' Can a poet who will not convert the stage into a theological Hall of Controversy, make the soul-struggle of his hero more comprehensible? Hamlet has honestly tried (we have seen with what means) to inoculate and improve the sinful 'old stock.' But how far away he still feels himself from his aim! He calls himself 'proud, revengeful, ambitious.' These are the three sins of which he must accuse himself, when listening to the voice of Nature which admonishes him to fulfil the duty of his life--the deed of blood--that inner voice of his nobler nature which impels him to seize the crown in order to guide the destinies of his country; given over, as the latter is, to the mischievous whims of a villain. Yet he cries out against Ophelia, 'We are arrant knaves all; believe none of us!' He reproaches this daughter of Eve with her own weaknesses and the great number of her sins in words reminding us of Isaiah, [14] where the wantonness of the daughters of Zion is reproved. He, the ascetic, calls out to his mistress: 'Go thy ways to a nunnery!... Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?' Let us hear what his mistress says about him. This passage also, explaining Hamlet's madness, is new:-- Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatched form and feature of blown youth, Blasted with ecstasy. [15] With what other word can Hamlet's passionate utterances be designated than that of religious ecstasy? From the first moment when he sees Ophelia, and prays her to remember his sins in her 'orisons,' down to the last moment when he leaves her, bidding her to go to a nunnery, there is method in his madness--the method of those dogmas which brand nature and humanity as sinful, whose impulses they do not endeavour to lead to higher aims, but which, by certain mysteries and formulas, they pretend to be able to overcome. The soul-struggle of Hamlet arises from his divided mind; an inner voice of Nature calling, on the one hand:-- Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest; whilst another voice calls out that, howsoever he pursues his act, he should not 'taint his mind.' In the English translation of the 'Hystorie of Hamblet,' from which Shakspere took his subject, the art of dissembling is extolled, in most naive language, as one specially useful towards great personages not easily accessible to revenge. He who would exercise the arts of dissembling (it is said there) must be able to 'kisse his hand whome in hearte hee could wishe an hundredfoot depth under the earth, so hee mighte never see him more, if it were not a thing _wholly to bee disliked in a Christian, who by no meanes ought to have a bitter gall, or desires infected with revenge_.' We shall find later on that Hamlet's gall also claims its rights; all the more so as he endeavours, by an unnatural and superstitious use of dogmatism, to suppress and to drive away the 'excitements of the reason and of the blood.' We have heard from Polonius that the Prince, after his 'sadness,' fell into a 'fast.' And everything he says to his schoolfellows Rosencrantz and Guildenstern [16] about his frame of mind, confirms us in the belief that he has remained faithful to the intention declared in the first act--'Look you, I will go pray'--so as to prepare himself, like many others, to contemplate passively a world sinful from its very nature, and therefore not to be changed and bettered. This scene is, in the first quarto, a mere hasty sketch, but faintly indicated. In the second quarto it is, so to say, a new one; and a comparison between the two need, therefore, not be instituted. Before his friends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hamlet, for a few moments, gives up his brain-racking thoughts of penitence; he even endeavours to philosophise, as he may have done at the University of Wittenberg before he allowed himself to be lured into dreamland. He utters a thought--'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so'--which occurs in an Essay of Montaigne, and is thus given by Florio (127):-- 'If that what we call evil and torment be neither torment nor evil, but that our fancy only gives it that quality, is it in us to change it?' [17] Hamlet then pictures his mental condition in words of deepest sincerity. In order to fully understand this description, we have once more to refer to an Essay of Montaigne, [18] in which he asserts that man is not furthered by his reason, his speculations, his passions; that they give him no advantage over other creatures. A divinely appointed authority--the Church--confers upon him 'those great advantages and odds he supposes to have over other creatures.' It is she that seals to him the patent and privilege which authorises him to 'keep account both of the receipts and layings-out of the world.' Ay, it is she who convinces him that '_this admirable swinging-round of the heavenly vaults, the eternal light of those constellations rolling so nobly over our heads_, the terrible commotions of this infinite ocean, were established, and have continued for so many ages, for his advantage and his service.' To her authority he must wholly surrender himself; by her he must allow himself to be guided. And in doing so, it is 'better for us to have a weak judgment than a strong one; better to be smitten with blindness than to have one's eyes open and clear-sighted.' Striving to live up to similar views, Hamlet 'lost all his mirth.' This is the cause of his heavy disposition; of his having 'foregone all custom of exercise'--so 'that this goodly frame, the earth,' seems to him 'a sterile promontory,' a mere place of preparation for gaining the next world through penance and prayer. Verily, '_this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire_,' appears to him no better 'than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.' Quite in accordance with such tenets which we need not qualify by name, Man, to him, is but a 'quintessence of dust.' Both man, and still more sinful woman, displease Hamlet. Yet he has not succeeded in so wholly subjugating Nature within himself as to be fully secured against her importunate claims. Now we would point out here that Montaigne [19] mentions a tyrant of antiquity who 'could not bear seeing tragedies acted in the theatre, from fear that his subjects should see him sob at the misfortunes of Hecuba and Andromache--him who, without pity, caused daily so many people to be cruelly killed.' Again, Montaigne [20] speaks of actors, mentioned by Quinctilian, who were 'so deeply engaged in a sorrowful part that they wept even after having returned to their lodgings;' whilst Quinctilian reports of himself that, 'having undertaken to move a certain passion in others, he had entered so far into his part as to find himself surprised, not only with the shedding of tears, but also with a paleness of countenance and the behaviour of a man truly weighed down with grief.' Hamlet has listened to the player. In the concluding monologue of the second act--which is twice as long in the new quarto--we are told of the effect produced upon his mind when seeing that an actor, who merely holds a mirror up to Nature-- ... but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd.... ... And all for nothing!--For Hecuba? whilst he (Hamlet), 'a dull and muddy-mettled rascal,' [21] like John-a-dreams, in spite of his strong 'motive and the cue for passion,' mistrusts them and is afraid of being guided by them. All at once, Hamlet feels the weight and pressure of a mode of thought which declares war against the impulses of Nature, calling man a born sinner. Who calls me villain? ... ... Gives me the lie i' the throat, As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Ha! 'S wounds,[1] I should take it: for it cannot be. But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. [22] The feelings of Hamlet, until then forcibly kept down, now get the mastery over him. He gives vent to them in oaths of which he is himself at last ashamed, when he compares himself to 'a very drab, a scullion,' who 'must fall a-cursing.' He now will set to work and get more natural evidence of the King's guilt. He begins to entertain doubts as to those mystic views by which he meant to be guided. He mistrusts the apparition which he had called an honest ghost ('true-penny'):-- The spirit that I have seen May be the Devil: and the Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape. Yea, perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this. [23] Over weakness the Devil is potent; all flesh is weak. What mode of thought is this? What philosophy taught this doctrine? Hamlet's weakness, if we may believe Polonius, [24] has been brought on by fasting and watching. Over melancholy, too, the Devil is powerful. Are we not here in the sombre atmosphere of those who turn away their reason from ideal aspirations; who denounce the impulses of nature as sinful excitements; who would fain look upon the earth as 'a sterile promontory'--having dark death more before their mind's eye than beautiful life? Are such thoughts not the forerunners of melancholy? Hamlet's incessant thoughts of death are the same as those of his model, Montaigne. In an Essay, [25] entitled 'That to Philosophise is to Learn how to Die,' the latter explains that the Christian religion has no surer basis than the contempt for the present life, and that we are in this world only to prepare ourselves for death. His imagination, he says, has occupied itself with these thoughts of death more than with anything else. Referring to a saying of Lykurgos, he approves of graveyards being laid out close to churches and in the most frequented places of a city, so as to accustom the common people, women, and children not to be scared at the sight of a dead person, and to forewarn everyone, by this continual spectacle of bones, tombs, and funerals, as to our real condition. Montaigne also, like Hamlet, ponders over suicide. He devotes a whole Essay [26] to it. Life, he observes, would be a tyranny if the liberty to die were wanting. For this liberty, he thinks, we have to thank Nature, as for the most favourable gift which, indeed, deprives us of all right to complain of our condition. If--as Boiocal, the German chieftain, [27] said--earth is wanting to us whereon to live, earth is never wanting to us for death. [28] That is the wisdom of Montaigne, the admirer of antiquity. But Montaigne, the modern man, introduces the Essay in which he dares to utter such bold thoughts with the following restriction:-- 'If, as it is said, to philosophise be to doubt, with much more reason to play pranks (_niaiser_) and to rave, as I do, must be to doubt. For, to inquire and to discuss, behoves the disciples. The decision belongs to the chairman (_cathédrant_). My chairman is the authority of the divine will which regulates us without contradiction, and which occupies its rank above those human and vain disputes.' This chairman, as often observed, by which Montaigne's thoughts are to be guided, is an ecclesiastic authority. In 'Hamlet,' also, it is a 'canon' [29] fixed against self-slaughter, which restrains him from leaving, out of his own impulse, this whilom paradise, this 'unweeded garden' of life. Montaigne, whose philosophy aims at making us conversant with death as with a friend, is yet terrified by it. Altogether, he says, he would fain pass his life at his ease; and if he could escape from blows, even by taking refuge under a calf's skin, [30] he would not be the man who would shrink from it. In a few graphic words Shakspere brands this cowardly clinging to life. In the scene where Hamlet gives to Polonius nothing more willingly than his leave, the new quarto (in every other respect the conclusion of this scene is identical in both editions) contains these additional words:--'Except my life, except my life, except my life.' Of the 'calf's skin' we hear in the first scene of act v., where those are called sheep and calves, who seek out assurance in parchments which are made of sheep-skins and of calves-skins too. Montaigne, who does not cease pondering over the pale fellow, Death, looks for consolation from the ancients. He takes Sokrates as the model of all great qualities; and he reproduces, in his own manner, the speech this sage, who was fearless of death, made before his judges. First of all, he makes him say that the qualities of death are unknown to him, as he has never seen anybody who could instruct him in them. 'Those who fear death, presuppose that they know it.... Perhaps death may be an indifferent thing; perhaps a desirable one. However, one may believe that, if it be a transmigration from one place to another, it will be an amelioration ... and free us from having any more to do with wicked and corrupt judges. If it be a consummation (_anéantissement_) [31] of our being, it is also an amelioration to enter into a long and quiet night. We find nothing so sweet in life as a quiet rest--a tranquil and profound sleep without dreams.' Now compare the monologue, 'To be or not to be,' of the first quarto with the one contained in the second. It will then be seen that those Sokratic ideas, rendered by Montaigne in his own manner, have been worked into the first quarto. In the latter we hear nothing at all about the end of our being (a complete destruction or _consummation_) producing an amelioration. [32] Shakspere expresses this thought by the words that if we could say that, by a sleep, we 'end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to--'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.' [33] Keen commentators have pointed out the contradiction in Hamlet's monologue, where he speaks of-- The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns, whilst he saw such a traveller in his father's ghost. Certainly there were then, even as there are now, besides the logical thinkers, also a considerable number of inconsistent persons who believed in supernaturally revealed messages, and who, nevertheless, now and then, felt contradictory thoughts rising within themselves. Why should the great master, who exhausted in his dramatic personages almost all types of human nature, not have put such a character also on the stage? To the poet, whose object it was to show 'to the very age and body of time his form and pressure' (this passage is wanting in the first quarto), the presentation of such a psychological problem of contradictory thoughts must have been of far greater attraction than an anticipatory description of a metaphysician aching under the heavy burden of his philosophic speculations. The latter is the character attributed, by some, to Hamlet. But we think that such an utterly strange modern creature would have been altogether incomprehensible to the energetic English mind of this period. In the course of the drama, Shakspere makes it sufficiently clear that the thoughts by which Hamlet's 'native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er,' have come from the narrow cells of a superstitious Christianity, not from the free use of his reason. According to Montaigne, however, we ought to 'use our reason only for strengthening our belief.' Hamlet, with Purgatory and Hell, into which he has cast a glance, before his eyes, would fain fly, like Montaigne, from them. In his Essay I. 19 [34] the latter says that our soul must be steeled against the powers of death; 'for, as long as Death frightens us, how is it possible to make a single step without feverish agitation?' Hamlet as little attains this condition of quiet equanimity as the pensive and pondering Montaigne. The latter, however, speaks of souls that know no fear. It is true, he has to go to the ancients in order to meet with this frame of mind. Quoting Horace [35]-- Non vultus instantis tyranni Mente quatit solida, neque Auster, Dux inquieti turbidus Adriae, Nec fulminantis magna Jovis manus-- he describes such a soul as being made '_mistress over her passions and concupiscence; having become proof against poverty and disgrace, and all the other injuries of fortune_. Let those who can, gain this advantage. Herein lies true and sovereign freedom that allows us to scorn force and injustice, and to deride prisons and fetters.' To a friend with such a soul, to a living Horace or Horatio, Hamlet addresses himself. Horatio also is his fellow-student and friend from the University days at Wittenberg, and he has made the views of the new philosophical school quite his own. He does not tremble before the fire of Purgatory and Hell. Despising death, he wishes, in the last scene, to empty the cup of poison from which his friend Hamlet has drunk, in order to follow him. When the latter keeps him back, Horatio makes answer-- I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Hamlet, trusting more to this firmer and truly antique character than to his own, requests Horatio to aid him during the play-scene in watching the King, so as to procure more natural evidence of his guilt. This school-friend--how often may he have philosophised with him!--is to him as just a man As e'er my conversation coped withal. The following passage, [36] in which Horatio's character is described by Hamlet, is wanting in the first quarto:-- Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man that fortune's buffets and rewards Hath ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee. How near these words of Shakspere come to those with which Montaigne describes an intrepid man after the poem of Horace! But, in spite of subtle reasoning, the French philosopher cannot fathom the cause why he himself does not attain any mind's ease, and why he has no plain and straightforward faculty (_nulle faculté simple_) within himself. He once [37] uses the expression, 'We trouble death with the care of life, and life with the care of death;' but he does not succeed in firmly attaching himself to life with all the fibres of his nature, and gathering strength from the mother-earth, like Antaeus. He oscillates between two antagonistic views, and feels unable to decide for either the one or the other. We have explained the elements of which Hamlet's complex character is made up. He is an adherent of old superstitions and dogmas; he believes in Purgatory, a Hell, and a Devil, and in the miraculous powers of confession, holy communion, and the extreme unction. Yet, to some degree, he is a Humanist, and would fain grant to Nature certain rights. Scarcely has he yielded to the impulses of his blood, than doubts begin to rise in him, and he begins to fear the Devil, who might lure him into perdition. This inner discord, creating, as it does, a mistrust in his own self, induces him, in the most important task of his life, to appeal to Horatio. To him he says that, if the King's occulted guilt does not come out ('unkennel itself'), he (Hamlet) will look upon the apparition as a damned ghost, and (this is new) will think that his 'imaginations are as foul as Vulcan's stithy.' [38] By the interlude, Hamlet--and in this he is confirmed by Horatio--becomes convinced of the King's guilt. All that he thereupon does is--to recite a little ditty! We have already made the acquaintance of Montaigne the soft-hearted, who, as above mentioned, always was touched when seeing innocent animals hunted to death, and who felt much emotion _at the tears of the hart asking us for mercy_. At the same time we have directed the reader's attention to the fact of his having said that the 'common weal requires some to betray, some to lie, and some to massacre,' [39] and that this task must be left to those who are ready to sacrifice their honour and their conscience, and that men who do not feel up to such deeds must leave their commission to the stronger ones. This French nobleman naïvely avows that he has resolved upon withdrawing into private life, not because he is averse to public life--for the latter, he says, would 'perhaps equally suit him'--but because, by doing so, he hopes to serve his Prince all the more joyfully and all the more sincerely, thus following the free choice of his own judgment and reason, and not submitting to any restraint (_obligation particulière_), which he hates in every shape. And he adds the following curious moral doctrine:--'This is the way of the world. We let the laws and precepts follow their way, but we keep another course.' [40] Who could mistake Shakspere's satire against this sentimental nobleman, who fights shy of action, in making Hamlet recite a little ditty at a moment when he has become convinced of the King's guilt:-- Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep: Thus runs the world away. This gifted Frenchman, Montaigne, was a new, a strange, phenomenon in the eyes of Shakspere and his active and energetic countrymen. A man, a nobleman too, who lives for no higher aim; who allows himself to be driven about, rudderless, by his feelings and inclinations; who even boasts of this mental disposition of his, and sends a vain book about it into the world! What is it to teach? What good is it to do? It gives mere words, behind which there is no manly character. Are there yet more _beaux esprits_ to arise who, in Epicurean fashion, enjoy the beautiful thoughts of others, whilst they themselves remain incapable for action, letting the time go out of joint? Let us further study the character of Hamlet, and we shall find that the satire against Montaigne becomes more and more striking--a veritable hit. The Queen asks for her son. Before he fulfils her wish and comes to her, he utters a lullaby of superstition (these lines are new), wherewith to tide over the excitement of his nature:-- 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on. Hamlet, always shrinking back from the impulses of his blood, fears that the Devil might once more gain power over him:-- Soft! now to my mother! O heart, lose not thy nature! This nature of his, inclining to mildness and gentleness, he wishes to preserve, and he resolves upon being 'cruel, not unnatural.' In vain one seeks here for logic, and for the boundary between two words which to ordinary common sense appear synonymous. In Montaigne, however, we discover the clue of such a senseless argumentation. In one of his Essays, [41] which contains a confusion of ideas that might well make the humane Shakspere shudder, he writes:-- 'Our condition, both public and private, is full of imperfections; yet there is nothing useless in Nature, not even uselessness itself.... Our being is cemented with sickly qualities: ambition, jealousy, envy, vengeance, superstition, despair dwell in us, and hold there so natural a possession that their counterfeit is also recognised in beasts; for instance, cruelty--so unnatural a vice. Yet he who would root out the seed of these qualities from the human breast would destroy the fundamental conditions of our life.' Now, Hamlet's resolution to be 'cruel, but not unnatural,' is but a fresh satire against Montaigne's train of thoughts, who would fain be a Humanist, but who does not break with the reasoning of Loyola and of the Church, by which he permits himself to be guided as by the competent authority, and which tolerates cruelty--nay, orders its being employed for the furtherance of what it calls the 'good aim.' The idea that cruelty is a necessary but useful evil, no doubt induced Montaigne [42] to declare that to kill a man from a feeling of revenge is tantamount to our protecting him, for we thus 'withdraw him from our attacks.' Furthermore, this Humanist argues that revenge is to be regretted if its object does not feel its intention; for, even as he who takes revenge intends to derive pleasure from it, so he upon whom revenge is taken must perceive that intention, in order to be harrowed with feelings of pain and repentance. 'To kill him, is to render further attacks against him impossible; not to revenge what he has done.' Shakspere already gives Hamlet an opportunity in the following scene to prove to us that there is no boundary between cruel and unnatural conduct; and that one cannot be cruel and yet remain natural. In the most telling words, the cause of Hamlet's want of energy is substantiated. Fate gives the criminal, the King, into the hands of Hamlet. It is the most important moment of the drama. A stroke of the sword would be enough to do the deed of revenge. The cause which makes Hamlet hesitate is, that the criminal is engaged in prayer, and that-- He took my father grossly, full of bread, With all his crimes broad-blown, as flush as May; And how his audit stands, who knows save Heaven? Does Hamlet, then, _not_ act with refined cruelty? Here, a new thought is inserted, which we mentioned already in the beginning, and which turns the balance at the decisive moment:-- But in our circumstance and course of thought It is heavy with him. [43] A Shaksperean hero, with drawn sword, allows himself to be restrained from action by the thought that, because 'it is heavy' with his own murdered father, who is suffering in Purgatory, he (Hamlet) ought not to kill the criminal now, but later on, when the latter is deeply wading in sin-- When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, ... And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As Hell, whereto it goes. Hamlet has been called a philosopher whose energy has been paralysed by too great a range of thought. For the sovereignty of human reason this is a most dangerous premiss. Do we not owe to the full and free use of that reason everything great which mankind has created? History speaks of a thousand heroes (only think of Alexander, of Julius Caesar, of Frederick the Great!) whose doings convince us that a strong power of thought and action can go hand in hand, nay, that the latter cannot be successful without the former. But, on the other hand, there is a way of thinking with preconceived supernatural conclusions--or rather, we must call it an absence of thinking--when men allow themselves to be moved by the circumstances of a traditional course of thought. Against such intellectual slavery the great century of the Reformation rose. And the greatest Humanist, Shakspere, scourges that slavery in the catharsis of his powerful drama. Questions of religion were not permitted to be treated on the stage. But not merely the one deeply intelligent person for whom Shakspere asks the players to act, and for whom the great master certainly endeavoured to write--no, the public at large, too, will have understood that the 'course of thought' which induced Hamlet to forego action from a subtle refinement of cruelty, was not the course of thought prevalent on this side of the Channel, and held up, in this important scene, as that of a hero to be admired. Hamlet resolved upon keeping out the soul of Nero from his 'firm bosom.' (What a satire there is in this adjective 'firm'!) He means to be cruel, but not unnatural; he will 'speak daggers, but use none.' A man who lets himself be moved by extraneous circumstances is not his own master. In cruel, unnatural manner, for no object whatever, he murders poor Polonius. Then he begins to speak daggers in such a manner as to get into a perfect ecstasy. Nor need any priest have been ashamed of the sermon he preaches to his own mother. In the first edition of 'Hamlet,' the scene between mother and son is rather like a sketch in which most things are merely indicated, not worked out. Only the part of the Ghost, with the exception of the line:-- Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works, which is wanting in the first edition, and Hamlet's address to the Ghost, are in both quartos the same. Even as in the first act, so this time also, Hamlet, on seeing the Ghost, calls upon the saints:-- Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! This was the usual course on the occasion of such doubtful apparitions, of which one did not know whether they were 'airs of heaven' or 'blasts from hell.' A new intercalation is (in the first quarto there is no vestige of it), that Hamlet reproaches his mother with having degraded 'sweet religion' to 'a rhapsody of words;' that he says 'the Devil hath conquered her at hoodman blind ;' that she should confess herself to Heaven, and 'assume a virtue if she have it not;' that 'virtue itself of vice must pardon beg in the fatness of these pursy times, yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good.' So also is the Queen's question new:-- Ay me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the _index_? [44] There is no trace, in the first quarto, of the following most characteristic thoughts:-- For, use almost can change the stamp of Nature [45] And either curb (?) the Devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency.... And when you are desirous to be blest, I'll blessing beg of you. Let us figure to ourselves before what public Hamlet first saw the wanderer from Purgatory; before what youth he bade Ophelia go to a nunnery; before what men he remained inactive at the critical moment simply because the criminal is engaged in his prayers, whilst his own murdered father died without Holy Communion, without having confessed and received the Extreme Unction. Let us remember before what audience he purposely made the thunders of the Index roar so loud; at what place he gets into ecstasy; and where he first preaches to his mother that the Devil may be mastered and thrown out. Here, certainly, we have questions of religion! Shakspere's genius has known how to transport these most important questions of his time, away from the shrill contact with contemporary disputes, into the harmonious domain of the Muses. He, and his friends and patrons, did not look upon the subjects discussed in this tragedy with the passionless, indifferent eyes of our century. Many men, no doubt, were filled with the thought, to which Bacon soon gave a scientific form, that the human mind can only make true progress if it turns towards the inquiry into Nature, keeping far away from the hampering influence of transcendental dogmas. The liberal, intellectual tendencies of the Reformation were not yet fettered in England with the new dogmatic strait waistcoat of a narrow-minded, melancholy sect. And Shakspere's views, which he has embodied in 'Hamlet,' were not in divinatory advance of his age; they were easily comprehensible to the best of his time. Our chief argument will be contained in the chapter in which we shall hear Shakspere's adversaries launch out furiously against the tendency of this drama. Meanwhile, we will exhaust the course of its action. Hamlet has already come very near to that point of view where Reason at last ceases to guide his conduct, and where he becomes convinced that indiscretion often is of better service than deep planning. Now in Montaigne's Essay [46] already mentioned we read:--'When an urgent circumstance, or any violent or unexpected accident of State necessity, induces a Prince to break his word and faith, or otherwise forces him out of his ordinary duty, he is to ascribe that compulsion to a lash of God's rod.' The passage in which Hamlet consoles himself in regard to the murder committed against Polonius is new:-- I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. Hamlet, beholding the victim of his indiscretion, excuses himself thus:-- I must be cruel, only to be kind. The cruel deed he has done, he palliates with the remark that lovingkindness has forced him to it. Love of her God also forced Catherine of Medicis to the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. Yes; worse is coming! Hamlet knows that he is to be sent to England; that the letters are sealed; that his two schoolfellows whom he trusts as he will adders, bear the mandate. What does he do to prevent further misfortune? He rejoices that-- they must sweep my way, And marshall me to knavery. [47] He enjoys, in advance, the sweet presentiment of revenge which he intends taking upon them. He lets things go without hindrance:-- Let it work! For 'tis sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petard. He enjoys his own crafty policy which shall blow his school-friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (who yet, so far as he knows, have not been guilty in any way towards him!) 'at the moon:'-- O, 'tis most sweet When in one line two crafts directly meet. Because Hamlet gives utterance to high-sounding thoughts, to sentimental dreams, and melancholy subtleties, it has been assumed that his character is one nourished with the poet's own heart's blood. A thousand times the noble sentiment of duty has been dwelt upon, which it is alleged he is inspired with; and on account of his fine words he has been more taken a fancy to than any other Shaksperian figure. But that was not the poet's object. Great deeds were more to him than the finest words. His contemporaries understood him; for Montaigne--as we shall prove--was given over to the lowest scorn of the age through 'Hamlet,' because the whole reasoning of Hamlet not only was a fruitless, but a pernicious one. In the fourth scene of the fourth act, the poet describes the frame of mind of the hero before he steps on board ship. 'Excitements of his reason and his blood' once more call him to revenge. This monologue, in which Hamlet gives expression to his feelings and thoughts, is only in the quarto of 1604. The folio of 1623 does not contain it. Shakspere, in later years, may have thought that the soul-struggle of his hero had been ended; and so he may have regarded the passage as a superfluous one, in which Hamlet's better self once more asks him to seize the reins of destiny with his own hands. He sees how young Fortinbras, the delicate and tender prince, 'puff'd with divine ambition, mouthes the invisible event for a piece of land not large enough to hide the slain.' Hamlet philosophises that the man who uses not his god-like reason is but a beast; for-- --He that made us with such large discourse Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason, To fust in us unused. We further hear how Hamlet reasons about the question as to how 'to be rightly great.' All the thoughts he produces, seem to flow from the pen of the French philosopher. In Essay III. (13) of Montaigne we read the beautiful words that 'the noblest master-work of man is to live for a purpose (yivre d fropos),' and:--'The greatness of the soul does not consist so much in drawing upwards, and haling forwards, than in knowing how to range and to circumscribe itself. It holds everything to be great, which is sufficient in itself. It shows its superiority in more loving humble things than eminent ones.' To the majesty of the human reason also, Montaigne, in spite of his so often condemning it, knows how to render justice. In Essay I. (40) he remarks: 'Shall we then dare to say that this advantage of reason at which we rejoice so very much, and out of respect for which we hold ourselves to be lords and emperors of all other creatures, has been put into us for our torment? Why strive for the knowledge of things if we become more cowardly thereby? if we lose, through it, the rest and the tranquillity in which we should be without it? ... Shall we use the intellect that has been given to us for our greatest good, to effect our ruin; combating the designs of Nature and the general order of things which implies that everyone should use his tools and means for his own convenience?' Noble thoughts! But it is not enough to play an aesthetic game with them. The energetic English genius wishes that they should regulate our life; that we should act in accordance with them, so that no tragic complication should form itself, which could only be solved by the ruin and death of the innocent together with the guilty. The monologue concludes thus:-- O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! Nevertheless, Hamlet continues his voyage. The reader will remember that Montaigne spoke of an instinctive impulse of the will--a daimon--by which he often, and to his final advantage, had allowed himself to be guided, so much so that such strong impulses might be attributed to divine inspiration. A daimon of this kind, under whose influence Hamlet acts, is described in the second scene of the fifth act. The passage is wanting in the first quarto. [48] Hamlet tells Horatio how he lay in the ship, and how in his heart there was a kind of fighting which would not let him sleep. This harassing condition, the result of his unmanly indecision, he depicts in these words:-- Methought I lay Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Then all at once (how could an impulsive manner of action be better described?), before he could 'make a prologue to his brains,' Hamlet lets himself be overcome by such a daimonic influence. He breaks open the grand commission of others, forges a seal with a signet in his possession, becomes a murderer of two innocent men, and draws the evil conclusion therefrom:-- Let us know, Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us, There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. This view we have already quoted from Essay III. (12). In Florio's translation (632):--'Therefore do our dessigns so often miscarry.... The heavens are angry, and I may say envious of the extension and large privilege we ascribe to human wisdome, to the prejudice of theirs: and abridge them so more unto us, by so much more we endeavour to amplifie them.' Hamlet takes the twofold murder committed against Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as little to heart as the 'indiscreet' deed by which Polonius was killed. Then the consolation was sufficient for him that lovingkindness had forced him to be cruel. This time, his conscience is not touched, because-- 't is dangerous when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites. With such argumentation every tyranny may be palliated, especially by those who, like Hamlet, think that-- A man's life 's no more than to say 'One.' Yet another peculiarity of Montaigne's complex being is depicted by Shakspere in the graveyard scene. He shows us every side of this whimsical character who says of himself that he has no staying power for any standpoint, but that he is driven about by incalculable emergencies. Let us read a passage in Essay II (12), and compare it with Hamlet's enigmatic conduct towards Laertes. Montaigne describes himself in these sentences:--'Being of a soft and somewhat heavy temperament, I have no great experience of those violent agitations which mostly come like a surprise upon our mind without allowing it leisure to collect itself.' In spite of the resistance--he further says--which he endeavoured to offer, even he, however, was occasionally thus seized. He felt these agitations rising and growing in, and becoming master over, himself. As in drunkenness, things then appeared to him otherwise than he usually saw them. 'I manifestly saw the advantages of the object which I sought after, augmenting and growing; and I felt them becoming greater and swelling by the wind of my imagination. I felt the difficulties of my enterprise becoming easier and simpler, my reasoning and my conscience drawing back. But, that fire being gone, all of a sudden, as with the flash of lightning, my mind resumed another view, another condition, another judgment.' In this manner Hamlet conducts himself towards Laertes. A great grief takes possession of him when he hears of the death of Ophelia: he leaps, like Laertes, into her grave; he grapples with him; he warns him that, though 'not splenetive and rash,' he (Hamlet) yet has 'something dangerous' in him. (He means the daimon which so fatally impelled him against Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.) Hamlet and Laertes wrestle, but they are parted by the attendants. Hamlet begins boasting, in high-flown language, of what great things he would be able to do. The Queen describes Hamlet's rage in these words:-- And thus awhile the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping. [49] In the meantime, the fire with which Hamlet's soul had been seized, is gone, like a flash of lightning. He changes to another point of view--probably that one according to which everything goes its way in compliance with a heavenly decree. The little verse he recites in parting:-- Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew and dog will have his day, quite corresponds to such a passive philosophy which has gained the mastery over him, and to which he soon falls a victim. We are approaching the conclusion of the great drama. Here, again, in order to explain Hamlet's action, or rather his yielding to influences around him, we have to direct the attention of the reader to Essay (III. 10), in which Montaigne tells how easily he protects himself against the dangers of inward agitation by dropping the subject which threatens to become troublesome to him before he is drawn on and carried along by it. The doughty nobleman says that he has escaped from many difficulties by not staking frivolously, like others, happiness and honour, life and everything, on his 'rapier and his dagger.' [50] There may be some truth in Montaigne's charge that the cause of not a few struggles he has seen, was often of truly pitiful origin, and that such struggles were only carried on from a mistaken feeling of self-respect. It may be true also that it is a bad habit--as he maintains--to proceed still further in affairs of this kind simply because one is implicated. But how strange a confession of a nobleman from whom we at all times expect bravery: 'For want of judgement our hearte fails us.' [51] Hamlet is engaged in such a struggle with Laertes through the graveyard scene. The King, who has had good cause to study Hamlet's character more deeply than anyone else, reckons upon his vanity in order to decide him to the fencing-match. 'Rapier and dagger' are forced upon weak-willed Hamlet by Osric. [52] How subtle is this satire! For appearance' sake, in order to outshine Laertes, the Prince accepts the challenge. [53] Happiness and life, which he ought long ago to have risked for the purpose of avenging his father and his honour, are now staked from sheer vanity. The 'want of prudence' Hamlet displays in accepting a challenge which he must 'carry out from a (mistaken) feeling of self-respect,' has the 'intolerable' consequence that, shortly before he crosses swords with Laertes, he confesses to Horatio:--'But thou would'st not think how ill all's here about my heart.' Again, Shakspere, very briefly, but not less pointedly, depicts the way in which Hamlet allows himself to be influenced and driven to a decision. This time the poet does so by bringing in a clearly expressed dogmatic tenet whereby Hamlet's fate is sealed. It is 'ill all about his heart.' He would prefer not going to meet Laertes. [54] _Horatio_. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestal their repair hither, and say you are not fit. The fatalist Hamlet, whom we have seen coming ever closer to the doctrine of Predestination, answers as follows:-- 'Not a whit; we defy augury; there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. [55] If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come; the readiness is all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes? Let be.' This time it is a 'Let be!'--even as it was a 'Let it go' when he was sent to England. Now let us read Montaigne's Essay, [56] 'To Philosophise is to Learn how to Die:'-- 'Our religion has had no surer human foundation than the contempt of life. Not only does the course of our reason lead us that way; for, why should we fear to lose a thing which, when lost, cannot be regretted?--but also, seeing that we are threatened by so many kinds of death, is it not a greater inconvenience to fear them all than to endure one? What does it matter when Death comes, since it is inevitable?... Moreover, nobody dies before his hour. The time you leave behind was no more yours than that which was before your birth, and concerns you no more.' No further comment is needed to prove that Hamlet's and Montaigne's thoughts are in so close a connection that it cannot be a mere accident. And the nearer we come to the conclusion of the drama, the more striking become Shakspere's satirical hits. Hamlet allows his hand to be put into that of Laertes by the King. He does not think of the wrong he has done to Laertes--of the murder of the latter's father, or the unhappiness he has criminally brought upon Laertes' sister. In most cowardly manner, hoping that Laertes would desist from the combat, Hamlet endeavours to excuse his conduct at the grave of Ophelia, by pleading his own madness. Laertes insists on the combat; adding that he would stand aloof 'till by some elder masters of known honour' the decision were given. Hamlet avenges the death of his father; he kills the criminal, the enemy, when his wrath is up and aflame, and every muscle of his is swelled with indignation--but it is _too late_. Together with himself, he has dragged them all into the grave. It is blind passion, unbridled by reason, which does the deed: a sublime satire upon the words of Montaigne in Essay II. (12), 'that the most beautiful actions of the soul proceed from, and have need of, this impulse of passion; valour, they say, cannot become perfect without the help of wrath; and that nobody pursues the wicked and the enemies with sufficient energy, except he be thoroughly in anger.' Even the kind of death by which Shakspere makes Hamlet lose his life, looks like a satire against Montaigne. The latter, always a coward in regard to death, and continually pondering over it, says: [57]--'I would rather have chosen to drink the potion of Sokrates than wound myself as Cato did.' Their 'virtuous deeds' he calls [58] 'vain and fruitless ones, because they were done from no love of, or obedience to, the true Creator of all things.' Hamlet dies wounded and poisoned, as if Shakspere had intended expressing his abhorrence of so vacillating and weak-willed a character, who places the treacherous excesses of passion above the power of that human reason in whose free service alone Greeks and Romans did their most exalted deeds of virtue. [59] The subtlety of the best psychologists has endeavoured to fix the limits of Hamlet's madness, and to find the proper name for it. No agreement has been arrived at. We think we have solved the problem as to the nature of Hamlet's madness, and to have shown why thought and action, in him, cannot be brought into a satisfactory harmony. Every fibre in Shakspere's artistic mind would have rebelled against the idea of making a lunatic the chief figure of his greatest drama. He wished to warn his contemporaries that the attempt of reconciling two opposite circles of ideas--namely, on the one hand, the doctrine that we are to be guided by the laws of Nature; and on the other, the yielding ourselves up to superstitious dogmas which declare human nature to be sinful--must inevitably produce deeds of madness. The main traits of Montaigne's character Shakspere confers upon the Danish Prince, and places him before a difficult task of life. He is to avenge his father's death. (Montaigne was attached to his father with all his soul, and speaks of him almost in the same words as Hamlet does of his own.) He is to preserve the State whose legitimate sovereign he is. The materials for a satire are complete. And it is written in such a manner as to remain the noblest, the most sublime poetical production as long as men shall live. The two circles of ideas which in the century of the Reformation began a struggle that is not yet brought to an end, are, in that drama, represented on the stage. The poet shows, by making the gifted Prince perish, on which side every serious thinker ought to place himself. That these intentions of Shakspere were understood by his more intelligent contemporaries and friends, we shall prove when we come to the camp of his adversaries, at whose head a Roman Catholic stood, who launches out in very marked language against the derision of Montaigne as contained in the character of Hamlet. The noblemen who went to the theatre for the sake of the intellectual attractions (the fairer sex being still excluded from acting on the stage and therefore not forming a point of attraction) were initiated into the innermost secret of what authors meant by their productions. Dekker, in his 'Gulls Horn Book' (c. 6), reports that 'after the play was over, poets adjourned to supper with knights, where they, in private, unfolded the secret parts of their drama to them.' As in no other of his plays, there is in Shakspere's 'Hamlet'--the drama richest in philosophy--a perfect wealth of life. Argument is pitted against argument; every turn of a phrase is a missile, sharp, and hitting the mark. In not a few cases, the aim and object is no longer recognisable. Here and there we believe we shall be able to shed the light of day upon some dark passages of the past. To the doughty friends of Shakspere, this French Knight of the Order of St. Michael, who says [60] that, if his freedom were in the least encroached upon, or 'if the laws under which he lives threatened merely the tip of his finger, he would at once betake himself to any other place to find better ones;' but who yet lets everything around him go out of joint without offering a helping hand for repair, because 'the maintenance of States is probably something beyond our powers of understanding' [61]--verily, to Shakspere's doughty friends, such a specimen of humanity as Montaigne must have been quite a new and strange phenomenon. They were children of an age which achieved great things because its nobler natures willingly suffered death when the ideals of their life were to be realised. In them, the fire of enthusiasm of the first Reformation, of the glorious time of Elizabeth, was still glowing. They energetically championed the cause of Humanism. The sublime conceptions of their epoch were not yet marred by that dark and gloomy set of men whose mischievous members were just beginning to hatch their hidden plans in the most remote manors of England. The friends of Shakspere well understood the true meaning of Hamlet's words: [62]--'What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?' [63] They easily seized the gist and point of the answer given to the King's question: [64]--'How fares our cousin Hamlet?' when Hamlet replies:-- Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish! Surely, some of them had read the Essay 'On the Inconsistency of our Actions,' and had smiled at the passage:-- 'Our ordinary manner is, to follow the inclination of our appetite--this way, that way; upwards, downwards; even as the wind of the occasion drives us. We never think of what _we would have_, but at the moment we _would have it_; and _we change like that animal_ (the chameleon) of which it is said that it takes the colour of the place where it is laid down.' [65] Shakspere's teaching is, that if the nobler-gifted man who stands at the head of the commonwealth, allows himself to be driven about by every wind of the occasion, instead of furthering his better aims with all his strength and energy of will, the wicked, on their part, will all the more easily carry out their own ends. He therefore makes the King say: [66]-- That we would do, We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes... Shakspere's friends understood the allusion contained in the first act, after the apparition of the Ghost, when Hamlet calls for his 'tablets.' They knew that the much-scribbling Montaigne was meant, who, as he avows, had so bad a memory that he could not receive any commission without writing it down in his 'tablets' (_tablettes_). This defect of his, Montaigne mentions over and over again, and may have been the cause of his many most ludicrous contradictions. [67] After Hamlet has written down the important fact that 'one may smile, and smile, and be a villain--at least, I am sure it may be so in Denmark,' he exclaims:--'Now to my word!' That 'word' undoubtedly consists of the admonition addressed to him by the Ghost, that Hamlet, after having heard his duty, also should fulfil it--that is:-- 'So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.' But he only recollects the last words of the Ghost; and Hamlet's parole, therefore, is only this:-- Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me! The value of Montaigne's book is harshly treated in the second scene of the second act. To the question of Polonius as to what he is reading, Hamlet replies:--'Words, words, words!' Indeed, Shakspere did not think it fair that 'the satirical rogue' should fill the paper with such remarks (whole Essays of Montaigne consist of similar useless prattle) as 'that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.' [68] The ideas of Shakspere as to the duties of a writer were different, indeed, from the contents of the book which Hamlet characterises by his exclamation. As to Polonius' answer: 'Though this be madness, yet there's method in it,' the public had no difficulty in finding out what was meant by that 'madness,' and to whom it applied. What may the great master have thought of an author who, as Montaigne does, jots down everything in kaleidoscopic manner, just as changeful accident brings it into his head? In Essay III. (2) we read:-- 'I cannot get a fixed hold of my object. It moves and reels as if with a natural drunkenness. I just seize it at some point, such as I find it at the moment, when I amuse myself with it. I do not describe its essence, but its volatile passage ... from one minute to the other.' Elsewhere he prides himself on his method of being able to write as long as there is paper and ink. Hamlet says to the players: 'We'll e'en to it like French falconers: fly at anything we see.' Montaigne's manner of spying out and pouncing upon things cannot be better depicted than by comparing it with a French falconer's manner. In the first act already, Hamlet, after the ghost-scene, answers the friends who approach, with the holla-call of a falconer:-- Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come, bird, come! Furthermore, Hamlet says in act ii. sc. 2:--'I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handshaw (heronshaw!).' Now, the north-west wind would drive Montaigne back into his native province, Perigord, where, very likely according to Shakspere's view, he ought to have remained with his sham logic. The south wind, on the contrary, brings the able falconer to England. The latter possesses such a penetrating glance for the nature of things as to be able to distinguish the bird (the heronshaw) that is to be pursued from the hawk that has been unhooded and cast. In the second scene of the fifth act, between Hamlet and Horatio (to the weak-minded Osrick the words spoken there are incomprehensible), the excellent qualities of Laertes are apparently judged. [69] This whole discussion is meant against Montaigne; and in the first quarto the chief points are wanting. Florio calls Montaigne's Essays 'Moral, Political, and Military Discourses.' [70] Osrick praises the qualities of the cavalier who has returned from France; and Hamlet replies that 'to divide him inventorily would dizzy the arithmetic of memory.' The further, hitherto utterly unexplained, words ('and yet but yaw neither in respect of his quick sail') seem to have reference to the sonnet [71] by which the third book of the Essays is dedicated by Florio to Lady Grey. Montaigne is praised therein under the guise of Talbot's name, who, 'in peace or war, at sea or land, for princes' service, countries' good, sweetly sails before the wind.' In act ii. sc. 2, the north-north-west and the south wind were already alluded to, which are said to influence Hamlet's madness. The translators and admirers of Montaigne are meant when Hamlet says that 'to make true diction of him, his semblable' must be 'his mirror; and, who else would trace him, his umbrage--nothing more.' That is, one must be Montaigne, or become his absolute admirer, 'his umbrage,' 'his semblable,' in order to do justice to him. The whole scene is full of allusions, easily explainable from the point of view we have indicated. So also, the reference to self-knowledge ('to know himself) --an art which Montaigne never learnt and the 'two weapons' with which he fights, are full of deep meaning. It was probably no small number of men that took delight in the French essayist. No doubt, the jest of the gravedigger is directed against them, when he says that if the mad Hamlet does not recover his wits in England, it is no great matter there, because there the men are as mad as he. Montaigne, especially in Essay III. (2) and III. (5), brings forward indecencies of the most shameless kind. We quite bear in mind what period it was when he wrote. Our manners and ideas are totally different from those of the sixteenth century. But what indignation must Shakspere have felt--he who had already created his noblest female characters, Helena and Olivia; and who had sung his paean of love, 'Romeo and Juliet'--when he read the ideas of the French nobleman about love and women! Nowhere, and on no occasion, does Shakspere in his dramas, in spite of phrases which to-day we qualify as obscene ones, lower the ideal of the womanly character--of the _ewig Weibliche_. But let us read Montaigne's view: [72]-- 'I find that love is nothing else than a thirst of enjoying a desired subject; nor that Venus is anything else but the pleasure of emptying one's seminary vessels, similar to the pleasure which Nature has given us in discharging other parts.' Now, this significant quality also, of saying indecencies without shame, Hamlet has in common with Montaigne. No character in Shakspere's dramas uses such language as Hamlet; and in this case, let it be observed, it is not used between men, but towards the beloved one! We shall remark upon his relations with Ophelia later on. The frivolous Montaigne speaks of love as one might do of a good dish to be enjoyed at every degree of age, according to taste and inclination. In Essay III.(4) we learn how, in his youth, 'standing in need of a vehement diversion for the sake of distraction, he made himself amorous by art and study.' Elsewhere he tells what great things he was able, as a young man, to achieve in this line. [73] He, therefore, does not agree with the sage who praises age because it frees us from voluptuousness. [74] He, on the contrary, says:--'I shall never take kindly to impotence, whatever good it may do me.' Montaigne, the old and young lover, is lashed in act v. sc. I, in disfigured verses of a song sung by the grave-digger, which dates about from the year 1557, and at Shakspere's time probably was very popular. In the original, where the image of death is meant to be represented, an old man looks back in repentance, and with great aversion, upon his youthful days when he found pleasure in love. The original verse stood thus:-- I lothe that I did love, In youth that I thought swete, As time requires for my behove, Methinks they are not mete. Until now, no sense could be made of the first verse which the gravedigger sings. It runs thus:-- In youth, when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet, To contract, OH! the time, for, AH! my behove, O, methought, there was nothing meet. Let it be observed what stress is laid on the 'Oh!'--the proper time, and the 'Ah!'--the delight felt at the moment of enjoyment. The meaning of the old verse is changed in such a manner as to show that old Montaigne looks back with pleasure upon the time of his dissolute youth, whilst the author of the original text shrinks back from it. The second verse [75] is a further persiflage of the old song. Its reading, too, is changed. It is said there that age, with his stealing steps, as clawed the lover in his clutch [76] and shipped him into the land as if he 'never had been such.' By none has the relation between Ophelia and Hamlet been better felt and described than by Goethe. He calls her 'the good child in whose soul, secretly, a voice of voluptuousness resounds.' Hamlet who--driven rudderless by his impulse, his passion, his daimon, from one extreme to the other--drags everything that surrounds him into the abyss, also destroys the future of the woman that might truly make him happy. He disowns and rejects her whom Nature has formed for love. At a moment when fanatical thoughts have mastered his reason, he bids her go to a nunnery. Once more we must point to the Essay in which Montaigne lays down his ideas about woman and love. French ladies, he says, study Boccaccio and such-like writers, in order to become skilful (_habiles_). 'But there is no word, no example, no single step in that matter which they do not know better than our books do. That is a knowledge bred in their very veins ... Had not this natural violence of their desires been somewhat bridled by the fear and a feeling of honour wherewith they have been provided, we would be dishonoured (_diffamez_).' Montaigne says he knows ladies who would rather lend their honour than their '_coach_.' [77] 'At last, when Ophelia has no longer any power over her own mind,' says Goethe, 'her heart being on her tongue, that tongue becomes a traitor against her.' [78] In the scene of Ophelia's madness, we hear songs, thoughts, and phrases probably caught up by her from Hamlet. The ideal which man forms of woman, is the moral altitude on which she stands. Now, let the language be called to mind, which Hamlet, before the players' scene, uses towards his beloved! Ophelia's words: 'Come, my _coach_ [79]' will be understood from the passage in Montaigne above quoted. The meaning of: 'Oh, how the _wheel_ becomes it!' has reference to a thought developed by Montaigne in Essay III. (11), [80] which we cannot render here, as it is opposed to every feeling of decency. All commentators agree in thinking that the character of Laertes is in direct contrast to that of Hamlet. In the first quarto, the figure of Laertes is but rapidly indicated. Only that scene is worked out where he cries out against the priest who will not follow his sister to the grave:-- A ministering angel shall my sister be. When thou liest howling. In the second quarto only, we meet with the most characteristic speeches in which the strong-willed Laertes, [81] unmindful of any future world, calls for revenge with every drop of his indignant blood:-- To Hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devils! Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation.... ... Both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes ... ... to cut his throat i' the church. That passage, too, is new, in which Ophelia's madness is explained as the consequence of blighted love:-- Nature is fine in love, and where 't is fine, It sends some precious instance of itself After the thing it loves. Her own reason, which succumbs to her love, is the precious token. In the same way, those words are not in the first quarto, in which Laertes gives vent to the oppressed feelings of his heart, on hearing of the death of his sister:-- Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will. When these (the tears) are gone, The woman will be out. All those beautiful precepts, also, which Laertes gives to his sister, are wanting in the quarto of 1603. [82] Hamlet is the most powerful philosophical production, in the domain of poetry, written at the most critical epoch of mankind--the time of the Reformation. The greatest English genius recognised that it was everyone's duty to set a time out of joint to right. Shakspere showed to his noble friends a gifted and noble man whose life becomes a scourge for him and his surroundings, because he is not guided by manly courage and conscience, but by superstitious notions and formulas. This colossal drama ranges from the thorny, far-stretching fields which man, only trusting in himself, has to work with the sweat of his brow, to that wonder-land of mystery-- Where these good tidings of great joy are heard. [83] If the principles that are fought out in this drama, in tragic conflict, were to be described by catchwords, we might say: Reason stands against Dogma; Nature against Tradition; Self-Reliance against Submission. The great elementary forces are here at issue, which the Reformation had unchained, and with which we all have to reckon. Shakspere's loving, noble heart beautifully does justice to the defeated Hamlet by making him be borne to his grave 'like a soldier,' with all the honouring 'rites of war.' The poet who knew the human heart so well, no doubt had seen many brave and gifted men who, after having been to Wittenberg's Halls of Intellectual Freedom, and become disciples of Humanism, once more were turned into slaves of dogmas which, under a new guise, not less restricted the free use of reason than the tenets of the old faith had done:-- Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not The capability and god-like reason To fust in us unused. The life of the most gifted remains fruitless if, through fear of what may befall us in a future world, we cravenly shrink back from following the dictates of our reason and our conscience. From them we must take the mandate and commission for the task of our life; not from any mysterious messenger, nor from any ghost out of Purgatory. On the way to action, no 'goblin damned' must be allowed to cross our path with his assumed terrors. That which we feel to be right we must do, even if 'it be the very witching time of night, and hell breathes contagion into the world.' Shakspere broke with all antiquated doctrines. He was one of the foremost Humanists in the fullest and noblest meaning of the word. [84] 1: Essay II. 12. 2: Essay I. 26. 3: The whole contents of this chapter may be said to be condensed into two lines of Shakspere:-- 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' 4: Essay III. 13. 5: See Bacon's Essay 'Of Simulation and Dissimulation,' where he says that 'dissimulation followeth many times upon secrecy by a necessity: so that he that will be secret must be a dissembler in some degree,' &c. 6: The following are Hamlet's modes of asseveration:-- 'Angels and ministers of grace,' 'All you host of Heaven,' 'God's love,' 'God and mercy,' 'God's willing,' 'Help and mercy,' 'God's love,' 'By St. Patrick,' 'God-a-mercy,' 'By my fay (_ma foi_),' 'S' blood (God's blood),' 'S' wounds,' 'God's bodykins,' 'By'r Lady,' 'Perdy (_Pardieu_),' 'By the rood (Cross),' 'Heavenly guards,' 'For love and grace,' 'By the Lord,' 'Pray God,' &c. 7: New Shakspere Society (Stubbs, _Abuses in England_), 1879, p. 131. 8: Act ii. sc. 2. 9: Act ii. sc. i. 10: This description is wanting in the first quarto. The passages there are essentially different; there is no allusion to Hamlet's mental struggle. 11: About various allusions and satirical hints in this scene later on. 12: Florio, 21; Montaigne, I. ii. 13: Essay III. i. 14: Isaiah, ch. iii. v. 16. 15: The word 'ecstasy,' which is often used in the new quarto, is wanting in the first edition where only madness, lunacy, frenzy--the highest degrees of madness--are spoken of. 16: In the old play their names are 'Rosencroft' and 'Guilderstone.' _Reynaldo_, in the first quarto, is called '_Montano_.' This change of name in a _dramatis persona_ of minor importance indicates, in however a trifling manner, that the interest excited by the name of Montaigne (to which 'Montano' comes remarkably near in English pronunciation) was now to be concentrated on another point. 17: Essay I. 40. 18: II. 12. 19: Essay II. 27, p. 142. 20: Essay III. 4, p. 384. 21: Rather sharp translations of _songe-creux_, as Montaigne calls himself (Florio, i. 19, p. 34). 'I am given rather to dreaming and sluggishness.' 22: ''S wounds' (God's wounds)--a most characteristic expression; used by Shakspere only in _Hamlet_, in this scene, and again in act v. sc. 2. 23: As yet, Hamlet has but one ground of action--namely, the one which, after the apparition of the Ghost, he set down in his tablets: 'that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; at least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark.' 24: Act ii. sc. 2. 25: Essay I. 19. 26: II. 3. 27: Tacitus, _annal_. xiii. 56. 28: Essay I. 19. 29: Act. i. sc. 2. 30: Shakspere already uses this expression in _King John_ (1595) for purposes of mirthful mockery. He makes the Bastard say to the Archduke of Austria (act iii. sc. i):--'Hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs!'--a circumstance which convinces us that Shakspere knew the Essays of Montaigne from the original at an early time. We think it a fact important enough to point out that Florio translates _peau d'un veau_ by 'oxe-hide' (fo. 34). We cannot think of any other explanation than that the phrase in question had become so popular through _King John_ as to render it advisable for Florio to steer clear of this rock. Jonson, in his _Volpone_ (act. i. sc. i), makes Mosca the parasite say in regard to his master: 'Covered with hide, instead of skin.' 31: Florio's translation: 'If it be a _consummation_ of one's being' (p. 627). Shakspere: 'a _consummation_ devoutly to be wished.' This word is only once used by Shakspere in such a sense. It occurs in another sense in _King Lear_ (iv. 6) and _Cymbeline_ (iv. 2), but nowhere else in his works. 32: Monologue of the first quarto:-- 'To be, or not to be, I there's the point, To Die, to sleepe, is that all? I all: No, to sleepe, to dreame, I, mary there it goes, For in that dreame of death, when wee awake, And borne before an everlasting judge, From whence no passenger ever returned, The undiscovered country, at whose sight The happy smile, and the accursed damned. But for this, the joyful hope of this, Whol'd beare the scornes of flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? The widow being oppress'd, the orphan wronged, The taste of hunger, or a tyrants raigne, And thousand more calamities besides, To grunte and sweate under the weary life, When that he may his full quietus make, With a bare bodkin, who would this indure, But for a hope of something after death? Which pushes the brain and doth connfound the sence, Which makes us rather beare those evilles we have, Than flie to others that we know not of. I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of us all. Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembered. 33: On closely examining the copy of Montaigne's Essays in the British Museum, which bears Shakspere's autograph on the title-page, we found--long after our treatise had been completed--that on the fly-leaf at the end of the volume is written: _Mors incrta_, (Written somewhat indistinctly, meaning probably _incerta_. It might also be an abbreviation of 'incertam horam' [_incr. ho_.], as contained in the Latin verse on p. 626:-- Incertam frustra, mortales, funeris horam Quaeritis, et qua sit mors aditura via.) 626, 627. These two numbers, apparently, refer to the corresponding pages of Montaigne's work, which contain nothing but thoughts about the uncertainty of the hour of death and the hereafter. On p. 627 there is the speech of Sokrates, which in Florio's translation, as shown above, bears such striking resemblance to Hamlet's monologue. There are other Latin sentences on the same fly-leaf, pronounced by Sir Frederic Madden to be written by a later pen than Shakspere's. To us, at any rate, the above words and numbers appear to proceed from a different hand than the other sentences. Judgments thereon from persons well versed in the writings of that time would be of great interest. 34: P. 103. 35: I. 19. 36: Act iii. sc. 2. 37: III. 12 (Florio, 626). 38: We do not doubt that this is a sly thrust at Florio, who, in the preface to his translation, calls himself 'Montaigne's Vulcan,' who hatches out Minerva from that 'Jupiter's bigge brain'. 39: Florio, 476. 40: Florio, 592: 'Thus goe the world, and so goe men.' 41: III. 1. 42: II. 27. 43: Clarendon: 'Circumstance of thought' means here the details over which thought ranges, and from which its conclusions are formed. 44: '_Index_,' in our opinion, does not signify here either the title, or prologue, or the indication of the contents of a book, but is an allusion to the Index of the Holy See and its thunders. 45: Montaigne, III. 10; Florio, 604: 'Custome is a second nature, and no less powerfull.... To conclude, I am ready to finish this man, not to make another. By longe custome this forme is changed into substance, Fortune into Nature.' 46: III. 1. 47: This is wanting in the first quarto, like the whole conclusion of this scene. 48: This whole scene between Horatio and Hamlet consists of the following four lines in the old quarto:-- _Hamlet_. Beleeuve me, it greeuves me much, Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot myselfe: For by myselfe methinkes I feel his greefe, Though there's a difference in each other's way. Does this not look like a draught destined to be the kernel of a scene? The end of the scene where Osrick comes in, is also much shorter in the older play. 49: Florio, 330: 'We amend ourselves by privation of reason and by her drooping.' Hamlet's conduct is only to be explained by his quietly sitting down until his reason should droop.--II. 12. 50: Florio, 608. 51: Florio, 609. 52: This whole scene is nearly new (in the first quarto it is a mere sketch). There are in it several direct allusions to Montaigne's book, on which we shall touch later on. 53: Here the dramatist, in order to paint a trait of vanity in Hamlet's character, uses a device. He makes the latter say that, since Laertes went into France, he (Hamlet) has been in continual practice. Yet we know (act ii. sc. 2) that he had given up his accustomed exercise. In that scene the poet wishes to describe Hamlet's melancholy; in the other, his vanity. He chooses the colours which are apt to produce quickest impressions among the audience. 54: Act v. sc. 2. 55: See St. Matthew x.29. 56: I. 19. 57: III. 9. 58: II. 12. 59: The Queen describes Hamlet as 'fat, and scant of breath.' Here is Montaigne's description of himself (Essai II. 27):--'J'ay, au demourant, la taille forte et ramassee; le visage non pas gras, mais plein, la complexion entre le jovial et le melancholique, moyennement sanguine et chaude.' Florio's translation, p. 372:--'As for me, I am of a strong and well compact stature, my face is not fat, but full, my complexion betweene joviall and melancholy, indifferently sanguine and hote--('_not splenetive and rash_'). 60: III. 13 61: III. 9. 62: Act iii. sc. 1. 63: We shall now oftener touch upon satirical passages uttered by the character himself against whom they are directed. The true dramatist gives the public no time to think over an incident in full leisure. Every means--as we have already shown before--is welcome to him, which aids in rapidly bringing out the telling traits of his figures. No surprise need therefore be felt that Hamlet, though representing Montaigne, sneers at, and morally flagellates, himself. 64: Act iii. sc. 2. 65: II. 1. 66: Act iv. sc. 7. 67: I. 9, 25; II. 10, &c. If an attentive reader will take the trouble to closely examine that part of the scene in Shakspere's _Tempest_ (act ii. sc. 1) wherein the passage occurs, which he borrowed from Essay I. 30--'On Cannibals'--and compare it with this most 'strange Essay,' he will clearly convince himself that Shakspere can only have made use of it as a satire on Montaigne's defective memory, which entangles this author in the most ludicrous contradictions. Gonzala declares that, if he were king of the isle on which he and his companion were wrecked, he would found a commonwealth as described in the above passage. He concludes this description, saying he would have 'no sovereignty.' Sebastian justly remarks: 'Yet he would be king on't;' and Antonio continues by saying: 'The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.' Even such is the contradiction in Montaigne's fanciful Essay 'On Cannibals,' where, towards the end, he speaks of a captain who holds authority over these savages, not only in war, but also in peace, 'that when he went to visit the village of his dependence, they cut him paths through the thick of their woods, through which he might pass at ease.' The beginning of this Essay described the commonwealth of these cannibals as tolerating no politic superiority, no use of service, no occupation, &c. 'What short memory! much wanting tablets!' In the above-mentioned scene of the _Tempest_ Sebastian makes the remark: 'No marrying 'mong his subjects,' which evidently is also meant as a hit against Montaigne's anti-matrimonial ideas, which we dwelt upon in the scene between Hamlet and Ophelia. 68: Jonson, long afterwards, had not forgotten this hit against Montaigne. In _Epicoene_ (1609) he makes Cleremont say:--'When we come to have grey heads and weak hams, moist eyes and shrunk members ... then we'll pray and fast.' 69: This whole passage of act v. sc. 2 (106-138) is again only to be found in the quarto of 1604, not in the folio edition of 1623. In later years the poet may have struck it out, as being only comprehensible to a smaller circle of his friends. In the same way that passage of act iv. sc. 4, which only contains thoughts of Montaigne, was not received into the folio of 1623. 70: This is their title in Florio's translation: _Morall, Politike, Millitarie Discourses of Lo. Michaell de Montaigne, Knight of the noble order of Saint Michaell, and one of the Gentlemen in ordinary of the French King Henry III. his Chamber_. 71: The sonnet runs thus:-- _To the Right Honourable Ladie Elizabeth Grey_. (She was a daughter of Count Shrewsbury, a Talbot.) Of honorable TALBOT honored farre, The forecast and the fortune, by his WORD _Montaigne_ here descrives; what by his Sword, What by his wit; this, as the guiding starre; That, as th' Aetolian blast, in peace or warre, At sea, or land, as cause did use afforde, _Avant le vent_, to tacke his sails aboarde, So as his course no orethwart crosse might barre, But he would sweetly sail _before the wind_; For Princes service, Countries good, his fame. Heire-Daughter of that prudent, constant kinde, Joyning thereto of GREY as great a name, Of both chief glories shrining in your minde, Honour him that your Honor doth proclaime.' We have already learned from the preface of the first book of the _Essais_ how Florio was 'sea-tosst, weather-beaten,' 'ship-wrackt,' 'almost drowned,' when exerting himself to capture the whale--Montaigne--and drag him through 'the rocke-rough Ocean' with the assistance of his colleague Diodati, whom he compares to 'a guide-fish.' Hamlet calls Polonius a fish-monger. The latter fools Hamlet by pretending that yonder cloud is in the shape of a whale, which just before appeared to him like the back of a weasel. Every word almost in this wonderful drama is a well-directed hit. 72: Essay III. 5. 73: _Ibid_. 13. 74: _Ibid_. 2. 75: The quarto of 1623 has only the third verse. 76: The old song has the word 'crouch.' 77: Essay III. 5, p. 460. Florio, p. 529. 78: We think it is worth while to quote the following verse Montaigne (III. 5) mentions when speaking of that nature of woman, which he thinks suggests to her every possible act of libidinousness:-- Nec tantum niveo gavisa est ulla columbo Compar, vel si quid dicitur improbius, Oscula mordenti semper decerpere rostro, Quantum praecipue multivola est mulier. Florio translates (514):-- No Pigeons hen, or paire, or what worse name You list, makes with hir Snow-white cock such game, With biting bill to catch when she is kist, As many-minded women when they list. Is not this the character of Ophelia, as described by Shakspere--the virgin inclining to voluptuousness in Goethe's view? 79: Hamlet, act iv. sc. 5. In _Eastward Hoe_, Marston, Chapman, and Jonson make capital out of this word, and use it as a sneer against Hamlet and Ophelia. We shall return to this point later on. 80: Florio, 617. 81: Act iv. sc. 5. 82: Laertes, act i. sc. 3:-- 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. Montaigne, II. 12; Florio, 319: The mind is with the body bred we do behold, It jointly growes with it, it waxeth old.--Lucr. xliii. 450. 83: Goethe's _Faust_. 84: We must mention that John Sterling, in an essay on Montaigne (_Westminster Review_, 1838), makes the following introductory remarks:--'On the whole, the celebrated soliloquy in _Hamlet_ presents a more characteristic and expressive resemblance to much of Montaigne's writings than any other portion of the plays of the great dramatist which we at present remember, though it would doubtless be easy to trace many apparent transferences from the Frenchman into the Englishman's works, as both were keen and many-sided observers in the same age and neighbouring countries. But Hamlet was in those days no popular type of character; nor were Montaigne's views and tone familiar to men till he himself had made them so. Now, the Prince of Denmark is very nearly a Montaigne, lifted to a higher eminence, and agitated by more striking circumstances and severer destiny, and altogether a somewhat more passionate structure of man. It is not, however, very wonderful that Hamlet, who was but a part of Shakspere, should exhibit to us more than the whole of Montaigne, and the external facts appear to contradict any notion of a French ancestry for the Dane, as the play is said to have been produced in 1600, and the translation of the English not for three years later.' During our long search through the Commentaries written on _Hamlet_, we also met with the following treatise: 'HAMLET; _ein Tendenzdrama Sheakspeare's_ (sic!!) _gegen die skeptische und kosmopolitische Weltanschauung des Michael de Montaigne, von G. F. Stedefeld, Kreisgerichtsrath_. Berlin, 1871.' The author of the latter-mentioned little book holds it to be probable that Shakspere wrote his _Hamlet_ for the object of freeing himself from the impressions of the famous French sceptic. He regards this masterwork as 'the Drama of the Doubter;' as 'the apotheosis of a practical Christianity.' Hamlet, he says, is wanting in Christian piety. He has no faith, no love, no hope. His last words, 'The rest is silence,' show that he has no expectation of a future life. He must perish because he has given up the belief in a divine government of the world and in a moral order of things. We believe we have read the Essays of Michel Montaigne with great attention. We not only do not regard him as a 'sceptic' in the sense meant by Mr. Stedefeld, but we hold him, as well as Hamlet, to be an adherent of the so-called 'practical Christianity' --at least, of what both Montaigne and Hamlet reckon to be such. This 'practical Christianity,' however, is a notion somewhat difficult to define. V. THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND DEKKER. MENTION OF A DISPUTE BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND SHAKSPERE IN 'THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS.' CHARACTERISTIC OF BEN JONSON. BEN JONSON'S HOSTILE ATTITUDE TOWARDS SHAKSPERE. DRAMATIC SKIRMISH BETWEEN BEN JONSON AND SHAKSPERE. BEN JONSON'S 'POETASTER.' DEKKER'S 'SATIROMASTIX.' We now proceed to an inquiry into the 'controversy between Jonson and Dekker,' which has been repeatedly mentioned before. Shakspere, we shall find, was implicated in it in a very large degree. Instead of indicating, however, that controversy by the designation under which it is known in literature, it would be more correct to put SHAKSPERE'S name in the place of that of Dekker. Many a reader who perhaps does not fully trust yet our bold assertion that Hamlet is a counterfeit of Montaigne's individuality, will now, we hope, be convinced by vouchers drawn from dramas published in 1604 and 1605, and which are in the closest connection with that controversy. We intend partly making a thorough examination of, partly consulting in a cursory manner, the following pieces:-- 1. 'Poetaster' (1601), by Ben Jonson. 2. 'Satiromastix' (1602), by Thomas Dekker. 3. 'Malcontent' (1604), by John Marston. 4. 'Volpone' (1605), by Ben Jonson. 5. 'Eastward Hoe' (1605), by Ben Jonson, Chapman, and Marston. In 'The Poetaster' Ben Jonson makes his chief attack upon Dekker and Shakspere. In 'Satiromastix,' Dekker defends himself against that attack. In doing so, he sides with Shakspere; and we thereby gain an insight into the noble conduct of the latter. Between Jonson and Shakspere there had already been dramatic skirmishes during several years before the appearance of 'The Poetaster.' We shall only be able to touch rapidly upon their meaning, considering that we confine ourselves, in the main, to a statement of that which concerns 'Hamlet.' After Jonson, in his 'Poetaster,' had exceeded all bounds of decent behaviour with most intolerable arrogance, Shakspere seems to have become weary of these malicious personal onslaughts; all the more so because they were apparently put into the mouth of innocent children. So he wrote his 'Hamlet,' showing up, therein, the loose and perplexing ideas of his chief antagonist, who belonged to the party of Florio-Montaigne. Hamlet, as we shall prove beyond the possibility of cavil, is the hitherto unexplained 'purge' in 'The Return from Parnassus,' which 'our fellow Shakspere' administered to Ben Jonson in return for the 'pill' destined for himself in 'The Poetaster.' After the publication of 'Hamlet,' Jonson wrote his 'Volpone' as a counterblast to this drama. Now 'Volpone,' and the Preface in which the author dedicates it to the two Universities, furnish us with the evidence that our theory must be a fact; for Jonson therein defended both the party of Florio-Montaigne and himself. Moreover, we shall adduce a series of proofs from 'The Malcontent' and from 'Eastward Hoe.' A drama, written by an unknown author, and printed in 1606, offers us a valuable material wherewith to make it clear that, at that time, a very bitter feud must have raged between Jonson and Shakspere; for it is scarcely to be believed that it would have been brought on the stage had a larger public not been deeply interested in the controversy. 'The Return from Parnassus, or the Scourge of Simony,' [1] is the title of the play, mentioned several times before, in which this controversy is referred to in clear words. Philomusus and Studioso, two poor scholars who in vain had sought to pursue their calling as medical men, resolve upon going to the more profitable stage. They are to be prepared for it by two of the most famous actors from the Globe Theatre (Shakspere's company), Burbage and Kemp. Whilst these are waiting for their new pupils, [2] they converse about the capabilities of the students for the histrionic art. Kemp, in words which show that the author must have had great knowledge of the stage, condemns their ways and manners, mocking the silly kind of acting which he had once seen in a performance of the students at Cambridge. Burbage thinks they might amend their faults in course of time, and that, at least, advantage could be taken of them in so far as to make them write a part now and then; which certainly they could do. To this Kemp replies:-- 'Few of the University pen plaies well; they smell too much of that writer _Ovid_ and that writer _Metamorphosis_, and talk too much of _Proserpina_ and _Jupiter_. Why, here's our fellow _Shakespeare_ puts them all down--I, and _Ben Jonson_ too. O that _Ben Jonson_ is a pestilent fellow; he brought up Horace giving the poets a pill; [3] but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him spurge that made him bewray his credit.' Burbage answers:--'It's a shrewd fellow indeed.' For the better understanding of this most interesting controversy, the centre of which Hamlet forms, it is necessary that we should give a characteristic of Shakspere's adversary, Ben Jonson, whose individuality and mode of action are too little known among the general reading public. Ben Jonson, born in 1573, in the neighbourhood of Westminster, was the posthumous child of a Scot who had occupied a modest position at the Court of Henry VIII., but who, under Queen Mary, had to suffer long imprisonment, probably on account of his religious opinions. His estates were confiscated by the Crown. After having obtained his liberation, he became a priest of the Reformed Church of England. Two years after his death, his widow, the mother of Ben, again married: this time her husband was a master bricklayer. The education of the boy from the first marriage, who at an early age showed talent for learning, was not neglected. It is assumed that friends of his father, seeing Ben's ability, rendered it possible for him to enter Westminster School, and afterwards to study at the University of Cambridge. In his seventeenth or eighteenth year, probably from a want of means, he had to give up the career of learning, in order to follow the simple calling of his stepfather. It may be easily understood that Ben was little pleased with the use of the trowel; he fled to the Netherlands, became a soldier, and took part in a campaign. After a year, the youthful adventurer, then only nineteen years old, came back to London. He talks of a heroic deed; but the truthfulness of his account may well be doubted. He pretends having killed an enemy, in the face of both camps, and come back to the ranks, laden with his spoils. After his return to London, Jonson first tried to earn his livelihood as an actor. His figure [4] and his scorbutic face were, however, sad hindrances to his success. Soon he gave up the histrionic attempts and began to write additions to existing plays, at the order of a theatrical speculator, of the name of Philip Henslowe. The only further detail we have of Jonson's doings, down to 1598, [5] is, that he fell out with one of his colleagues, an actor (Jonson's quarrelsome disposition as regards his comrades commenced very early), and that finally he killed his antagonist. We then find him in prison where a Catholic priest induced him to become a convert to the Roman Church which, after the lapse of about twelve years, he again left, returning to the Established Protestant Church of England. Jonson himself afterwards said once that 'he was for any religion, as being versed in both.' [6] It is, therefore, not to be assumed that he once more changed from conviction. His reconversion appears rather to have been a prudential act on his part, in order to conform to the religious views of the pedantic James I., and thus to obtain access at Court, which aim he indeed afterwards reached; whereas he had not been able to obtain that favour under Elizabeth. [7] It is not known by what, or by whom, Ben Jonson was saved from the near prospect of the gallows. In 1598 his name is mentioned as one of the better-known writers of comedies, by Francis Meres, in his 'Palladis Tamia.' His first successful comedy was, 'Every Man in his Humour.' Fama says that the manuscript which the author had sent in to the Lord Chamberlain's Company, was on the point of being rejected when Shakspere requested to have the play given to him, read it, and caused its being acted on the stage. This anecdote belongs, however, to the class of traditional tales of that age, whose value for fixing facts is a most doubtful one. It is more certain that Ben, at the age of twenty, took a wife; which contributed very little to the lessening of his chronic poverty with which he constantly had to struggle. It does not appear that the union was a very happy one; for he relates that he once left his wife for five years. A diary written by an unknown barrister informs us, February 12, 1602: 'Ben Jonson, the poet, nowe lives upon one Townesend and scornes the world.' [8] In the society of gallants and lords, the young poet felt himself most at home. All kinds of mendicant epistles, sonnets, dedications, petitions, and so forth, which he addressed to high personages, and which have been preserved, convince us that Jonson neglected nothing that could give an opportunity to the generosity of liberal noblemen to prove themselves patrons of art in regard to him. He boasts on the stage of being more in the enjoyment of the favour of the great ones than any of his literary contemporaries. [9] Modesty was certainly not a mitigating trait in the character of hot-tempered Jonson, whose wrath was easily roused. Convinced of the power of his own genius, he most eagerly wanted to see the value of his work acknowledged. Not satisfied with the slow judgment his contemporaries might come to, or the niggardly reward they might confer; nor content with the prospects of a laurel wreath which grateful Posterity lays on the marble heads of departed eminent men, this pretentious disciple of the Muse importunately claimed his full recompense during his own life. For the applause of the great mass, the dramatist, after all, has to contend. Jonson strove hard for it; but in vain. A more towering genius was the favourite of the age. Ben, however, laid the flattering unction to his soul that he was above Shakspere, [10] even as above all other contemporary authors; and he left nothing unattempted to gain the favour of the great public. All his endeavours remained fruitless. On every occasion he freely displays the rancour he felt at his ill-success; for he certainly was not master of his temper. In poems, epistles, and epigrams, as well as in his dramas, and in the dedications, prologues, and epilogues attached thereto, he shows his anger against the 'so-called stage poets.' We shall prove that his fullest indignation is mainly directed against one--the very greatest: need we name him? Jonson, resolved upon making the most of his Muse in a remunerative sense, well knew how to obtain the patronage of the highest persons of the country; and his ambition seems to have found satisfaction when, afterwards, a call was made upon him, on the part of the Court, to compose 'Masques' for Twelfth-Night and similar extraordinary occasions. He produced a theatrical piece in consonance with the barbaric taste prevailing in Whitehall, which gave plenty to do to the machinists, the decorators, and the play-dresser of the stage. With such a division of labour in the domain of art, it is not easy, to-day, to decide to whom the greater merit belongs, among those concerned, of having afforded entertainment to the courtiers. Dramatic or poetical value is wanting in those productions of Jonson. From his poems, as well as from the 'Conversations with Drummond,' we know that among the patronesses of Jonson there were Lucie Countess of Bedford and Elizabeth Countess of Rutland--two ladies to whom Florio dedicated a translation of Montaigne. Lady Rutland's marriage was a most unhappy one. In the literary intercourse with prominent men of her time she appears to have sought consolation and distraction. Jonson's relations with this lady must have been rather friendly ones, for 'Ben one day being at table with my Lady Rutland, her husband coming in, accused her that she keept table to poets, of which she wrott a letter to him (Jonson), which he answered. My lord intercepted the letter, but never chalenged him.' [11] From the same source which makes this statement we take the following trait in Jonson's character, which is as little calculated as his passionate quarrelsomeness to endear him to us. Sir Thomas Overbury had become enamoured of unhappy Lady Rutland. Jonson was asked by this nobleman, who at the same time was a poet, to read to the adored one a lyrical effusion of his; evidently for the purpose of fomenting her inclinations towards the friend who was languishing for her. Ben Jonson relates that he fulfilled Overbury's wish 'with excellent grace,' at the same time praising the author. Next morning he fell out with Overbury, who would have him to make an unlawful proposal to Lady Rutland. But how, we may ask, was it possible that Jonson's noble friend could at all think of trying to use him as a go-between in this shameful manner? Are we not reminded here of the position of thirsty Toby Belch towards the simple Aguecheek, if not even of honest [12] Iago in his dealings with the liberal Rodrigo? Neither in Olivia's uncle, nor in Othello's Ancient is it reckoned a merit to have omitted doing pimp service to friends. Their policy of taking advantage of amorous inclinations, although they did not even try to promote them by the reading of poetical productions, remains not the less contemptible. As to Jonson's passion for the cup that does more than cheer, neither he himself conceals it, nor is evidence to the same effect wanting on the part of his contemporaries. Drayton says that he was in the habit of 'wearing a loose coachman's coat, frequenting the Mermaid Tavern, where he drank seas of Canary; then reeling home to bed, and, after a profuse perspiration, arising to his dramatic studies.' [13] At a certain time, Jonson accompanied a son of Sir Walter Raleigh as tutor during a voyage to France. The young hopeful pupil, 'being knavishly inclined,' and not less quick in the execution of practical jokes than in spying out human weaknesses, had no difficulty in understanding his tutor's bent, and succeeded in making Jonson 'dead drunk.' He then 'laid him on a carr, which he made to be drawen by pioners through the streets, at every corner showing his governour stretched out, and telling them, that was a more lively image of the Crucifix than any they had.' The mother of young Raleigh greatly relished this sport. It reminded her of similar tricks her husband had been addicted to in his boyish days, 'though the father abhorred it.' With habits of the kind described, Jonson had a hard but fruitless struggle against oppressing poverty and downright misery during his whole life. When age was approaching, he addressed himself to his highborn patrons with petitions in well-set style. His needy condition was, however, little bettered, even when Charles I., in 1630, conferred upon him, seven years before his death, an annual pension of 100 pounds, with a terse of Spanish wine yearly out of his Majesty's store at Whitehall. A letter of Sir Thomas Hawkins describes one of the last circumstances of Jonson's life. At 'a solemn supper given by the poet, when good company, excellent cheer, choice wine, and jovial welcome had opened his heart and loosened his tongue, he began to raise himself at the expense of others.' Wine, joviality, good company, and bitter satire--these were the elements of Ben Jonson's happiness. 'O rare Ben Jonson!' Sir John Young, [14] who, walking through Westminster Abbey, saw the bare stone on the poet's grave, gave one of the workmen eighteenpence to cut the words in question, and posterity is still in doubt whether the word 'rare' was meant for the valuable qualities of the poet or for those of the boon-companion. We will give a short abstract of Jonson's character from the notes of a contemporary whose guest he had been during fully a month in 1619. One might doubt the sincerity of this judgment if Sir William Drummond, his liberal host, had made it public for the purpose of harming Jonson. There was, however, no such intention, for it remained in manuscript for fully two hundred years. Only then, a copy of this incisive characteristic came before the world at large. The Scottish nobleman and poet had written it down, together with many utterances of Jonson, after his guest who most freely and severely criticised his contemporaries had left. The perspicacity of Drummond, and the truthful rendering of his impressions, are fully confirmed by Jonson's manner of life and the contents of his literary productions. [15] Drummond concludes his notes thus:-- 'He' (Jonson) 'is a great lover and praiser of himself; a contemner and scorner of others; given rather to loose a friend than a jest; jealous of every word and action of those about him (especially after drink, which is one of the elements in which he liveth): a dissembler of ill parts which reigne in him; a bragger of some good that he wanteth; thinking nothing well but what either himself or some of his friends and countrymen have said or done. He is passionately kind and angry; careless either to gain or keep; vindicative, but, if he be well answered, at himself. For any religion, as being versed in both; interpreteth best sayings and deeds often to the worst. Oppressed with fantasie, which has ever mastered his reason: a general disease in many poets.' It will easily be understood that between two natures of so opposite a bent as that of the quarrelsome Jonson and 'gentle Shakspere,' friendship for any length of time could scarcely be possible. [16] The creations of the dramatist obtain their real value by the poet's own character. He who breathes a soul into so many figures destined for action must himself be gifted with a greatness of soul that encompasses a world. In the dramatic art, such actions only charm which are evolved out of clearly defined passions; and such characters only awake interest which bear human features strongly marked. If, however, we cast a glance at the dramatic productions of Ben Jonson, we in vain look among the many figures that crowd his stage for one which could inspire us with sympathy. Time has pronounced its verdict against his creations: they are lying in the archive of mere curiosities. Even the inquirer feels ill at ease when going for them to their hiding-place. Jonson's characters do not speak with the ever unmistakeable and touching voice of human passions. In his comedies he produces the strangest whims, caprices, and crotchets, by which he probably points to definite persons. The clue to these often malignant dialectics is very difficult to find. The action of his plays--if incidental quarrels, full of sneering allusions, are left aside--is generally of such diminutive proportions that one may well ask, after the perusal of some of his dramas, whether they contain any action at all. No doubt the satirist, too, has his legitimate place in the dramatic art; but he must know how to hit the weaknesses of human nature in certain striking types. Jonson, however, is far from being able to lay a claim to such dramaturgic merit. At 'haphazard he took certain individualities from the idly gossiping crowd that congregated in the central nave of St. Paul's Church, and put them on the stage. Whoever had been strutting about there to-day in his silken stockings, proudly displaying the nodding feathers in his hat, his rich waist-coat and mantle, and boasting a little too loud before some other gallant of his love adventures, ran great danger--like all those whose demeanour in St. Paul's gave rise to backbiting gossip--of being pourtrayed in the 'Rose,' in the 'Curtain,' or in the theatres of the 'little eyases,' in such a manner that people were able, in the streets, to point them out with their fingers. Like so many other novelties, this kind of comedy, too, may for a while have found its admirers. Soon, however, this degradation of the Muse brought up such a storm that Jonson had to take refuge in another domain of the dramatic art (1601). He himself confesses:-- And since the Comic Muse Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try If Tragedy have a more kind aspect. [17] But he is nothing if not satirical. The persons that are to enliven his tragedies are not filled with the true breath of life. They are mere phantoms or puppets of schoolcraft, laboriously put together by a learning drawn from old folios. In his tragedies, 'Sejanus' and 'Cataline,' he seeks to describe Romans whose whole bearing was to be in pedantically close harmony with the time in which the dramatic action occurs. Only a citizen from a certain period of ancient Rome would be able to decide whether this difficult but thankless problem had been solved. These cold academic treatises--for such we must, practically, take them to be--were not relished by the public. There is no vestige of human passion in the bookish heroes thus put on the stage. For their sorrows the audience has no feeling of fear or anguish and no tear of compassion. Jonson, indignant at the small estimate in which his arduously composed works were received, ill-humoured by their want of success, looked enviously upon Shakspere, who had not been academically schooled; who audaciously overthrew the customs of the antique drama; who made his own rules, or rather, who made himself a rule to others; who created metrics that were peculiarly his; who chose themes hitherto considered non-permissible, and unusual with Greeks and Romans; who flung the 'three unities' to the winds; and who, nevertheless, had an unheard-of success! This favourite of the public, Jonson seems to have looked upon as the main obstacle barring the way to his own genius. Against this towering rival, Jonson directed a hail of satirical arrows. Only take, for instance, the prologue to 'Every Man in his Humour.' [18] There, Jonson, with the most arrogant conceit, tries to make short work of various dramas of Shakspere's--for instance, of his historical plays, in which he dared-- ... with three rusty swords, And help of some few foot and half-foot words, Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars, And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars. In 'The Poetaster,' which in 1601 was acted by the children of the Queen's Chapel, Jonson made an attack upon three poets. We hope to be able to prove that the one most bitterly abused, and who is bidden to swallow the 'pill,' is no other than Shakspere, whilst the two remaining ones are John Marston and Thomas Dekker. From the 'Apologetical Dialogue' which Jonson wrote after 'The Poetaster' had already passed over the stage, we see that this satire had excited the greatest indignation and sensation in the dramatic world. It was a new manner of falling out with a colleague before the public. The conceited presumption of the author, who in the play itself assumes the part of Horace, seriously proclaiming himself as the poet of poets, as the worthiest of the worthy, is not less enormous and repulsive than the way in which he proceeds against his rivals. Quite innocently, Jonson asks in that dialogue (which was spoken on the stage after 'The Poetaster' had given rise to a general squabble), how it came about that such a hubbub was made of that play, seeing that it was free from insults, only containing 'some salt' but 'neither tooth, nor gall,' whilst his antagonists, after all, had been the cause of whatever remarks he himself had made:-- ... But sure I am, three years They did provoke me with their petulant styles, On every stage. And I at last, unwilling, But weary, I confess, of so much trouble, Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em. In some comedies of Shakspere, which appeared between the years 1598 and 1601, there are characters markedly stamped with Jonsonian peculiarities. We may be convinced that 'gentle Shakspere' had received many a provocation [19] before he took notice of the obscure dramatist who was younger by ten years than himself, and publicly gave him a strong lesson. 'All's Well that Ends Well' contains a figure, Parolles, whose peculiarities are too closely akin to those of Ben Jonson to be regarded as a mere fortuitous accident; especially when we find that Jonson, in 'The Poetaster,' again tries to ridicule this hit by a characteristic expression. [20] Parolles is a follower of Count Rousillon. His position is not further defined than that he follows Bertram; he is a cross between a gentleman and a servant. We hear the old Lord Lafeu reproaching him in act ii. sc. 3:-- 'Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants do so?' Again he calls him--'a vagabond, no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission.' [21] Parolles boasts of being born under the sign of Mars, and up to every heroic deed; and it is certainly an allusion to Jonson's bravado of having in the Low Countries, in the face of both camps, killed an enemy and taken _opima spolia_ from him, that Shakspere lets this character make the attempt to retake, single-handed, from the enemy, a drum that had been lost in the battle. Of course, Parolles finally comes out a coward and a traitor. Parolles also mentions that he understands 'Low Dutch.' In the character of Malvolio ('Twelfth Night; or What You Will,' 1600-1601), the quarrelsome Ben has long ago been suspected, who, puffed up with braggart pride, contemptuously looks down upon his colleagues, and impudently exerts himself to gain access to high social circles; thus assuming, like Parolles, a position that does not properly belong to him. Even as Lord Lafeu takes Parolles a peg lower, so Sir Toby (act. ii. sc. 3) reminds the haughty Malvolio that he is nothing more than a steward. The religion of Malvolio also is several times discussed. Merry Maria relates that he is a 'Puritan or anything constantly but a time-pleaser.' Nor is the priest wanting who is to drive out the hyperbolical fiend from the captive Malvolio: an unmistakeable allusion to Ben Jonson's conversion in prison. The Fool who represents the Priest, puts a question referring to Pythagoras to Malvolio who is groaning 'in darkness' and yearning for freedom. He receives an evasive answer from the prisoner. In 'Volpone,' as we shall see, Jonson answers it very fully. [22] Altogether, there are allusions in 'The Poetaster,' and in 'Volpone,' to 'All's Well that Ends Well,' and to 'What You Will,' which we shall have to touch upon in speaking of those plays. The scene of 'The Poetaster' is laid at the court of Augustus Caesar. Jonson therein describes himself under the character of Horace. The whole drift of the play is, to take the many enemies of the latter to task for their calumnies and libels against him. Rome is the place of action, and the persons of the drama bear classic names. There are, besides Augustus and Horace, Mecaenas (_sic_), Virgil, Propertius, Trebatius, Ovid, Demetrius Fannius, _Rufus Laberius Crispinus_, and so forth. The characters whom they are to represent are mostly authors of the dramatic world around Ben Jonson. They are depicted with traits so easily recognisable that--as Dekker says in his 'Satiromastix'--of five hundred people four hundred could 'all point with their fingers in one instant at one and the same man.' More especially against two disciples of the Muse is Jonson's 'gally ink' directed. Let us give a few instances of the lampoons and calumnious squibs by which Horace pretends having been insulted on the part of envious colleagues who, he maintains, look askance at him because 'he keeps more worthy gallants' company' than they can get into. In act iv. sc. I, Demetrius tells Tucca:-- 'Alas, Sir, Horace! he is a mere sponge; nothing but humours and observation; he goes up and down, sucking from every society, and when he comes home, squeezes himself dry again.' Tucca adds:--'He will sooner lose his best friend than his least jest.' Crispinus is found guilty of having composed a libel against Horace, of which the following may serve as a specimen:-- Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde; But boldly nominate a spade a spade. What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews? Alas! that were no modern consequence, To have cothurnal buskins frighted hence. No, teach thy Incubus to poetize; And throw abroad thy spurious snotteries.... O poets all and some! for now we list Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist. Such was the language the contemporaries of Shakspere used. Are we to wonder, then, if here and there we find in his works an offensive expression? The two persons who are specially taken to task, and most harshly treated, are Demetrius Fannius, 'play-dresser and plagiarius,' and RUFUS LABERIUS CRISPINUS, '_poetaster and plagiarius_.' In 'Satiromastix,' Demetrius clearly comes out as Dekker. Crispinus is the chief character of the play:--'the poetaster.' Against him the satire is mainly directed, and for his sake it seems to have been written, for the title runs thus: 'The Poetaster, or His Arraignment.' From all the characteristic qualities of Crispinus we draw the conclusion that this figure represented SHAKSPERE. From the above-mentioned passage in 'The Return from Parnassus' it would seem as if a '_pill_' had been administered in the play to several poets. That is, however, not so. Then, as now, the plural form was a favourite one with writers afraid to attack openly. Horace administers a pill only to one poet--to Crispinus. And as Kemp says that Shakspere, thereupon, gave a '_purge_,' the conclusion is obvious that he who took revenge by administering the purge, must have been the one to whom the pill had been given. 'Volpone,' a play directed against the 'purge'--that is, 'Hamlet'--will convince us that the chief controversy lay between Jonson and Shakspere, and not between Jonson and Dekker. The following points will, we think, make it still clearer that we are warranted in believing that the figure of Crispinus was intended by Jonson for Shakspere. When, in presence of Augustus, as well as of the high jurors Maecenas, Tibullus, and Virgil, the two poetasters have been heard; when Horace has forgiven Demetrius, [23] and Crispinus, under the sharp effects of the pill, has thrown up, amidst great pain, [24] the disgraceful words which he had used against Horace, he is dismissed by the latter with the admonition to observe, in future, a strict and wholesome diet; to take each morning something of Cato's principles; then taste a piece of Terence and suck his phrase; to shun Plautus and Ennius as meats too harsh for his weak stomach, and to read the best Greeks, 'but not without a tutor.' This fits in with Shakspere's 'small Latin and less Greek'--a circumstance of which Jonson himself, in his poem in memory of Shakspere (1623), thought he should remind the coming generations. It is, no doubt, a little revenge for the 'dark chamber' in which Malvolio [25] is imprisoned, that, after Horace has concluded his speech in which the study of Latin and Greek is recommended to Crispinus as something very necessary for him, Virgil should add the further advice:-- And for a week or two see him locked up In some dark place, removed from company; He will talk idly else after his physic. The full name given by Jonson to Crispinus is--RUFUS LABERIUS CRISPINUS. John Marston already, in 1598, designates Shakspere with the nickname '_Rufus_.' Everyone can convince himself of this by first reading Shakspere's 'Venus and Adonis,' and immediately afterwards John Marston's 'Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's Image.' [26] We do not know whether it has struck anyone as yet that this poem of Marston is a most evident satire, written even in the same metre as Shakspere's first, and at that time most popular, poem. [27] In his sixth satire of 'The Scourge of Villanie,' Marston explains why he had composed his 'Pigmalion's Image:'-- Yet deem'st that in sad seriousnesse I write such nasty stuff as in Pigmalion? Such maggot-tainted, lewd corruption! ... Hence, thou misjudging censor: know I wrot Those idle rimes to note the odious spot and blemish that deformes the lineaments of modern poesies habiliments. At the end of his satire ('Pigmalion's Image'), Marston self-complacently tacks on a concluding piece: 'The Author in Praise of his Precedent Poem.' Whom else does he address there than him whose poetical manner he wished to mock--namely, Shakspere's--when he begins with these words:-- Now, Rufus! by old Glebron's fearfull mace, Hath not my Muse deserv'd a worthy place? ... Is not my pen compleate? Are not my lines Right in the swaggering humour of these times? The name of 'Rufus' has two peculiarities which may have induced Marston to confer it upon Shakspere. First of all, like the English king of that name, Shakspere's pre-name was William. Secondly, the best-preserved portrait of Shakspere shows him with hair verging upon a reddish hue. But not only the colour of the hair, but also its thinness (according to all pictures and busts we have of Shakspere, he was bald-headed), seems to have been satirised by Jonson in his 'Poetaster.' In act ii. sc. 1, Chloe asks Crispinus, who, excited by her love and her beauty, pretends becoming a poet, whether, as a poet, he would also change his hair? To which Crispinus replies, 'Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his hair.' Now Dekker, in his 'Satiromastix, in which all personal insults are to be avenged [28](for which reason the chief personages of 'The Poetaster' are introduced under the same name), makes Horace give forth a long song in praise of 'heades thicke of hair,' whilst Crispinus gives another in honour of 'balde heads;' from which we conclude that Chloe's remark on Crispinus' hair has reference to a bald pate, but the name of 'Rufus' to the colour of whatever hair there is. 'Rufus Laberius Crispinus' might truly be thus rendered: 'The red-haired SHAK-erius, with the crisp-head, who cribs like St. Crispin.' The word Rufus, as already explained, reminds us both of Shakspere's red hair and his pre-name 'William.' Laberius (from _labare_, to shake; hence Shak-erius, a similar nickname as Greene's SHAKE-_scene_) is clearly an indication of the poet's family name. The Roman custom of placing the name of the _gens_, or family, in the middle of a person's name, leaves no doubt as to Jonson's intention. Laberius was a dramatic poet, even as Shakspere. Laberius was an actor (Suet. c.i. 39). So was Shakspere. Laberius played in his own dramas. Shakspere did the same. Laberius' name corresponds etymologically, as regards meaning, to the root-syllable in Shakspere's name. Could Jonson, who was so well versed in classics, have made his satirical allusion plainer or more poignant? In Crispinus, both Shakspere's curly hair and the offence of application, plagiarism, or literary theft, with which he is charged by his antagonist, are manifestly marked; St. Crispin being noted among the saints for his filching habits. He made shoes for the poor from materials stolen from the rich. Crispinus approaches Horace quite as a 'Johannes Factotum,' as Greene had designated Shakspere in 1592. Jonson makes him assert that he, too, is a scholar, a writer conversant with every kind of poetry, and a Stoic. He also declares that he is studying architecture, and that, if he builds a house, [29] it must be similar to one before which they are standing. In Dekker's 'Satiromastix,' Crispinus is described as being of a most gentle nature. This is in harmony with the well-known quality generally attributed to Shakspere. In the beginning of 'Satiromastix,' Crispinus approaches Horace for the object of peace and reconciliation. The latter excuses himself, in words similar to those of the 'Apologetical Dialogue,' that even if he should 'dip his pen in distilde Roses,' or strove to drain out of his ink all gall, [30] yet his enemies would look at his writings 'with sharpe and searching eyes.' Nay-- When my lines are measur'd out as straight As even parallels, 'tis strange that still, Still some imagine they are drawne awry. The error is not mine, but in their eye; That cannot take proportions. _Crispinus_. Horrace, Horrace! To stand within the shot of galling tongues, Proves not your gilt, for could we write on paper, Made of these turning leaves of heaven, the cloudes, Or speak with Angels tongues: yet wise men know, That some would shake the head, tho' saints should sing, Some snakes must hisse, because they're borne with stings. _Horace_. 'T is true. _Crispinus_. Doe we not see fooles laugh at heaven? and mocke The Makers workmanship? Crispinus goes on telling Horace that none are safe from such calumnies; but that, if his 'dastard wit' will 'strike at men in corners,' if he will 'in riddles folde the vices' of his best friends, then he must expect also that they will 'take off all gilding from their pilles,' and offer him 'the bitter coare' (core). [31] With great emphasis, Crispinus admonishes Horace not to swear that he did not intend whipping the private vices of his friends while his '_lashing jestes make all men bleed_.' Crispinus concludes his mild, conciliatory speech with the words:-- We come like your phisitions (physicians) to purge Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease. A peace is then concluded, which Horace (Jonson) again breaks, for which he receives his punishment towards the end of 'Satiromastix.' Dekker, who brings in the chief personages of 'The Poetaster' under the same name, makes, in this counter-piece, two parts of the figure of Rufus Laberius Crispinus--namely, that of William Rufus, the king, at whose court he lays the scene (Jonson's drama has the court of Augustus), and that of Crispinus, the poet. The part of the king is a very unimportant one; and it may be assumed that Dekker intended the king and the poet to be looked upon as the same person. The object of the play-dresser Demetrius (Dekker) was, no doubt, to do homage in this way to his chief Crispinus--that is, Shakspere. When the accused Horace is to be judged, the King says to Crispinus:-- Not under us, but next us take thy seate; Artes nourished by Kings make Kings more great. Crispinus declares Horace guilty of having 'rebelled against the sacred laws of divine Poesie,' not out of love of virtue, but-- Thy pride and scorn made her turne saterist. Horace, on account of his crimes against the sacred laws of divine poesy, is not 'lawrefyed,' but 'nettlefyed:' not crowned with laurels, but with a wreath of nettles, and afterwards, in Sancho Panza manner, tossed in a blanket. He then is told:--'You shall not sit in a Gallery when your Comedies and Enterludes have entred their Actions, and there make vile faces at everie lyne, to make Gentlemen have an eye to you, and to make Players afraide to take your part.' Furthermore, he 'must forsweare to venter on the stage when your Play is ended, and to exchange courtezies and complements with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all the house rise up in Armes, and to cry that's Horace, that's he, that's he, that's he, that pennes and purges Humours and diseases.' He must promise 'not to brag in Bookebinders shops that your Vize-royes or Tributorie Kings have done homage to you, or paide Quarterage.' And--'when your Playes are misse-likt at Court, you shall not Crye Mew like a Pusse-Cat, and say you are glad you write out of the Courtiers Elements.' [32] In his Preface to 'Satiromastix' ('To the World '), Dekker says that in this play he did '_only whip his_ (Horace's) _fortunes and condition of life, where the more noble_ REPREHENSION _had bin of his_ MINDES DEFORMITIE.' [33] This nobler reprehension, as we have sufficiently shown, was undertaken by Shakspere in his 'Hamlet.' [34] Dekker, in his Epilogue to 'Satiromastix' (he there speaks of the 'Heretical Libertine Horace'), asks the public for its applause; for Horace would thereby be induced to write a counter-play: which, if they hissed his own 'Satiromastix,' would not be the case. By applauding, they would thus, in fact, get more sport; for we 'will untrusse him agen, and agen, and agen.' Shakspere may have been tired of this fruitless pastime, of those pitiful squabbles, as appears also from the reproach he makes in 'Hamlet'to his people. By the '_more noble_ REPREHENSION' which he administered to Jonson and his party, he became absorbed in the profounder problems concerning mankind. The time of the lighter comedies is now past for him. There follow now his grandest master-works. Henceforth the poet stands in a relation created by himself to his God and to the world. We proceed to an examination of 'Volpone,' of that play which Jonson sent as a counter-thrust after 'Hamlet,' and from which, as regards our Hamlet-Montaigne theory, we hope to convince our readers in the clearest manner possible. 1: Arber's _English Scholars Library_, 1879, shows that this highly interesting drama was for the first time given at Cambridge in 1602. If so, the manuscript has unquestionably received additions during the four years before its appearance in print. The fact is, we find in the play certain evident allusions which could not possibly have been added before the years 1603-4; for instance, references to the translators of Montaigne--John Florio, and the friends who aided him;--references which must have been made after the _Essais_ were published. In act i. sc. 2, Judicio speaks of the English 'Flores Poetarum, against whom can-quaffing hucksters shoot their pellets.' These '_Flores_ Poetarum' are _Florio_ and his fellow-workers, among whom Ben Jonson is also to be reckoned; and we shall see farther on that the latter abuses these offensive hucksters as 'vernaculous orators,' because they make Montaigne the target of their sneers. Again, in act iv. sc. 2, Furor Poeticus, Ingenioso, and Phantasma indulge in expressions which can only apply to the Dedications and the Sonnets of Florio's translation. Phantasma, for instance, addresses an Ode of Horace to himself:-- 'Maecenas, atavis edite regibus, O et praesidium et dulce decus meum Dii faciant votis vela secunda tuis.' The latter line ought to run:-- Sunt, quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum, and if we take into consideration that Juror says in the same scene:-- And when thy swelling vents amain, Then Pisces be thy sporting chamberlain, it is not asserting too much that these are manifest hits at Florio, who, to please his Maecenas, tries with Dr. Diodati, his 'guide-fish' to capture the 'whale' in the 'rocke rough ocean.' Florio's way of translating the Latin classic writers into indifferent English rhymes is also repeatedly ridiculed. The latter (Florio, p. 574.) once gives a passage from Plautus (_The Captives_, Prologue, v. 22) correctly enough: 'The Gods, perdye (_pardieu_), doe reckon and racket us men as their tennis balls.' Furor Poeticus, in one of his fits of fine frenzy, accuses Phoebus:-- The heavens' promoter that doth peep and prey Into the acts of mortal tennis balls. This he says after having, in the same highly comic speech, travestied Florio's Dedication of the third book, in which that gallant compares himself to 'Mercury between the radiant orbs of Venus and the Moon'--that is, the two ladies to whom he dedicates the book in question, and before whom he alleges he 'leads a dance.' A further sneer is directed by Furor Poeticus against the lazy manner with which Florio's Muse rises from her nest. Additional allusions to dramatic publications from the years 1603-4 will be found on pp. 201, 202. Another proof that the play (_The Return from Parnassus_) cannot be of a uniform cast, is this: In act i. sc. 2 a list of the poets is given, that are to be criticised. The list is kept up in proper succession as far as 'John Davis.' Then there are variations, and names not contained in that list. These additions mostly refer to dramatic authors, whilst the previous names, as far as 'John Davis,' only refer to lyric poets. We believe the intention of the first writer of _The Return from Parnassus_ was only to criticise lyric poets. Moreover, Monius says in the Prologue:--'What is presented here, is an old musty show, that has lain this twelvemonth in the bottom of a coal-house amongst brooms and old shoes.' Our opinion is that _The Return from Parnassus_, after having been acted before a learned public at Cambridge, came into the hands of players who applied the manner in which lyric poets had been criticised in it, to dramatic writers. The authors of the additions must have been friends of Shakspere; for, as we shall find, the enemies of the latter are also theirs. 2: Act iv. sc. 3. 3: In _The Poetaster_, of which we shall speak farther on. 4: According to certain indications in _Satiromastix_, he had an 'ambling' walk, or dancing kind of step. (See _note_ 28.) 5: Collier's _Memoirs of Alleyn_, pp. 50 and 51. 6: _Conversations with Drummond_. 7: _Satiromastix_, 1602. 8: Collier's _Drama_, i. 334. 9: _Poetaster_. 10: Compare his Dedication in _Volpone_, of which we shall have more to say. 11: _Drummond's Conversations_. 12: Of all styles, Jonson liked best to be named 'Honest;' and he 'hath ane hundred letters so naming him.'--_Conversations with Drummond_. 13: _Life of Dryden_, p. 265. 14: By Aubrey called 'Jack Young.' 15: As if the whole world had made it a point to conspire against Jonson, Gifford laboriously exerts himself to defend him against the numberless attacks of all the previous commentators, critics, and biographers. The endeavour of Gifford to whitewash him seems to me as fruitless a beginning as that of the little innocent represented in a picture as trying to change, with sponge and soap, the African colour of her nurse's face. 16: Jonson's _Eulogy of Shakspere_ was composed seven years after the death of the latter. Having most probably been requested by Heminge and Condell not to withhold his tribute from the departed, to whom both his contemporaries as well as posterity had done homage, Jonson may readily have seized the occasion to do amends for the wrong he had inflicted upon the great poet during his lifetime. A later opinion of Jonson in regard to Shakspere (_Timber; or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter_, 1630-37) is of a more moderate tone, and on some points in contradiction to the words of praise contained in the published poem. 17: _Poetaster_, Apol. Dialogue. 18: This Prologue is not contained in the first edition (1598), but only in the second (1616). It may, therefore, have been written in the meantime. It is supposed that it was so in 1606. (See _Shakspere's Century of Praise_, 1879, pp. 118, 119.) 19: Only a few of the earliest productions of Jonson have come down to us. Some of them are: _Every Man in His Humour_ (1598); _Every Man out of His Humour_ (1599); and _Cynthia's Revels_ (1600), all of them full of personal allusions. Many of these are meant against Shakspere. We cannot, however, enter more fully upon that, as we have to confine ourselves to the chief controversy out of which _Hamlet_ arose. Neither on Jonson's nor on Shakspere's part did the controversy cease after the appearance of _Hamlet_. It was still carried on through several dramas, which, however, we leave untouched, as not belonging to our theme. 20: See _note_ 25. 21: In _Satiromastix_ this reproach is made to Ben Jonson:--'Horace did not screw and wriggle himselfe into great Mens famyliarity, impudentlie as thou doost.' 22: Gifford, in his nervous anxiety to parry every reproach against his much-admired, and, in his eyes, blameless Jonson whose quarrelsomeness had from so many parts been properly charged, and particularly desirous of shielding him against the accusation of having taken up an attitude hostile to Shakspere, declares, in contradiction to the opinion of all previous commentators, that _Crispinus_ is to represent John Marston. Since then, Gifford's assertion has been taken for granted, without deeper inquiry. The authority of this fond editor of Jonson has, however, proved an untrustworthy one in many things, especially in matters relating to Shakspere. Thanks to the exertions of more recent inquirers, not a a few things are now seen in a better perspective than Gifford was able to offer. We admit the difficulty of reconstructing facts from productions like _The Poetaster_, which had been dictated by the overwrought feelings of the moment. But in a satire which bred so much 'tumult,' which 'could so deeply offend,' and 'stir so many hornets' (four hundred persons out of five hundred being able to point with their fingers, in one instant, at one and the same man), the characters must have been very broadly drawn for general recognition. By such broad traits we must still be guided in our judgment to-day. All the characteristic qualities of Crispinus, which we shall explain farther on, prove that Gifford's idea about Crispinus being John Marston is not tenable. This latter poet was very well versed in Greek and Latin, and had a complete classic education. The admonition of Horace to perfect himself in both languages, is therefore not applicable to him. Furthermore, Marston, at the time The Poetaster was composed (this may have been towards the end of the year 1600, or the beginning of 1601), had scarcely yet written anything for the stage. Only his _Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's Image and Certaine Satyres_ (1598), and his _Scourge of Villanie_ (1599) had been published. His first tragedy came out in print in 1602; it may just have been in course of becoming known on the stage. We have no means of ascertaining whether it had already been acted when _The Poetaster_ appeared. This much is however certain, that when this latter satire obtained publicity, Marston's relations to the drama and the stage must yet have been of the most insignificant kind; for Philip Henslowe, in his Diary (pp. 156, 157), expressly speaks of him, even in 1599, as a 'new' poet to whom he had lent, through an intermediary, the sum of forty shillings 'in earneste of a Boocke,' the title of which is not mentioned. Is it, then, conceivable that such a dramatist who in 1601 certainly was yet very insignificant, should have been made the subject, in 1601, in Jonson's _Poetaster_, of the following very characteristic remark--assuming Crispinus to have been intended for Marston? Tucca says, in regard to the former, to a poor player (act iii. sc. i):--'If he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel with thy pumps full of gravel any more, after a blind jade and a hamper, and stalk upon boards and barrel-heads to an old cracked trumpet.' Does this not quite fit Shakspere's popularity and dramatic success? Jonson, it is true, tells Drummond that he had written his _Poetaster_ against Marston. (According to his declaration in the 'Apologetical Dialogue,' there is nothing personal in the whole _Poetaster!_ 'I can profess I never writt that piece more innocent or empty of offence.') However, we form our judgment in this matter from the clear, well-marked, and indubitably characteristic traits of the play, as well as from the results of modern criticism, which are fully in harmony with those traits. Everything points to the figure of Ovid being a mask for Marston. Jonson perhaps chose the name of Ovid for him because he, too, had written _Metamorphoses_. Besides the before-mentioned _Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's Image_, it is not improbable that Marston is the author of the manuscript preserved in the British Museum:--_The New Metamorphosis; or, A Feaste or Fancie of Poeticall Legendes. The first parte divided into twelve books. Written by I. M., gent._, 1600. Ovid--Marston--in the _Poetaster_, is described as the younger son of a gentleman of considerable position. He is dependent on a stipend allowed to him by his father. After having absolved his studies, he is to become an advocate, but secretly he devotes his time to poetry. The father warns him that poverty will be his lot if he does not renounce poetry. Ovid senior makes the following reproach to his son (which probably has reference to Marston's first tragedy, _Antonio and Mellida_):--'I hear of a tragedy of yours coming forth for the common players there, called _Medea_. By my household gods, if I come to the acting of it, I'll add one tragic part more than is yet expected to it.... What? shall I have my son a stager now? an enghle for players?... Publius, I will set thee on the funeral pile first!' All this harmonises with the few facts we know of Marston's career, who is said to have been the son of a counsellor of the Middle Temple, who was at Corpus Christi College at Oxford, and who was made a _baccalaureus_ there on February 23, 1592. In comparison with Crispinus and Demetrius, Ovid is but mildly chaffed; and this, again, is in accord with the relations which soon after arose, in a very friendly manner, between Jonson and Marston. It is scarcely to be thought that, if Marston had been derided as Crispinus, he would already have composed, as early as 1603, his eulogistic poem on Jonson's _Sejanus_, and dedicated to him in 1604, in such hearty words, his own _Malcontent_. From some pointed words in the libel composed by Crispinus against Horace, Gifford concludes that the former must be Marston, because we meet with these pointed words in some satires and dramas of Marston. We, on our part, go, in these controversial plays, by the main and most prominent characteristics; and these show that Crispinus is Shakspere, and Ovid Marston. The latter even once says (_Scourge of Villanie_, sat. vi.) that many a one, in reading his _Pigmalion_, has compared him to Ovid. In order to make out Crispinus to be guilty before Augustus, strong language is required. For this purpose, Jonson may have used the way and manners of Marston, and applied some of his newly coined graphic words. But this proves nothing for the identity of characters. The libel also contains a pointed word of Shakspere--'retrograde'--an expression little employed by the latter, and which is hurled as a reproach against Parolles, the figure which in all likelihood is to represent Jonson; Helena (act i. sc. 2) says to him, that he was born under Mars, 'when he was retrograde.' The remark in _The Return from Parnassus_ that few of the University can pen plays well, smelling too much of that writer Ovid and that writer _Metamorphosis_, has, in our opinion, also reference to John Marston whose first dramatic attempts--although he, like Jonson, may be called a 'University man'--do not admit of any comparison with those of Shakspere. 23: Demetrius repentingly admits that it was from envy he had ill-treated Horace, because 'he kept better company for the most part than I, better men loved him than loved me; and his writings thrived better than mine, and were better liked and graced.' 24: The little word 'clutcht' for a long time 'sticks strangely' in Crispinus' throat; it is only thrown up with the greatest difficulty. In _Hamlet_ (act v. sc. i, in the second verse of the grave-digger's song) we hear, 'Hath claw'd me in his _clutch_. In the original song, which is here travestied, the words are, 'Hath claw'd me with his crouch'. 25: The following allusion in _The Poetaster_ (act iv. sc. 3) also has reference to _Twelfth Night_:--'I have read in a book that to play the fool wisely is high wisdom.' For Viola (act iii. sc. i) says:-- This fellow 's wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit... As full of labour as a wise man's art. There are several indications in _The Poetaster_ pointing to Shakspere's _Julius Caesar_ which had appeared in the same year (1601). Not only does Horace say to Trebatius that 'great Caesar's wars cannot be fought with words,' but he also corrects Shakspere, who makes Antony (act iii. sc. 2) speak of Caesar's gardens on this side of the Tiber, by putting into the mouth of Horace (act iii. sc. i) the words:--' On the far side of all Tyber yonder.' In this scene, where the two Pyrgi are examined, there are some more allusions to _Julius Caesar_. Even the boy, whose instrument Brutus takes away when he is asleep, is not wanting. In _The Poetaster_ it is a drum, instead of a lyre (the drum in _All's Well that Ends Well_). And are the following words of the same scene no satire upon act i. sc. 3 of _Julius Caesar_, where Casca and Cicero meet amidst thunder and lightning? 2 _Pyrgi_. Where art thou, boy? where is Calipolis? Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth, And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades; Some foul contagion of the infected heavens Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops The dismal night-raven and tragic owl Breed and become forerunners of my fall! Casca dwells especially on the 'bird of night.' 26: The y, in Pygmalion, seems to us not without cause to be changed by Marston into an i. 27: The number of metaphors used by Shakspere in 'Venus and Adonis,' which Marston travesties, is strikingly large. 28: A few instances may here be given of the coarseness with which Dekker pays back Jonson for his personal allusions. In _The Poetaster_, Crispinus is told that his 'satin-sleeve begins to fret at the rug that is underneath it.' In _Satiromastix_, Tucca cries out against Horace (Jonson):--'Thou never yet fel'st into the hands of sattin.' And again:--'Thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius the stager, and sentest it home lousie.' Crispinus, in _The Poetaster_, is derided on account of his short legs. In _Satiromastix_, Horace is laughed at for his 'ambling' walk; wherefore he had so badly played mad Jeronimo's part. Jonson is reproached with all his sins: that he had killed a player; that he had not thought it necessary to keep his word to those whom he held to be _heretics_ and _infidels_, and so forth. His face, which, as above mentioned, had scorbutic marks, is stated to be 'like a rotten russet apple when it is bruiz'd'; or, like the cover of a warming-pan, 'full of oylet-holes.' He is called an 'uglie Pope Bonifacius;' also a 'bricklayer;' and he is asked why, instead of building chimneys and laying down bricks, he makes 'nothing but railes'--'filthy rotten railes'--upon which alone his Muse leans. ('Railes' has a double meaning here: rails for fencing in a house; and gibes.) He is told that his feet stamp as if he had mortar under them--an allusion to his metrics, as well as to his ambling walk. 29: Shakspere was already then the proprietor of a house--New Place, in Stratford. In this scene Horace also asks Crispinus:--'You have much of the mother in you, sir? Your father is dead?' John Shakspere, the father, died in the year when _The Poetaster_ was first performed--in September, 1601. 30: _Twelfth Night_, act iii. sc. 2. _Sir Toby_:--'Let there be gall in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen.' 31: Here Crispinus threatens Horace with the 'purge' (a word that may be used as a noun or a verb), which, in _The Return from Parnassus_, is mentioned as having been administered by Shakspere to Jonson. It is highly probable that the reconciliation between Crispinus and Horace, which is described in the beginning of _Satiromastix_, had taken place between Shakspere and Ben Jonson, and that, during this period of peace, the performance of _Sejanus_ occurred, in which Shakspere actively co-operated. After that, traces of hostility only are to be discovered between the two poets. Even when Horace, in the 'Satiromastix,' has again broken the peace, the gentle Crispinus says to him:-- Were thy warpt soule put in a new molde, I'd weare thee as a jewell set in golde. 32: The _Satiromastix_ was performed in 1602, probably in the beginning of the year, as the Epilogue speaks of cold weather, and Dekker scarcely would have waited a year with his answer to _The Poetaster_. Queen Elizabeth died in 1603. Another decennium had to pass (Shakspere had long since withdrawn to his Stratford) before the taste of Whitehall had been so much lowered that Jonson could become a favourite of the courtly element. 33: In such type it is printed in the original. 34: In _Satiromastix_, Captain Tucca once bawls out against Horace, 'My name's Hamlet Revenge!' as if it had become known already then in the dramatic world that Shakspere was preparing his reply to _The Poetaster_. In the latter play (act iii. sc. I) which was probably added after _The Poetaster_ had already been acted, and Jonson had heard that Dekker was writing his _Satiromastix_), Jonson makes a player from the other side of the Tiber say:--'We have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play, with all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecaenas, Cornelius Gallus, and the rest....O, it will get us a huge deal of money, Captain, and we have need on't; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many starved snakes. Nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a--' In the same scene Tucca utters curses, before that player, against the theatres on the other side of the Tiber. The actor he addresses belongs to one of them. Tucca mentions two theatres by name--'your Globes, and your Triumphs.' He says to the actor:--'Commend me to seven shares and a half.' Shakespere and his colleagues had certain fixed shares in the 'Globe;' and the words of the actor, as regards the poor winter they had, confirm that which Shakspere gives to understand in _Hamlet_, that 'there was, for a while, no money bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.' VI. 'VOLPONE,' by Ben Jonson. 'EASTWARD HOE,' by Chapman, Ben Jonson, and Marston. 'THE MALCONTENT,' by John Marston. Ben Jonson's 'Volpone' was first acted in 1605; and on February 11, 1607, it appeared in print. [1] It is preceded by a Dedication, in which the author dedicates 'both it and himself' to 'the most noble and most equal sisters, the two famous Universities,' in grateful acknowledgment 'for their love and acceptance shown to this Poem in the presentation.' In this Dedication the most passionate language is used against all contemporary poets--especially against those who now, he says, practise 'in dramatic, as they term it: stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation,' and 'all licence of offence to God and man.' Their petulancy, he continues, 'hath not only rapt me to present indignation, but made me studious heretofore;' for by them 'the filth of the time is uttered, and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy to turn the blood of a Christian to water.' Jonson expresses his purpose of standing off from them (the stage-poets) 'by all his actions.' Solemnly he utters this vow:--'I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and, stripping her out of those rotten and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kist of all the great and master-spirits of our world.' This object of his--he adds--'may most appear in this my latest work ('Volpone'), which you, most learned Arbitresses, have seen, judged, and, to my crown, approved; wherein I have laboured for their instruction and amendment, to reduce, not only the ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesie, to inform men in the best reason of living.' All contemporary dramatists are most pitilessly condemned by Ben Jonson, and the cause of his present indignation is clearly stated: '_A name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, is, through their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age_;' moreover, '_my_ (Jonson's) _fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned, are the question_--that is to say, have been injured. As in 'Volpone,' wherein Jonson, as he states, 'laboured for their (the contemporary poets') instruction and amendment,' we shall find most numerous allusions to Shakspere and 'Hamlet,' we feel justified in asserting that Jonson's whole fury is, in his 'present indignation,' roused against this particular author and against this special drama. Therein, as we have shown, a name of authority, antiquity, and all great mark--Montaigne--has been tampered with, and, through this satire, divers honest and learned (John Florio and his coadjutors in the translation--all friends of Jonson) have been injured, as well as the latter's own fame. In 'Hamlet,' Shakspere brought his own ideal of friendship in the figure of Horatio on the stage, in contrast to the Horace of 'The Poetaster.' Jonson was not the man to be edified by the beautiful examples and the nobler words of his gentle adversary, Shakspere, or to alter his sentiments in accordance with them. He rather welcomed every opportunity for a quarrel. That was the element in which he lived; for thus he got the materials and the spicy condiments for his dramas. Now in 'Hamlet' there were motives enough for lighting up a fire of hatred against Shakspere, and to entertain the public therewith. Jonson, always ready for battle, willingly takes up the pen in their defence. In doing so, the favour of a nobleman and of some high-born ladies could be earned, at whose wish and request Montaigne had been Englished. Besides, every occasion was relished for opposing Shakspere, who had attacked Montaigne whose religious creed was the same as that of Jonson. The British Museum possesses a copy of 'Volpone,' on which Jonson has, with his own hand, written the words:--'_To his loving father and loving freind, Mr. John Florio, the ayde of his Muses: Ben Jonson seals this testemony of freindship and love_.' Not the gift of this little book, however, but its contents--namely, the attack which Jonson made, both for the sake of his friend and for himself, against the great antagonist (Shakspere)--must be held to be the token or '_testemony of freindship and love_.' In the very beginning of the Dedication, Jonson says that every author ought to be heedful of his fame:--'Never, most equal sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent as that it could raise itself, but there must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and favourers to it. If this be true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide well towards these accidents; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of reputation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended.' He then asserts that this is an age in which poetry, and the professors of it, are so ill-spoken of on all sides because, in their petulancy, they have yet to learn that one cannot be a good poet without first being a good man. In the following passage, curiously enough, a certain person is extolled as the model of a good man, against whom the stage dramatists, who themselves, according to Jonson, are not good men ('nothing remaining with them of the dignity of the poet'), have, as he thinks, grievously sinned:--'_He that is said to be able to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them to their first strength;_ [2] _that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than human,_ [3] _a master in manners; and can alone, or with a few, effect the business of mankind:_ [4] _this, I take him, is no subject for pride and ance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon._' In this description we again see Montaigne, against whom 'railing rhetoric' has been used. Ben Jonson proudly points to himself as having never done such mischief: 'For my particular, I can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm that I have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness.' Though--he says--he cannot wholly escape 'from some the imputation of sharpness,' he does not feel guilty of having offered insult to anyone, 'except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon.' But--'I would ask of these supercilious politics, _what nation, society, or general order_ of state I have provoked? ... What public person?_ Whether I have not, in all these, preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? ... Where have I been particular? where personal?' Who does not see in the following words a reproach launched against Shakspere, that he has taken his materials from other writers? Who does not feel that the warning addressed to 'wise and noble persons' has reference to the highly placed protectors of the great rival whose favour Ben Jonson, in spite of his Latin and Greek, was not able to obtain? He says:-- 'Application' (that is, plagiarism) 'is now grown a trade with many; and there are that profess to have a key for the decyphering of everything: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice under other men's simplest meanings.' Jonson then approves of those 'severe and wise patriots' who, in order to provide against 'the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a State,' rather desire to see plays full of 'fools and devils,' and 'those antique relics of barbarism' (he means 'Masques,' which he wrote with great virtuosoship) acted on the stage, than 'behold the wounds of private men, of princes and nations.' And now we come to the passage, partly already quoted, which more than anything else shows that the '_purge_' which 'our fellow Shakspere gave him'--'Hamlet'--must have greatly damaged, in the eyes of the public, both the reputation of Jonson and of his friends. He confesses it in these remarkable words:-- '_I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned are the question; when a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, is, through their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age; and those men subject to the petulancy of every vernaculous orator, that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarchs_.' [5] Is there a character, we may ask, not only in Shakspere's dramas, but in any play of that period, to which the description given by Jonson could apply?--of course, Hamlet always excepted, who is but a mask for Montaigne. And who else but Montaigne is designated by the expressions: 'a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark;' 'the care of kings and happiest monarchs?' That the 'railing rhetoric' in which such a character was derided, could not be contained in a satirical poem, but had reference to a drama, is proved, as already explained, by the fact of Jonson's wrath being directed against the stage-poets. He says expressly, that henceforth, by all his actions, he will 'stand off from them.' To the most learned authorities, the two Universities, he announces that, by his own regular art, he intends giving these wayward disciples of Dramatic Poesy proper instruction and amendment. Had his object not been to strike the most popular of the stage-poets--Shakspere--he would have been bound to make an exception for that name of which everyone must have thought first when stage-poets were subjected to reproof. We repeat: Jonson only intended measuring himself against him who was the greatest of his time. This was fully in accordance with his disputatious inclination. [6] The person once '_wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarchs_' [7] must have been a foreigner, for we do not know of any favourite '_full of authority and antiquity_' who enjoyed such high privilege from English kings. However, if a dramatist had been bold enough to put such a favourite on the stage, he would have met with the most severe punishment long before Jonson had pointed out his reprehensible audacity. By the '_happiest monarchs_,' Henry III. and Henry IV. of France are meant. The latter, at that time, yet stood in the zenith of his good fortune. Again, the expression: '_of every vernaculous orator_,' points to the circumstance of the mockery being directed against a foreigner; and the same may be said of Jonson's question, addressed to supercilious politicians, as to what nation, society, or general order of State he had provoked? Clearly, another nation, a society of different modes of thought than the English one, and foreign institutions, are here indicated. We now come to some hints contained in 'Volpone,' which partly consist of an endeavour to expose Shakspere on account of plagiarisms committed against other writers, partly of references to irreligious tendencies, against which Jonson warns, and which he strives to ridicule. Under the existing strict laws which forbade religious questions being discussed on the stage, the latter references had to be made in parable manner, but still not too covertly, so that they might be understood by a certain audience--namely, the members of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. [8] Already, in the Prologue of his 'Volpone,' Jonson says of himself that-- In all his poems still hath been this measure, To mix profit with your pleasure. He also despises certain deceptive tricks of composition:-- Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, To stop gaps in his loose writing; With such a deal of monstrous and forced action, As might make Bethlem a faction: Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, But makes jests to fit his fable.... The laws of time, place, persons he observeth, From no needful rule he swerveth. In the observance of the technical rules of the classic drama--this much Jonson could certainly prove to the world--he was superior to Shakspere. The severe words: 'monstrous and forced action,' can only refer to a drama written not long before; for, in 'Volpone,' Jonson wishes to give to the stage-poets of his time his own ideal of a drama. 'Bethlem' (Bedlam) indicates madness round which all kinds of lunatics might gather as factionaries or adherents of the kind of drama which Jonson wishes to stigmatise. Do we go too far in thinking that 'Hamlet' is the play which is made the target of allusions in this very Prologue? However, we proceed at once to the Interlude which follows after the first scene of the first act of 'Volpone.' In it, Shakspere himself is practically put on the stage, by being asked: how of late thou hast suffered translation, And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. This Interlude is in no connection with the course of the dramatic action. Mosca, a parasite, brings in, for the entertainment of his master (Volpone), three merry Jack Andrews. One of them, Androgyno, must be held to be SHAKSPERE. Here we have to note that Francis Meres, a scholar of great repute, and M.A. of both Universities, wrote in 1598 a book, entitled 'Palladis Tamia,' which in English he calls 'Wit's Treasury.' It contains, so far as the sixteenth century is concerned, the most valuable statements as regards Shakspere: nay, the only trustworthy ones dating from that century. In that work, Meres classifies and criticises the poets of his time and country by comparing each of them with some Greek or Roman poet, kindred to the corresponding English one in the line of production chosen and in quality. Ben Jonson is only mentioned once, at a very modest place; his name stands last, after Chapman and Dekker. Meres confers upon Shakspere most enthusiastic but just praise:-- 'As the soule of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras: so the sweete, wittie soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and hony-tongued Shakespeare; witness his 'Venus and Adonis;' his 'Lucrece;' his sugred 'Sonnets' among his private friends.... As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy amongst the Latines: so Shakspere among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage.' He then mentions twelve of his plays, [9] and thus concludes his eulogy:-- 'As Epius Stolo said that the Muses would speake with Plautus tongue, if they would speak Latin: so I say that the Muses would speak with Shakespeare's fine filed phrases if they would speake English.' The envious Jonson who pledges himself, in the Dedication to the two Universities, to give back to Poesy its former majesty, may have considered it necessary, before all, to deride, before a learned audience, the enthusiastic praise conferred by Francis Meres upon Shakspere, as well as Shakspere himself on account of the free religious tendencies he had expressed in 'Hamlet' This is done, as we said, in the Interlude prepared by Mosca for the entertainment of his master. Volpone boasts of the clever manner with which he gains riches:-- I use no trade, no venture; I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron, Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder: ... expose no ships To threatenings of the furrow-faced sea; I turn no monies in the public bank, Nor usure private. Mosca, in order to flatter his master, continues the speech of the latter in the same strain:-- ... No, sir, nor devour Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it; [10] Tear forth the fathers of poor families Out of their beds, and coffin them alive In some kind clasping prison, where their bones May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten: But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses; You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries Ring in the roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. We have here an allusion to Hamlet, [11] where he asks the Ghost why the sepulchre has opened its 'ponderous and marble jaws' to cast him up again; also to the Queen and whilom widow; and, furthermore, to the orphans, Ophelia and Laertes, and to the tears shed by the latter at his sister's death. The cry of vengeance refers to the similar utterances of the Ghost, of Hamlet, and of Laertes, who all seek revenge. Mosca, with a view of preparing for his master a pleasure more suitable to his taste than that which a play like 'Hamlet,' we suppose, could afford him, brings in the three gamesters:--Nano, a dwarf; Castrone, a eunuch; and Androgyne, a hermaphrodite. [12] The latter is meant to represent Shakspere; for he is introduced by Nano as a soul coming from Apollo, which migrated through Euphorbus and Pythagoras (Meres uses these two names in his eulogy of the soul of Shakspere). [13] After having recounted several other stages in the migration of Androgyne's soul (we shall mention them further on), the latter has to give an answer why he has 'shifted his coat in these days of reformation,' and why his 'dogmatical silence' has left him. He replies that an obstreperous 'Sir Lawyer' had induced him to do so. From this it may be concluded that Bacon had some influence on Shakspere's 'Hamlet.' Are not, in poetical manner, the same principles advocated in 'Hamlet,' which Bacon promoted in science? [14] After the Hermaphrodite has admitted that he has become 'a good dull mule,' [15] he avows that he is now a very strange beast, an ass, an actor,a hermaphrodite, and a fool; and that he more especially relishes this latter condition of his, for in all other forms, as Jonson makes him confess, he has 'proved most distressed.' [16] Let us now quote from this Interlude some highly-spiced satirical passages. Nano, the dwarf, coming in with Androgyno and Castrone, asks for room for the new gamesters or players, and says to the public:-- They do bring you neither play, nor university show; And therefore do intreat you that whatsoever they rehearse, May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse. [17] If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, For know, here [18] is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras, [19] That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow; Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo. It is explained how that soul afterwards transmigrated into 'the goldy-locked Euphorbus who was killed, in good fashion, at the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta;' how it then passed into Hermotimus, 'where no sooner it was missing, but with one Pyrrhus of Delos [20] it learned to go a-fishing;' [21] how thence it did enter the Sophist of Greece, Pythagoras. After having been changed into whom, she became a philosopher, Crates the cynick, as itself doth relate it: [22] Since kings, knights and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools get it, Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock, [23] In all which it has spoke, as in the cobbler's cock. [24] Nano's present intention, however, is not to refer to such things:-- But I come not here to discourse of that matter, Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, BY QUATER, [25] His musics,[26] his trigon, his golden thigh, [27] Or his telling how elements [28] shift: but I Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered translation And shifted thy coat in these days of Reformation. _Androgyno_. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, COUNTING ALL OLD DOCTRINE HERESIE. _Nano_. But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured. _Androgyno_. On fish, when first a Carthusian I entered.[29] _Nano_. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee? _Androgyno_. Of that an _obstreperous_ lawyer bereft me. _Nano_. O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee! For Pythagore's sake, what body then took thee? _Androgyno_. A good dull mule. _Nano_. And how! by that means Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans? _Androgyno_. Yes. _Nano_. But from the mule into whom didst thou pass? _Androgyno_. Into a very strange beast, by some writers called an ass; By others, a precise, pure, _illuminate brother_, Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another; And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, Betwixt every spoonful of a Nativity [30] pie. Nano then admonishes Androgyno to quit that profane nation. Androgyno answers that he gladly remains in the shape of a fool and a hermaphrodite. To the question of Nano, as to whether he likes remaining a hermaphrodite in order to 'vary the delight of each sex,' Androgyno replies:-- Alas, those pleasures be stale and forsaken; No 't is your fool wherewith I am so taken, The only one creature that I can called blessed; For all other forms I have proved most distressed. _Nano_. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still. This learned opinion we celebrate will,... With a song, praising fools, the Interlude closes. In act ii. sc. 2, after Mosca and Volpone have erected a stage upon the stage, Volpone enters, disguised as a mountebank, and abuses those 'ground ciarlatani' (charlatans, impostors) 'who come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccaccio.' Then there is a most clear allusion to Hamlet (act iv. sc. 6), where he informs his friend Horatio, by letter, of his voyage to England when he was made prisoner by pirates, who dealt with him 'like thieves of mercy.' A further remark of Volpone on 'base pilferies,' and 'wholesome penance done for it,' may be taken as a hit against Hamlet's 'fingering' the packet to 'unseal their grand commission;' for which, in Jonson's view, he would be forced by his father confessor, in a well-regulated Roman Catholic State, to do penance. This is what Volpone says:-- 'No, no, worthy gentlemen; to tell you true, I cannot endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlatani, that ... come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccaccio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist; some of them discoursing their travels; and of their tedious captivity [31] in the Turks' galleys, when, indeed, were the truth known, they were the Christians' gallies, where very temperately they eat bread and drunk water, as a wholesome penance, [32] enjoined them by their confessors for base pilferies.' Shakspere, as we have already explained, got a 'pill' in 'The Poetaster,' whereupon 'our fellow Shakespeare,' as is maintained in the 'Return from Parnassus,' 'has given him' (Jonson) 'a purge that made him bewray his credit' Now Ben, clearly enough, calls this answer of the great adversary--a 'finely wrapt-up antimony,' whereby minds 'stopped with earthy oppilations,' are purged into another world. Volpone says:--'These turdy-facy, nasty-paty, lousy-fartical rogues, with one poor groat's worth of unprepared antimony, finely wrapt up in several scartoccios (covers), [33] are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, and play; yet these meagre, starved spirits, who have stopt the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shrivelled sallad-eating artizans, [34] who are overjoyed that they may have their half-pe'rth of physic; though it purge them into another world, it makes no matter.' Jonson then continues his satire against 'Hamlet' by making Volpone, disguised as a mountebank, sell medicine which is to render that 'purge' ('Hamlet') perfectly innocuous. He calls his medicine 'Oglio del Scoto:' [35] good for strengthening the nerves; a sovereign remedy against all kinds of illnesses; and, 'it stops a dysenteria, immediately.' Nano praises its miraculous effects in a song:-- Had old Hippocrates, or Galen, That to their books put med'cines all in, But known this secret, they had never (Of which they will be guilty ever) Been murderers of so much paper, Or wasted many a hurtless taper; No Indian drug had e'er been famed, Tobacco, sassafras not named; Ne yet of guacum one small stick, sir, Nor Raymund Lully's great elixir. Ne had been known the _Danish Gonswart_, Or Paracelsus, with his long sword. Is not HAMLET here as good as indicated by name? The Danish Prince appears on the stage in his 'inky cloak.' No doubt, Jonson picked up the word 'Gonswart' (_gansch-zwart_, in Flemish) among his Flemish, Dutch, and other Nether-German comrades of war in the Low Countries. Surely, the Danish Prince 'All-Black' is none else but Hamlet clad in black. In the same scene, the connection between Hamlet and Ophelia also is satirically pulled to pieces. In 'Eastward Hoe' (1605), Jonson and his party do the same in the most indecent and most despicable manner. Nano, praising the sublime virtues of the 'Oglio del Scoto,' sings:-- Would you live free from all diseases? Do the act your mistress pleases, Yet fright all aches from your bones? Here's a medicine for the nones. [36] The scene of the action in 'Volpone' is laid in Venice. During the whole scene above-mentioned, Sir Politick Would-Be and a youthful gentleman-traveller are present Others have already pointed out that, by the former, Shakspere is meant. [37] The traveller, Peregrine, is a youth whom the jealous Lady Politick once declares to be 'a female devil in a male outside,'--again an allusion to Shakspere's 'two loves' which he himself describes in Sonnet 144. The words, also, with which Hamlet (act iii. sc. 3) praises his friend Horatio (the Shaksperian ideal of a Horace) are ridiculed by Jonson in this scene. Sir Politick Would-Be says to Peregrine:-- Well, if I could but find one man, one man, To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would-- When the stage is raised on the theatre for Volpone, who is disguised as a quacksalver, Sir Politick wishes to enlighten Peregrine as to the fellows that 'mount the bank.' [38] We need not explain that this is directed against the 'so-called stage-poets' and players. It will easily be perceived that the meaning of the subsequent conversation is the same as in the Preface of 'Volpone,' where Jonson says that 'wis and noble persons 'ought to' take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames.' Sir Politick (describing the fellows, one of which is to mount the bank) says:-- They are the only knowing men of Europe! Great general scholars, excellent physicians, [39] Most admired statesmen, profest favourites, And Cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes; The only languaged men of all the world! _Peregrine_. And I have heard, they are most lewd [40] impostors Made all of terms and shreds, no less beliers Of great men's favours, than their own vile med'cines... In act iv. sc. 1, Sir Politick gives counsels to the young Peregrine, which are a manifest satire upon Polonius' fatherly farewell speech to Laertes; and here again, let it be observed, religious tendencies are made the subject of persiflage. _Sir Politick_. First, for your garb, it must be grave and serious Very reserved and locked; not tell a secret On any terms, not to your father; scarce A fable, but with caution; make sure choice Both of your company and your discourse; beware You never speak a truth--.... And then, for your religion, profess none, But wonder at the diversity of all; And, for your part, protest, were there no other But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content you. Nic Machiavel and Monsieur Bodin, both Were of this mind. In act iii. sc. 2, it is openly said that English authors namely, such as understand Italian, have stolen from Pastor Fido 'almost as much as from MONTAIGNI�' (Montaigne). In vain we have looked for traces of Montaigne's Essays in other dramas that have come down to us from that epoch. That Shakspere must have been conversant with the Italian tongue, Charles Armitage Brown has tried to prove, and according to our opinion he has done so successfully. [41] The talkative Lady Politick wishes to offer some distraction to the apparently sick Volpone. She recommends him an Italian book in these words:-- All our English writers, I mean such as are happy in the Italian, Will deign to steal out of this author mainly; Almost as much as from _Montagnié_: [42] He has so modern and facile a vein, Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear! [43] When Sir Politick (act v. sc. 2) is to be arrested (he is suspected of having got up a conspiracy, and betrayed the Republic of Venice to the Turks), he asserts his innocence; and when his papers are to be examined, he exclaims:-- Alas, Sir! I have none but notes Drawn out of play-books-- And some essays. [44] Mosca (act i-v. sc. 2), spurring on his counsel, says:-- Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue, Or the _French Hercules_ [45] and make your language As conquering as his club, to beat along, As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries. Hamlet, when asked by the King how he 'calls the play, answers:--'_The Mouse-trap_.' Mosca calls his own cunningness with which he thinks he can overreach his master, the '_Fox-trap_.' If our intention were not to restrict this treatise to desirable limits, many more satirical passages might be pointed out in 'Volpone,' which are manifestly directed against 'Hamlet' and Shakspere. Those who take a deeper interest in the subject, will discover not a few passages of this kind in 'Volpone.' In 1605--we believe, a few months before 'Volpone' [46]--'Eastward Hoe' came out, a comedy written by Ben Jonson, Chapman, and Marston, in which, as already stated, the connection between Hamlet and Ophelia is derided in a low, burlesque manner. Shakspere, in order to flagellate Montaigne's mean views about womankind, puts into the mouth of Ophelia, when she has no longer the control of her tongue, the hideous words:--'Come, my coach!' and 'Oh, how the wheel become it!' [47] This is a satirical hit, rapidly indicated, but only understood by those who had carefully read Montaigne's book. Ben Jonson, Chapman, and Marston try to make capital out of these expressions, by deriding and denouncing them to the crowd, in order to defame Shakspere. Girtred (Gertrud, name of Hamlet's mother, the Queen,) is the figure under which Ophelia is ridiculed in 'Eastward Hoe.' [48] The first is a girl of loosest manners. Her ambition torments her to marry a nobleman, in order to obtain a 'coach.' To her mother (Mrs. Touchstone) she incessantly speaks words of most shameless indecency, which cannot be repeated; more especially as regards her 'coach,' for which she asks ever and anon. A lackey, called _Hamlet_, must procure it to her. We will give some fragments of that scene. The remainder cannot be offered to a modern circle of general readers. _Enter_ Hamlet, _a Foote-man, in haste_. _Hamlet_. What coachman--my ladye's coach! for shame! Her ladiship's readie to come down. _Enter_ Potkinne, _a Tankard-bearer_. _Potkinne_. 'Sfoote! Hamlet, are you madde? Whither run you nowe? You should brushe up my olde mistresse! Thereupon neighbours come together, all impelled by the greatest curiosity 'to see her take coach,' and wishing to congratulate her. _Gertrud_. Thank you, good people! My coach for the love of Heaven, my coach! In good truth, I shall swoune else. _Hamlet_. Coach, coach, my ladye's coach! [_Exit_ Hamlet. After a little conversation between mother and daughter, which we must leave out, Hamlet enters again: _Hamlet_. Your coach is coming, madam. _Gertrud_. That's well said. Now Heaven! methinks I am eene up to the knees in preferment.... But a little higher, but a little higher, but a little higher! There, there, there lyes Cupid's fire! _Mrs. Touchstone_. But must this young man (Hamlet), an't please you, madam, run by your coach all the way a foote? _Gertrud_. I by my faith, I warrant him; hee gives no other milke, as I have another servant does. _Mrs. Touchstone_. Ahlas! 'tis eene pittie meethinks; for God's sake, madam, buy him but a hobbie horse; let the poore youth have something betwixt his legges to ease 'hem. Alas! we must doe as we would be done too. That is all we dare to quote from this comedy; but it quite suffices to characterise the meanness of the warfare which Jonson's clique carried on against Shakspere. However, the lofty ideas contained in 'Hamlet' could not be lowered by such an attack; they became the common property of the best and noblest. Those ideas were of too high a range, too abstract in their nature, to be easily made a sport of before the multitude. A few pleasantries, used by Shakespeare in a moment of easy-going style, were laid hold of maliciously, and caricatured most indecently, by his antagonists, in order to entertain the common crowd there with. Innocent children, moreover, were made to act such satires: 'little eyases, that cry out on the top of the question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages.' Not less than in 'Volpone,' the tendency of 'Hamlet' as regards religious questions is, in the most evident manner, ridiculed in John Marston's 'Malcontent.' Although this satire (so the play is called in the preface 'To the Reader') appeared before 'Volpone,' we yet thought it more useful first to speak of Jonson's comedy being the work of Shakspere's most formidable adversary. 'The Malcontent' was printed in 1604; and soon afterwards (in the same year) a second edition appeared, augmented by the author, as well as enriched by a few additions from the pen of John Webster. [49] The play is preceded by a Latin Dedication to Ben Jonson, which sufficiently shows that a close friendship must have existed, at that time, between the two. [50] The satire is replete with phrases taken from 'Hamlet' for the purpose of mockery; and they are introduced in the loosest, most disconnected manner, thus doubly showing the intention and purpose. Marston's style is pointedly described in 'The Return from Parnassus;' and we do not hesitate to say that the following criticism was written in consequence of his 'Malcontent:'-- Methinks he is a ruffian in his style, Withouten bands or garters' ornament: He quaffs a cup of Frenchman's [51] Helicon, Then roister doister in his oily terms, Cuts, thrusts, and foins at whomsoever he meets... Tut, what cares he for modest close-couch'd terms, Cleanly to gird our looser libertines?... Ay, there is one, that backs a paper steed, And manageth a penknife gallantly, Strikes his poinardo at a button's breadth, Brings the great battering-ram of terms to towns; And, at first volley of his cannon-shot, Batters the walls of the old fusty world. Who else can be indicated by the 'One' but Shakspere? To Marston's hollow creations, which drag the loftiest ideas through the mire to amuse the vulgar, the sublime and serious discourses of Shakspere are opposed, which are destined to afford profoundest instruction. Is not the whole tendency of 'Hamlet' described in the last two lines just quoted, in which it is stated that under this poet's attack the walls of the _old fusty world_ are battered down? [52] The chief character in 'The Malcontent' is a Duke of Genoa. Marston, in his preface 'To the Reader,' lays stress on the fact of this Duke being, not an historical personage, but a creation of fiction, so 'that even strangers, in whose State I laid my scene, should not from thence draw any disgrace to any, dead or living.' After having complained that, in spite of this endeavour of his, there are some who have been 'most unadvisedly over-cunning in misinterpreting' him, and, 'with subtletie, have maliciously spread ill rumours,' he goes on declaring that he desires 'to satisfie every firme spirit, who in all his actions proposeth to himself no more ends then God and vertue do, whose intentions are alwaies simple.' Those only he means to combat 'whose unquiet studies labor innovation, contempt of holy policie, reverent comely superioritie and establisht unity.' He fears not for the rest of his 'supposed tartnesse; but unto every worthy minde it will be approved so generall and honest as may modestly passe with the freedome of a satyre.' That this satire could only be directed against 'Hamlet,' every one will be convinced who spends a short hour in reading Marston's 'Malcontent.' Here, too, we must confine ourselves to pointing out only the most important allusions; especially such as refer to religion. Indeed, we would have to copy the whole play, in order to make it fully clear how much Marston, with his undoubted talent for travesty, has succeeded in grotesquely deriding the lofty, noble tone of Shakspere's drama. The chief character in 'The Malcontent' is Malevole, the Duke of Genoa before-mentioned, who has been wrongfully deprived of the crown. With subtle dissimulation, disguised and unknown, he hangs about the Court. Against the ladies especially, whom he all holds to be adulteresses, he entertains the greatest mistrust. He watches every one; but most closely women. He is the image of mental distemper; and Pietro, the ruling Duke, describes him in act i. sc. 2 by saying that 'the elements struggle within him; his own soule is at variance within her selfe;' he is 'more discontent than Lucifer.' In short, he confers upon him all the qualities of a 'Hamlet' character. Whenever religious questions are addressed to Malevole, we have to look upon him as the very type of Shakspere himself, whom Marston takes to task for his spirit of 'innovation' and his 'contempt of holy policie and establisht unity.' Shakspere, it ought to be remembered, had scourged Ben Jonson under the figure of Malvolio. Marston, who dedicates 'The Malcontent' to Jonson, no doubt wished to please Jonson by calling the chief character, which represents Shakspere, Malevole. The play opens with an abominable charivari. ('The vilest out-of-time musicke being heard.') This is partly a hit against the Globe Theatre where--as we see from Shakspere's dramas--music was often introduced in a play; partly it is to indicate the disharmony of Malevole's mind. Only a few travesties may be mentioned here, before we quote the treatment of religious questions. In act i. sc. 7 (here the scene is ridiculed in which Hamlet, with drawn sword, stands behind the King), Pietro enters, 'his sword drawne.' _Pietro_. A mischiefe fill thy throate, thou fowle-jaw'd slave! Say thy praiers! _Mendozo_. I ha forgot um. _Pietro_. Thou shall die. _Mendozo_. So shall Ihou. I am heart-mad. _Pietro_. I am horne-mad. _Mendozo_. Extreme mad. _Pietro. Monstrously mad. _Mendozo_. Why? _Pietro_. Why? thou, thou hast dishonoured my bed. Hamlet's words: [53]--'O, most wicked speed, to post with such dexterity to incestuous sheets!' are so often ridiculed because Shakspere, instead of the word 'bed,' uses the more unusual 'sheets.' Aurelia [54] speaks of 'chaste sheets,' Malevole [55] prophesies that 'the Dutches (Duke, Doge) sheets will smoke for't ere it be long.' Mendozo [56] 'hates all women, waxe-lightes, antique bed-postes,' &c.; 'also sweete sheetes.' Aurelia, parodying the words Hamlet addresses to his mother, asks herself: 'O, judgement, where have been my eyes? What bewitched election made me dote on thee? what sorcery made me love thee?' The counsel which Hamlet gives to his mother 'to throw away the worser part of her cleft heart,' Pietro ridicules in act i. sc. 7:-- My bosome and my heart, When nothing helps, cut off the rotten part. The splendid speech of Hamlet: 'What a piece of work is man!' sounds from Mendozo's [57] lips thus:--'In body how delicate; in soule how wittie; in discourse how pregnant; in life how warie; in favours how juditious; in day how sociable; in night how!--O pleasure unutterable!' Hamlet's little monologue: [58] 'Tis now the very witching time of night,' runs thus with Mendozo:--[59] 'Tis now about the immodest waste of night; The mother of moist dew with pallide light Spreads gloomie shades about the mummed earth. Sleepe, sleepe, whilst we contrive our mischiefes birth. Then, parodying Hamlet as he draws forth the dead Polonius from behind the arras, Mendozo says:-- This man Ile (I'll) get inhumde. Thus, all kinds of Shaksperian incidents and locutions are brought forward, wherever they are apt to produce the most comic effect. Several times, from the beginning, the 'weasel' is mentioned with which Hamlet rallies Polonius. We also hear of the 'sponge which sucks'--a simile used by Hamlet (act iv. sc. 3) in regard to Rosencrantz. Nor is the 'true-penny' forgotten--a word used by Hamlet [60] to designate his father's ghost as a true and genuine one; nor the 'Hillo, ho, ho.' In all these allusions, of which an attentive reader might easily find scores, there is no systematic order of thoughts. Only in the religious questions we meet with a clear system: they are all addressed to Malevole, who is represented as a kind of freethinker, similar to the one whom Marston, in his preface, wishes to be outlawed, and of whom he says that he fully merits the 'tartness' and freedom of his satire. In the very beginning of 'The Malcontent,' Pietro asks Malevole: I wonder what religion thou art of? _Malevole_. Of a souldiers religion. [61] _Pietro_. And what doost thinke makes most infidells now? _Malevole_. Sects. Sects! I have seene seeming Pietie change her roabe so oft, that sure none but some arch-divell can shape her pitticoate. _Pietro_. O! a religious pllicie. _Malevole_. But damnation on a politique religion! In act ii. sc. 5 we find the following:-- _Malevole_. I meane turne pure Rochelchurchman. [62] I-- _Mendozo_. Thou Churchman! Why? Why? _Malevole_. Because He live lazily, raile upon authoritie, deny Kings supremacy in things indifferent, and be a pope in mine owne parish. _Mendozo_. Wherefore doost thou thinke churches were made? _Malevole_. To scowre plow-shares. I have seene oxen plow uppe altares: _Et nunc seges ubi Sion fuit_. Then there is again what appears to be an allusion to Hamlet, act i. sc. 4, resembling that in 'Volpone':-- I have seen the stoned coffins of long-flead Christians burst up and made hogs troughs. In act iv. sc. 4, Mendozo says to Malevole, whom he wishes to use for the murder of a hermit:-- Yea, provident. Beware an hypocrite! A Church-man once corrupted, Oh avoide! A fellow that makes religion his stawking horse. He breeds a plague. Thou shalt poison him. From the many hints in 'Volpone' and in 'The Malcontent,' it clearly follows that Shakspere was to be represented, in those dramas, before the public at large, as an Atheist. [63] According to Jonson, he counted 'ALL OLD DOCTRINE HERESIE.' According to Marston, he had an aversion for all sects, and 'CONTEMPT OF HOLY POLICIE, REVERENT COMELY SUPERIORITIE, AND ESTABLISHT UNITIE.' We hope we have convinced our readers that Shakspere spoke in matters of religion as clearly as his 'tongue-tied muse' [64] permitted him to do. Above all, we think of having successfully proved that the controversy of 'Hamlet' is directed against doctrines which assert that there is nothing but evil in human nature. Shakspere's prophetic glance saw the pernicious character of Montaigne's inconsistent thoughts, which, unable to place us in sound relation to the Universe, only succeed in making men pass their lives in subtle reflection and unmanly, sentimental inaction. Shakspere, intending to avert the blighting influence of such a philosophy from the best and foremost of his country, wrote his 'Hamlet.' As a truly heaven-born poet he bound for ever, by Thought's enduring chain, All that flows unfixed and undefined In glimmering phantasy before the mind. In spite of the powerful impression his master-work, 'Hamlet,' has made upon all thinking minds, the deepest and most serious meaning of Shakspere's warning words could not have been fathomed by the many. The parables through which a Prophet spoke were cast into the form of a theatrical play, not easy to understand for the mass of men; for 'tongue-tied' was his Muse by earthly powers. And Shakspere deeply felt the disgrace of being compelled to give forth his utterances in so dubious a manner. His Sonnets [65] express the feeling that weighed upon him on this account. Had he not 'gor'd his own thoughts,' revealed his innermost soul? Yet, now, his narrow-minded fellow-dramatists--but no! not fellow-dramatists: mere contemporary playwrights, immeasurably far behind him in rank--eaten up, as they were, with envy and jealous malice, meanly derided everything sacred to him; holding up his ideals to ridicule before a jeering crowd. It has long ago been surmised that Sonnet lxvi. belongs to the 'Hamlet' period. But now it will be better understood why that sonnet speaks of 'a maiden virtue rudely strumpeted; [66] of 'right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, and strength by limping sway disabled;' of 'simple truth miscall'd simplicity.' These are the full words of this mighty sigh of despair:-- Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry-- As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-ty'd by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain ill: Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 'Purest faith unhappily forsworn' was Shakspere's faith in God--without any 'holy policie' and without 'old doctrines'--trusting above all in the majesty of ennobled human nature. He was a veritable Humanist, the truest and greatest, who ever strove to raise the most essential part of human nature, man's soul and mind, yet by no mean supernatural, but by 'mean that Nature makes.' Shakspere's 'Hamlet' appears to us like a solemn admonition to his distinguished friends. He showed them, under the guise of that Prince, a nobleman without fixed ideal--'virtues which do not go forth' to assert themselves, and to do good for the sake of others--noble life wasted, letting the world remain 'out of joint' without determined will to set it right: this was the poet's prophetic warning. One aspiration of Shakspere clearly shines through his career, in whatever darkness it may otherwise be enveloped--namely, his longing to acquire land near the town he was born in. When he had realised this ambition, he cheerfully seems to have left the splendour of town life, and to have readily renounced all literary fame; for he did not even care to collect his own works. He was contented to cultivate his native soil: a giant Antaeus who, as the myth tells us, ever had to touch Mother Earth to regain his strength. 1: _Volpone_ is stated to have been first acted in the Globe Theatre in 1605. It is simply impossible that this drama, in its present shape, should have been given in that theatre as long as Shakspere was actively connected with it. We therefore must assume that Shakspere--as Delius holds it to be probable--had at that time already withdrawn to Stratford, or that the biting allusions which are contained in _Volpone_ against the great Master, had been added between 1605 (the year of its first performance) and 1607 (the year of its appearance in print). We consider the latter opinion the likelier one, as we suspect, from allusions in _Epicoene_, that Shakspere, when this play was published, still resided in London. However, it is also probable that in 1605 he may for a while have withdrawn from the stage. 2: In this enumeration, Jonson seems to have the various Qualities of the Essays in view which Florio calls 'Morall, Politike, and Millitarie.' 3: Against Montaigne, '_the teacher of things divine no less than human_,' Shakspere's whole argumentation in 'Hamlet' is directed. 4: Here we have the noble Knight of the Order of St. Michael, as well as the courtier and Mayor of Bordeaux. 5: Montaigne was Knight of the Order of St. Michael, and Chamberlain of Henry III. He was on terms of friendship with Henry IV. Both Kings he had as guests in his own house. In his _Essai de Vanitie_, Montaigne also relates with great pride and satisfaction, that during his sojourn at Rome he was made a burgess of that city, 'the most noble that ever was, or ever shall be.' 6: In spite of Gifford's protest we do not hesitate to maintain that Jonson's Epigram LVI. (_On Poet-Ape_) is directed against Shakspere, and that the poet whom Jonson--in the Epistle XII. (_Forest_) to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland--abuses, is also none else than Shakspere. 7: Montaigne died in 1592. 8: We can only quote the most striking points, and must leave it to the reader who takes a deeper interest in the subject, to give his own closer attention to the dramas concerning the controversy. 9: _Gentlemen of Verona_; _Comedy of Errors_; _Love's Labour Lost_; _Love's Labour Won_ (probably _All's Well that Ends Well_); _Midsummer Night's Dream_; _Merchant of Venice_. Of Tragedies: _Richard the Second_; _Richard the Third_; _Henry the Fourth_; _King John_; _Titus Andronicus_; _Romeo and Juliet_. 10: As the words that follow seem to contain an allusion to Shakspere's _Hamlet_, it is to be supposed that by the 'melting heir' Jonson points to some protector of the great poet. Whether this be William Herbert, or the Earl of Southampton, we must leave undecided. 11: Act i. sc. 4. 12: Jonson probably calls Shakspere an hermaphrodite because, having a wife, he cultivated an intimate friendship at the same time with William Herbert, the later Earl of Pembroke. Jonson's _Epicoene, or The Silent Woman_ (1609) satirises this connection. We are not the first in making this assertion. (See _Sonnets of Shakspere Solved_, by Henry Brown: London, 1876, p. 16.) In Epicoene a College is described, which is stated to be composed of women. Instead of women, we may boldly assume men to be meant. Truewitt thus describes the new Society:-- 'A new foundation, Sir, here in the town, of ladies, that call themselves the Collegiates: an order between courtiers and country madams that live from their husbands, and give entertainment to all the wits and braveries of the time, as they call them: cry down, or up, what they like or dislike in a brain or a fashion, with most masculine or rather hermaphroditical authority; and every day gain to their College some new probationer. _Clerimont_. Who is the president? _Truewitt_. The grave and youthful matron, the Lady Haughty.' Shakspere at that time was in the 'matronly' age of forty-five. We have seen how a 'dislike in a brain' has been expressed in _Hamlet_. 13: The name of Ovid, likewise used in that eulogy, Jonson assigned, in his _Poetaster_, to Marston. (See _note_ 22 at end of Section V.) 14: It would have been most strange, indeed, if the two greatest geniuses of their time had not exercised some influence on each other; if the greatest thinker of that age had not given some suggestive thoughts to the poet; and if the poet had not animated the thinker to the cultivation of art, inducing him to offer his philosophical thoughts in beautiful garment. Hence Mrs. Henry Pott may have found vestiges of a more perfected and nobler style in Bacon's _Diaries_, on which she founded her wild theory. Had not Kant and Fichte great influence on their contemporary, Schiller? Does not Goethe praise the influence exercised by Spinoza upon him? Let us assume that the latter two had been contemporaries; that they had lived in the same town. Would it not have been extraordinary if they had remained intellectual strangers to each other, instead of drawing mutual advantage from their intercourse? Why should Bacon not have been one of the noblemen who, after the performance of a play, were initiated, in the Mermaid Tavern, into the more hidden meaning of a drama? Is it not rather likely that Bacon drew Shakspere's attention to the inconsistencies of Montaigne? 15: The advocates, in festive processions, made use of mules. Maybe that Jonson calls Shakspere a 'good dull mule' because in _Hamlet_ he champions the views of 'Sir Lawyer' Bacon. 16: This notion, that Shakspere has mainly distinguished himself in the comic line--in the representation of Foolery--harmonises with Jonson's opinion, as privately expressed in _Timber; or, Discoveries made upon Men and Matter_ (1630-37), in a noteworthy degree. There he says of Shakspere:--'His wit was in his own power. Would the rule of it had been so, too.' 17: An allusion to Shakspere's unclassical metrics, and his great success among the public, although in Jonson's opinion he brings neither regular 'play nor university show.' 18: In Androgyno, whom he brings in. 19: This is Jonson's answer to the question raised in _Twelfth Night_ (act iv. sc. 2), when Malvolio is in prison, in regard to Pythagoras. 20: We can nowhere find any clue to such a personage of antiquity, and we take it to be a reference to Pyrrhon of Elis, the founder of the sceptic school. 21: Bacon was a friend of this sport. Mrs. Pott points out some technical expressions which we find both in Bacon's works and in Shakspere. Perhaps we might stretch our fancy so far as to assume that Bacon is Pyrrhus of Delos, and that gentle Shakspere sometimes went a-fishing with him on the banks of the Thames. 22: 'As itself doth relate it.' Yet the soul does not relate anything, except that it is said to have spoken, in all the characters it assumed, 'as in the cobbler's cock.' We must, therefore, probably look in plays--in Shakspere's dramas--for that which the soul has spoken in its various stages as a king, as a beggar, and so forth. 23: 'Brock' (badger)--a word which Shakspere only uses once; viz. in _Twelfth Night_ (act ii. sc. 5). Sir Toby's whole indignation against Malvolio culminates in the words:--'Marry, hang thee, brock!' We know of Jonson's unseemly bodily figure, his 'ambling' gait, which rendered him unfit for the stage. The pace of a badger would be a very graphic description of his manner of walking. Now, Jonson sneers at the word 'brock' in a way not unfrequent with Shakspere himself, in regard to various words used by Jonson against him. In _The Poetaster_, Tucca falls out against the 'wormwood' comedies, which drag everything on to the stage. We are reminded here of Hamlet's exclamation:--'Wormwood, wormwood!' when the Queen of the Interlude speaks the two lines he had probably intercalated:-- In second husband let me be accurst! None wed the second but who kill'd the first. 24: 'Cobbler's cock' refers most likely to a drama by Robert Wilson, entitled: _Cobbler's Prophecy_. In Collier's _History of the English Drama_ (iii. pp. 247-8) it is thus described:-- 'It is a mass of absurdity without any leading purpose, but here and there exhibiting glimpses of something better. The scene of the play is laid in Boeotia which is represented to be ruled by a duke, but in a state of confusion and disorganisation.... One of the principal characters is a whimsical Cobbler who, by intermediation of the heathen god Mercury, obtains prophetic power, the chief object of which is to warn the Duke of the impending ruin of his state unless he consents to introduce various reforms, and especially to unite the discordant classes of his subjects.' Jonson may have looked upon _Hamlet_ in this manner from his point of view. It is for us to admire the prophetical spirit of Shakspere who in Montaigne perceived the germ of the helplessly divided nature of modern man. 25: 'Or his great oath, by _Quarter_.' No doubt, this is an allusion of Jonson to Shakspere's 'quarter share,' the fourth part of the receipts of his company. The Blackfriars Theatre had sixteen shareholders. It is proved that Shakspere at that time, when a valuation of the theatre was made, had a claim to four parts, each of £233 6s. 8d. (Chr. Armitage Brown, _Shak. Autobiographical Poems_, London, 1838, p. 101). In _The Poetaster_ (act iii. sc. i), Tucca says to Crispinus the Poetaster:--'Thou shall have a quarter share.' In Epistle xii. (_Forest_), which Jonson addresses to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland, and which, in our opinion, also contains an allusion to Shakspere, as well as to his protector, William Herbert, Ben speaks of poets with 'their quarter face.' 26: Shakspere often introduced music in his dramas. Jonson ridicules this; so did Marston, as we shall see. (_Twelfth Night_, for instance, opens with music.) 27: 'His golden thigh.' The shape of the legs, the 'yellow cross-gartered stockings' of poor Malvolio in _Twelfth Night_ are here ridiculed. 28: Malvolio says to his friends:--'I am not of your element.' In the same play, great sport is made of this word, until the Fool himself at last gets weary of it, when he says (act iii. sc. i):--'You are out of my welkin--I might say _element_, but the word is overworn.' 29: Blackfriars, where Shakspere first acted, was a former cloister. 'On fish, when first a Carthusian I entered,' no doubt means that from the beginning he had preferred keeping mute as a fish, in regard to forbidden matters of the Church. 30: I.e., _Christmas_-pie. In the Prologue of _The Return from Parnassus_, this comedy is called a _Christmas Toy_. Shakspere is therein lavishly praised by his brother actors, whereas Jonson is spoken of as 'a bold whoreson, as confident now in making of a book, as he was in times past in laying of a brick.' A veritable libel! 31: _Hamlet_ (act v. sc. 2):-- Methought, I lay Worse than the mutines in the bilboes 32: Through Jonson's satire we always see the sanctimonious Jesuit peering out. 33: These are the parables in which Hamlet speaks. Many a reader will understand why Shakspere could not use more explicit language. 34: So the envious Jonson calls Shakspere's public who are satisfied with 'salad;' that is, with patchy compositions, pieced together from all kinds of material. 35: Jonson had Scottish ancestry. 36: In a moment of fanaticism, Hamlet wishes Ophelia to go to a nunnery. Jonson, in most cynical manner, means to say that Hamlet had been impotent as regards his _innamorata_. Though 'for the nones' may be taken as 'for the nonce,' it yet comes close enough to a _double-entendre_--namely, 'for the _nuns_.' 37: _Dramatic versus Wit Combats_. London, 1864. Ed. John Russell Smith. 38: To mount a bank = mountebank. 39: From one of them poor Ben received a _vile medicine_: a _purge_. 40: 'Lewd'=unlearned. 41: Shakspere's _Autobiographical Poems_. 42: Karl Elze (_Essays on Shakespeare_; London 1874) thinks this passage is intended against Shakespeare's alleged theft committed in the _Tempest_, the composition of which he, therefore, places in the year 1604-5, while most critics assign it to a much later period. It must also be mentioned that Karl Elze draws attention to the more friendly words with which Jonson, in his own handwriting, dedicates his _Volpone_ to Florio. In the opinion of the German critic, it is not difficult to gather from this Dedication the desire of the meanly quarrelsome scholar Jonson to give his friend Florio to understand that, among other things, he would read with considerable satisfaction how he (Jonson) had made short work with this 'Shake-scene' and this 'upstart Crow.' 43: Dekker tells Horace that his--Johnson's--plays are misliked at Court. According to the above-quoted words of Jonson, _Hamlet_ seems to have pleased at Court on its first appearance. 44: The following passage in Jonson's _Epicoene_ is also interesting, though in the play itself it is not made to refer to Montaigne but apparently to Plutarch and Seneca: 'Grave asses! mere essayists: a few loose sentences, and that's all. A man could talk so his whole age. I do utter as good things every hour if they were collected and observed, as either of them.' May not such words have fallen from Shakspere's lips, in regard to Montaigne, before an intimate circle in the Mermaid Tavern? 45: This may point either to Montaigne or to Dr. Guinne, the fellow-worker of Florio in the translation of the Essays, whom the latter calls 'a monster-quelling Theseus or Hercules.' 46: The reasons which induce us to this opinion are the following: The three authors of _Eastward Hoe_ were arrested on account of a satire contained in this play against the Scots; James I., himself a Scot, having become King of England a year before. The audacious stage-poets were threatened with having their noses and ears cut off. They were presently freed, however; probably through the intervention of some noblemen. Soon afterwards, Jonson was again in prison; and we suspect that this second imprisonment took place in consequence of _Volpone_. We base this view on several incidents. In a letter Jonson addressed in 1605, from his place of confinement, to Lord Salisbury (_Ben Jonson_, edited by Cunningham, vol. i. xlix.), he says that he regrets having once more to apply to his kindness on account of a play, after having scarcely repented 'his first error' (most probably _Eastward Hoe_).' Before I can shew myself grateful in the least for former benefits, I am enforced to provoke your bounties for more.' In this letter, Jonson uses a tone similar to the one which pervades his Dedication of _Volpone_. We therefore believe that both letter and Dedication have reference to one and the same matter. In the letter, Jonson addresses Lord Salisbury in this way:--'My noble lord, they deal not charitably who are witty in another man's work, and utter sometimes their own malicious meanings under our words.' He then continues, protesting that since his first error, which was punished more with his shame than with his bondage, he has only touched at general vice, sparing particular persons. He goes on:--'I beseech your most honourable Lordship, suffer not other men's errors or faults past to be made my crimes; but let me be examined by all my works past and this present; and trust not to Rumour, but my books (for she is an unjust deliverer, both of great and of small actions), whether I have ever (many things I have written private and public) given offence to a nation, to a public order or state, or any person of honour or authority; but have equally laboured to keep their dignity, as my own person, safe.' Now, let us compare the following verses from the second Prologue of _Epicoene_ (the plural here becomes the singular):-- If any yet will, with particular sleight Of application, (Occasioned by some person's impertinent Exceptions.) wrest what he doth write; And that he meant, or him, or her, will say: They make a libel, which he made a play. Nor will it be easy to find out who was the cause of _Volpone_ having been persecuted at one time--that is to say, forbidden to be acted on the stage. (Perchance by the 'obstreperous Sir Lawyer' who is mentioned in it?) We direct the reader's attention to the eulogistic poems composed by Jonson's friends on _Volpone_. (_Ben Jonson_, by Cunningham, vol. i. pp. civ.-cv.) First there are the extraordinary praises written by those who sign their names in full:--J. DONNE, E. BOLTON, FRANCIS BEAUMONT. Then follow verses, probably composed somewhat later, which are cautiously signed by initials only--D. D., J. C., G. C., E. S., J. F., T. R. This is not the case with any other eulogistic poems referring to Jonson's dramas. The verses before mentioned, which are only signed by initials, all speak of a 'persecuted fox, or of a fox killed by hounds.' 47: 'Come, my coach!' means: 'I value my honour less than my coach.' The expression, 'O, how the wheel becomes it!' is of such a character that we must refer the reader to Montaigne's Essay III. 11. 48: _Eastward Hoe_< was acted in the Blackfriars Theatre by 'The Children of Her Majestie's Revels.' 49: Until now it has been assumed that The Malcontent was acted by Shakspere's Company in the Globe Theatre. This conclusion was based on the title-page of the drama, which runs thus:-- THE MALCONTENT _Augmented by Marston_ _With the Additions played by the Kings_ MAIESTIES SERVANTS _Written by_ JOHN WEBSTER. It is, however, to be noted that in regard to all other plays of Marston, whenever it is mentioned by whom they were acted (so, for instance, in regard to _The Parasitaster_, the _Dutch Courtesane_, and _Eastward Hoe_), the title is always indicated in this way (designating both the Theatre and the Company):--'As it was plaid in the Black Friars by the Children of her Maiesties Revels.' Again, the mere perusal of the 'Induction' of _The Malcontent_ (not to speak of the drama itself) shows that this play could not have been acted 'by the Kings Maiesties servants' during Shakspere's membership. For, in this Induction there appear four actors of Shakspere's company: Sly, Burbadge, Condell, and Lowin. They are brought in to justify themselves why they act a certain play, 'another Company having interest in it.' One of the actors excuses their doing so by saying that, as they themselves have been similarly robbed, they have a clear right to Malevole, the chief character in _The Malcontent_. 'Why not Malevole in folio with us, as Jeronimo _in decimo sexto_ with them? They taught us a name for our play: we call it: "_One for Another_."' (That is to say, we give them 'Tit for Tat.') _Sly_. What are your additions? _Burbadge_. Sooth, not greatly needefull, only as your sallet (salad) to your greate feast--to entertaine a little more time, and to abridge the not received custome of musicke in our theater. I must leave you, Sir. [_Exit_ Burbadge. _Sinklow_. Doth he play _The Malcontent_? _Condell_. Yes, Sir. Our explanation of the Induction is this: Marston has committed satirical trespass upon _Hamlet_. Shakspere, on his part, made use of the chief action and the chief characters of _The Malcontent_ in his _Measure for Measure_ ('One for Another'); but he did so in his own nobler manner. From the wildly confused material before him he composed a magnificent drama. Once more, in the very beginning of act i. sc. I, Shakspere makes the Duke utter words, each of which is directed against the inactive nature of Montaigne:-- Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. ...For if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Shakspere's contemporaries were not over careful as regards style. 'With the additions played by the Kings Maiesties Servants, written by John Webster,' means that the additions, in which the servants of His Majesty, in the 'Induction,' are brought on the stage, were written by John Webster. Read the 'Extempore Prologue' which Sly speaks at the conclusion of the Induction--a shameless travesty of the Epilogue in _As You Like It_. Read the beginning of act iii. sc. 2 of _The Malcontent_, where Malevole ('in some freeze gown') burlesques the splendid monologue in King Henry the Fourth (Part 11. act iv. sc. I). Read act iii. sc. 3 of _The Malcontent_, where Marston sneers at the scene in act iv. of _King Richard the Second_ when Richard says:-- Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owes two buckets filling one another. 50: Is it imaginable that Shakspere could have allowed his own most beautiful productions to be thus leered at, and mocked, in his own theatre? Our feeling rebels against the thought. Beniamini Jonsonio Poetae Elegantissimo Gravissimo Amico Suo Candido et Cordato Johannes Marston, Musarum Alumnus, Asperam Hanc Suam Thaliam DD. 51: Who else can be meant by the 'Frenchman's Helicon' than Montaigne? He is satirically called 'Helicon,' as he is taken down from his height in 'Hamlet.' 52: In meaning alike to Jonson's: 'Counting all old doctrine heresie.' 53: Act i. sc.2. 54: Act iv. sc. 5. 55: Act i. sc. 4. 56: Act i. sc. 7. 57: Act i. sc. 6. 58: Act iii. sc. 2. 59: Act ii. sc. 5. 60: Act i. Sc. 5 in _Hamlet_; _Malcontent_, act iii. sc. 3. 61: Perhaps an allusion to the conclusion of _Hamlet_, when the State falls into the hands of a soldier (Fortinbras). --Soldaten-Religion, keine Religion ('a soldier's religion, no religion'), as the old German saying is. 62: Rochelle-Churchman--that is, Huguenot. 63: See Bacon's Essay, _Of Atheism_: 'All that impugn a received religion or superstition are by the adverse part branded with the name of Atheists.' 64: Sonnet lxvi. lxxxv. 65: xc. xci. xcii. 66: In _Eastward Hoe_, his most delicate poetical production, Ophelia, is most abominably parodied--'rudely strumpeted.' 
10606	----	proofreading Team THE TRAGEDIE OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARKE A STUDY WITH THE TEXT OF THE FOLIO OF 1623 BY GEORGE MACDONALD "What would you gracious figure?" TO MY HONOURED RELATIVE ALEXANDER STEWART MACCOLL A LITTLE _LESS_ THAN KIN, AND _MORE_ THAN KIND TO WHOM I OWE IN ESPECIAL THE TRUE UNDERSTANDING OF THE GREAT SOLILOQUY I DEDICATE WITH LOVE AND GRATITUDE THIS EFFORT TO GIVE HAMLET AND SHAKSPERE THEIR DUE GEORGE MAC DONALD BORDIGHERA _Christmas_, 1884 Summary: The Tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark: a study of the text of the folio of 1623 By George MacDonald [Motto]: "What would you, gracious figure?" Dr. Greville MacDonald looks on his father's commentary as the "most important interpretation of the play ever written... It is his intuitive understanding ... rather than learned analysis--of which there is yet overwhelming evidence--that makes it so splendid." Reading Level: Mature youth and adults. PREFACE By this edition of HAMLET I hope to help the student of Shakspere to understand the play--and first of all Hamlet himself, whose spiritual and moral nature are the real material of the tragedy, to which every other interest of the play is subservient. But while mainly attempting, from the words and behaviour Shakspere has given him, to explain the man, I have cast what light I could upon everything in the play, including the perplexities arising from extreme condensation of meaning, figure, and expression. As it is more than desirable that the student should know when he is reading the most approximate presentation accessible of what Shakspere uttered, and when that which modern editors have, with reason good or bad, often not without presumption, substituted for that which they received, I have given the text, letter for letter, point for point, of the First Folio, with the variations of the Second Quarto in the margin and at the foot of the page. Of HAMLET there are but two editions of authority, those called the Second Quarto and the First Folio; but there is another which requires remark. In the year 1603 came out the edition known as the First Quarto--clearly without the poet's permission, and doubtless as much to his displeasure: the following year he sent out an edition very different, and larger in the proportion of one hundred pages to sixty-four. Concerning the former my theory is--though it is not my business to enter into the question here--that it was printed from Shakspere's sketch for the play, written with matter crowding upon him too fast for expansion or development, and intended only for a continuous memorandum of things he would take up and work out afterwards. It seems almost at times as if he but marked certain bales of thought so as to find them again, and for the present threw them aside--knowing that by the marks he could recall the thoughts they stood for, but not intending thereby to convey them to any reader. I cannot, with evidence before me, incredible but through the eyes themselves, of the illimitable scope of printers' blundering, believe _all_ the confusion, unintelligibility, neglect of grammar, construction, continuity, sense, attributable to them. In parts it is more like a series of notes printed with the interlineations horribly jumbled; while in other parts it looks as if it had been taken down from the stage by an ear without a brain, and then yet more incorrectly printed; parts, nevertheless, in which it most differs from the authorized editions, are yet indubitably from the hand of Shakspere. I greatly doubt if any ready-writer would have dared publish some of its chaotic passages as taken down from the stage; nor do I believe the play was ever presented in anything like such an unfinished state. I rather think some fellow about the theatre, whether more rogue or fool we will pay him the thankful tribute not to enquire, chancing upon the crude embryonic mass in the poet's hand, traitorously pounced upon it, and betrayed it to the printers--therein serving the poet such an evil turn as if a sculptor's workman took a mould of the clay figure on which his master had been but a few days employed, and published casts of it as the sculptor's work.[1] To us not the less is the _corpus delicti_ precious--and that unspeakably--for it enables us to see something of the creational development of the drama, besides serving occasionally to cast light upon portions of it, yielding hints of the original intention where the after work has less plainly presented it. [Footnote 1: Shakspere has in this matter fared even worse than Sir Thomas Browne, the first edition of whose _Religio Medici_, nowise intended for the public, was printed without his knowledge.] The Second Quarto bears on its title-page, compelled to a recognition of the former,--'Newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and perfect Coppie'; and it is in truth a harmonious world of which the former issue was but the chaos. It is the drama itself, the concluded work of the master's hand, though yet to be once more subjected to a little pruning, a little touching, a little rectifying. But the author would seem to have been as trusting over the work of the printers, as they were careless of his, and the result is sometimes pitiable. The blunders are appalling. Both in it and in the Folio the marginal note again and again suggests itself: 'Here the compositor was drunk, the press-reader asleep, the devil only aware.' But though the blunders elbow one another in tumultuous fashion, not therefore all words and phrases supposed to be such are blunders. The old superstition of plenary inspiration may, by its reverence for the very word, have saved many a meaning from the obliteration of a misunderstanding scribe: in all critical work it seems to me well to cling to the _word_ until one sinks not merely baffled, but exhausted. I come now to the relation between the Second Quarto and the Folio. My theory is--that Shakspere worked upon his own copy of the Second Quarto, cancelling and adding, and that, after his death, this copy came, along with original manuscripts, into the hands of his friends the editors of the Folio, who proceeded to print according to his alterations. These friends and editors in their preface profess thus: 'It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to haue bene wished, that the Author himselfe had liu'd to haue set forth, and ouerseen his owne writings; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envie his Friends, the office of their care, and paine, to haue collected & publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with diuerse stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of iniurious impostors, that expos'd them: euen those, are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceiued th[=e]. Who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together: And what he thought, he vttered with that easinesse, that wee haue scarse receiued from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our prouince, who onely gather his works, and giue them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade him.' These are hardly the words of men who would take liberties, and liberties enormous, after ideas of their own, with the text of a friend thus honoured. But although they printed with intent altogether faithful, they did so certainly without any adequate jealousy of the printers--apparently without a suspicion of how they could blunder. Of blunders therefore in the Folio also there are many, some through mere following of blundered print, some in fresh corruption of the same, some through mistaking of the manuscript corrections, and some probably from the misprinting of mistakes, so that the corrections themselves are at times anything but correctly recorded. I assume also that the printers were not altogether above the mean passion, common to the day-labourers of Art, from Chaucer's Adam Scrivener down to the present carvers of marble, for modifying and improving the work of the master. The vain incapacity of a self-constituted critic will make him regard his poorest fancy as an emendation; seldom has he the insight of Touchstone to recognize, or his modesty to acknowledge, that although his own, it is none the less an ill-favoured thing. Not such, however, was the spirit of the editors; and all the changes of importance from the text of the Quarto I receive as Shakspere's own. With this belief there can be no presumption in saying that they seem to me not only to trim the parts immediately affected, but to render the play more harmonious and consistent. It is no presumption to take the Poet for superior to his work and capable of thinking he could better it--neither, so believing, to imagine one can see that he has been successful. A main argument for the acceptance of the Folio edition as the Poet's last presentment of his work, lies in the fact that there are passages in it which are not in the Quarto, and are very plainly from his hand. If we accept these, what right have we to regard the omission from the Folio of passages in the Quarto as not proceeding from the same hand? Had there been omissions only, we might well have doubted; but the insertions greatly tend to remove the doubt. I cannot even imagine the arguments which would prevail upon me to accept the latter and refuse the former. Omission itself shows for a master-hand: see the magnificent passage omitted, and rightly, by Milton from the opening of his _Comus_. 'But when a man has published two forms of a thing, may we not judge between him and himself, and take the reading we like better?' Assuredly. Take either the Quarto or the Folio; both are Shakspere's. Take any reading from either, and defend it. But do not mix up the two, retaining what he omits along with what he inserts, and print them so. This is what the editors do--and the thing is not Shakspere's. With homage like this, no artist could be other than indignant. It is well to show every difference, even to one of spelling where it might indicate possibly a different word, but there ought to be no mingling of differences. If I prefer the reading of the Quarto to that of the Folio, as may sometimes well happen where blunders so abound, I say I _prefer_--I do not dare to substitute. My student shall owe nothing of his text to any but the editors of the Folio, John Heminge and Henrie Condell. I desire to take him with me. I intend a continuous, but ever-varying, while one-ended lesson. We shall follow the play step by step, avoiding almost nothing that suggests difficulty, and noting everything that seems to throw light on the character of a person of the drama. The pointing I consider a matter to be dealt with as any one pleases--for the sake of sense, of more sense, of better sense, as much as if the text were a Greek manuscript without any division of words. This position I need not argue with anyone who has given but a cursory glance to the original page, or knows anything of printers' pointing. I hold hard by the word, for that is, or may be, grain: the pointing as we have it is merest chaff, and more likely to be wrong than right. Here also, however, I change nothing in the text, only suggest in the notes. Nor do I remark on any of the pointing where all that is required is the attention of the student. Doubtless many will consider not a few of the notes unnecessary. But what may be unnecessary to one, may be welcome to another, and it is impossible to tell what a student may or may not know. At the same time those form a large class who imagine they know a thing when they do not understand it enough to see there is a difficulty in it: to such, an attempt at explanation must of course seem foolish. A _number_ in the margin refers to a passage of the play or in the notes, and is the number of the page where the passage is to be found. If the student finds, for instance, against a certain line upon page 8, the number 12, and turns to page 12, he will there find the number 8 against a certain line: the two lines or passages are to be compared, and will be found in some way parallel, or mutually explanatory. Wherever I refer to the Quarto, I intend the 2nd Quarto--that is Shakspere's own authorized edition, published in his life-time. Where occasionally I refer to the surreptitious edition, the mere inchoation of the drama, I call it, as it is, the _1st Quarto_. Any word or phrase or stage-direction in the 2nd Quarto differing from that in the Folio, is placed on the margin in a line with the other: choice between them I generally leave to my student. Omissions are mainly given as footnotes. Each edition does something to correct the errors of the other. I beg my companion on this journey to let Hamlet reveal himself in the play, to observe him as he assumes individuality by the concretion of characteristics. I warn him that any popular notion concerning him which he may bring with him, will be only obstructive to a perception of the true idea of the grandest of all Shakspere's presentations. It will amuse this and that man to remark how often I speak of Hamlet as if he were a real man and not the invention of Shakspere--for indeed the Hamlet of the old story is no more that of Shakspere than a lump of coal is a diamond; but I imagine, if he tried the thing himself, he would find it hardly possible to avoid so speaking, and at the same time say what he had to say. I give hearty thanks to the press-reader, a gentleman whose name I do not know, not only for keen watchfulness over the printing-difficulties of the book, but for saving me from several blunders in derivation. BORDIGHERA: _December_, 1884. [Transcriber's Note: In the paper original, each left-facing page contained the text of the play, with sidenotes and footnote references, and the corresponding right-facing page contained the footnotes themselves and additional commentary. In this electronic text, the play-text pages are numbered (contrary to custom in electronic texts), to allow use of the cross-references provided in the sidenotes and footnotes. In the play text, sidenotes towards the left of the page are those marginal cross-references described earlier, and sidenotes toward the right of the page are the differences noted a few paragraphs later.] [Page 1] THE TRAGEDIE OF HAMLET PRINCE OF DENMARKE. [Page 2] _ACTUS PRIMUS._ _Enter Barnardo and Francisco two Centinels_[1]. _Barnardo._ Who's there? _Fran._[2] Nay answer me: Stand and vnfold yourselfe. _Bar._ Long liue the King.[3] _Fran._ _Barnardo?_ _Bar._ He. _Fran._ You come most carefully vpon your houre. _Bar._ 'Tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed _Francisco_. _Fran._ For this releefe much thankes: 'Tis [Sidenote: 42] bitter cold, And I am sicke at heart.[4] _Barn._ Haue you had quiet Guard?[5] _Fran._ Not a Mouse stirring. _Barn._ Well, goodnight. If you do meet _Horatio_ and _Marcellus_, the Riuals[6] of my Watch, bid them make hast. _Enter Horatio and Marcellus._ _Fran._ I thinke I heare them. Stand: who's there? [Sidenote: Stand ho, who is there?] _Hor._ Friends to this ground. _Mar._ And Leige-men to the Dane. _Fran._ Giue you good night. _Mar._ O farwel honest Soldier, who hath [Sidenote: souldiers] relieu'd you? [Footnote 1: --meeting. Almost dark.] [Footnote 2: --on the post, and with the right of challenge.] [Footnote 3: The watchword.] [Footnote 4: The key-note to the play--as in _Macbeth_: 'Fair is foul and foul is fair.' The whole nation is troubled by late events at court.] [Footnote 5: --thinking of the apparition.] [Footnote 6: _Companions_.] [Page 4] _Fra._ _Barnardo_ ha's my place: giue you good-night. [Sidenote: hath] _Exit Fran._ _Mar._ Holla _Barnardo_. _Bar._ Say, what is Horatio there? _Hor._ A peece of him. _Bar._ Welcome _Horatio_, welcome good _Marcellus_. _Mar._ What, ha's this thing appear'd againe to [Sidenote: _Hor_.[1]] night. _Bar._ I haue seene nothing. _Mar._ Horatio saies, 'tis but our Fantasie, And will not let beleefe take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seene of vs, Therefore I haue intreated him along With vs, to watch the minutes of this Night, That if againe this Apparition come, [Sidenote: 6] He may approue our eyes, and speake to it.[2] _Hor._ Tush, tush, 'twill not appeare. _Bar._ Sit downe a-while, And let vs once againe assaile your eares, That are so fortified against our Story, What we two Nights haue seene. [Sidenote: have two nights seen] _Hor._ Well, sit we downe, And let vs heare _Barnardo_ speake of this. _Barn._ Last night of all, When yond same Starre that's Westward from the Pole Had made his course t'illume that part of Heauen Where now it burnes, _Marcellus_ and my selfe, The Bell then beating one.[3] _Mar._ Peace, breake thee of: _Enter the Ghost_. [Sidenote: Enter Ghost] Looke where it comes againe. _Barn._ In the same figure, like the King that's dead. [Footnote 1: Better, I think; for the tone is scoffing, and Horatio is the incredulous one who has not seen it.] [Footnote 2: --being a scholar, and able to address it as an apparition ought to be addressed--Marcellus thinking, perhaps, with others, that a ghost required Latin.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q._ 'towling one.] [Page 6] [Sidenote: 4] _Mar._ Thou art a Scholler; speake to it _Horatio._ _Barn._ Lookes it not like the King? Marke it _Horatio_. [Sidenote: Looks a not] _Hora._ Most like: It harrowes me with fear and wonder. [Sidenote: horrowes[1]] _Barn._ It would be spoke too.[2] _Mar._ Question it _Horatio._ [Sidenote: Speak to it _Horatio_] _Hor._ What art thou that vsurp'st this time of night,[3] Together with that Faire and Warlike forme[4] In which the Maiesty of buried Denmarke Did sometimes[5] march: By Heauen I charge thee speake. _Mar._ It is offended.[6] _Barn._ See, it stalkes away. _Hor._ Stay: speake; speake: I Charge thee, speake. _Exit the Ghost._ [Sidenote: _Exit Ghost._] _Mar._ 'Tis gone, and will not answer. _Barn._ How now _Horatio_? You tremble and look pale: Is not this something more then Fantasie? What thinke you on't? _Hor._ Before my God, I might not this beleeue Without the sensible and true auouch Of mine owne eyes. _Mar._ Is it not like the King? _Hor._ As thou art to thy selfe, Such was the very Armour he had on, When th' Ambitious Norwey combatted: [Sidenote: when he the ambitious] So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle He smot the sledded Pollax on the Ice.[8] [Sidenote: sleaded[7]] 'Tis strange. [Sidenote: 274] _Mar._ Thus twice before, and iust at this dead houre, [Sidenote: and jump at this] [Footnote 1: _1st Q_. 'horrors mee'.] [Footnote 2: A ghost could not speak, it was believed, until it was spoken to.] [Footnote 3: It was intruding upon the realm of the embodied.] [Footnote 4: None of them took it as certainly the late king: it was only clear to them that it was like him. Hence they say, 'usurp'st the forme.'] [Footnote 5: _formerly_.] [Footnote 6: --at the word _usurp'st_.] [Footnote 7: Also _1st Q_.] [Footnote 8: The usual interpretation is 'the sledged Poles'; but not to mention that in a parley such action would have been treacherous, there is another far more picturesque, and more befitting the _angry parle_, at the same time more characteristic and forcible: the king in his anger smote his loaded pole-axe on the ice. There is some uncertainty about the word _sledded_ or _sleaded_ (which latter suggests _lead_), but we have the word _sledge_ and _sledge-hammer_, the smith's heaviest, and the phrase, 'a sledging blow.' The quarrel on the occasion referred to rather seems with the Norwegians (See Schmidt's _Shakespeare-Lexicon: Sledded_.) than with the Poles; and there would be no doubt as to the latter interpretation being the right one, were it not that _the Polacke_, for the Pole, or nation of the Poles, does occur in the play. That is, however, no reason why the Dane should not have carried a pole-axe, or caught one from the hand of an attendant. In both our authorities, and in the _1st Q_. also, the word is _pollax_--as in Chaucer's _Knights Tale_: 'No maner schot, ne pollax, ne schort knyf,'--in the _Folio_ alone with a capital; whereas not once in the play is the similar word that stands for the Poles used in the plural. In the _2nd Quarto_ there is _Pollacke_ three times, _Pollack_ once, _Pole_ once; in the _1st Quarto_, _Polacke_ twice; in the _Folio_, _Poleak_ twice, _Polake_ once. The Poet seems to have avoided the plural form.] [Page 8] With Martiall stalke,[1] hath he gone by our Watch. _Hor_. In what particular thought to work, I know not: But in the grosse and scope of my Opinion, [Sidenote: mine] This boades some strange erruption to our State. _Mar_. Good now sit downe, and tell me he that knowes [Sidenote: 16] Why this same strict and most obseruant Watch,[2] So nightly toyles the subiect of the Land, And why such dayly Cast of Brazon Cannon [Sidenote: And with such dayly cost] And Forraigne Mart for Implements of warre: Why such impresse of Ship-wrights, whose sore Taske Do's not diuide the Sunday from the weeke, What might be toward, that this sweaty hast[3] Doth make the Night ioynt-Labourer with the day: Who is't that can informe me? _Hor._ That can I, At least the whisper goes so: Our last King, Whose Image euen but now appear'd to vs, Was (as you know) by _Fortinbras_ of Norway, (Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate Pride)[4] Dar'd to the Combate. In which, our Valiant _Hamlet_, (For so this side of our knowne world esteem'd him)[5] [Sidenote: 6] Did slay this _Fortinbras_: who by a Seal'd Compact, Well ratified by Law, and Heraldrie, [Sidenote: heraldy] Did forfeite (with his life) all those his Lands [Sidenote: these] Which he stood seiz'd on,[6] to the Conqueror: [Sidenote: seaz'd of,] Against the which, a Moity[7] competent Was gaged by our King: which had return'd [Sidenote: had returne] To the Inheritance of _Fortinbras_, [Footnote 1: _1st Q_. 'Marshall stalke'.] [Footnote 2: Here is set up a frame of external relations, to inclose with fitting contrast, harmony, and suggestion, the coming show of things. 273] [Footnote 3: _1st Q_. 'sweaty march'.] [Footnote 4: Pride that leads to emulate: the ambition to excel--not oneself, but another.] [Footnote 5: The whole western hemisphere.] [Footnote 6: _stood possessed of_.] [Footnote 7: Used by Shakspere for _a part_.] [Page 10] Had he bin Vanquisher, as by the same Cou'nant [Sidenote: the same comart] And carriage of the Article designe,[1] [Sidenote: desseigne,] His fell to _Hamlet_. Now sir, young _Fortinbras_, Of vnimproued[2] Mettle, hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway, heere and there, Shark'd[3] vp a List of Landlesse Resolutes, [Sidenote: of lawlesse] For Foode and Diet, to some Enterprize That hath a stomacke in't[4]: which is no other (And it doth well appeare vnto our State) [Sidenote: As it] But to recouer of vs by strong hand And termes Compulsatiue, those foresaid Lands [Sidenote: compulsatory,] So by his Father lost: and this (I take it) Is the maine Motiue of our Preparations, The Sourse of this our Watch, and the cheefe head Of this post-hast, and Romage[5] in the Land. [A]_Enter Ghost againe_. But soft, behold: Loe, where it comes againe: [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- _Bar._ I thinke it be no other, but enso; Well may it sort[6] that this portentous figure Comes armed through our watch so like the King That was and is the question of these warres. _Hora._ A moth it is to trouble the mindes eye: In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest _Iulius_ fell The graues stood tennatlesse, and the sheeted dead Did squeake and gibber in the Roman streets[7] As starres with traines of fier, and dewes of blood Disasters in the sunne; and the moist starre, Vpon whose influence _Neptunes_ Empier stands Was sicke almost to doomesday with eclipse. And euen the like precurse of feare euents As harbindgers preceading still the fates And prologue to the _Omen_ comming on Haue heauen and earth together demonstrated Vnto our Climatures and countrymen.[8] _Enter Ghost_.] [Footnote 1: French désigné.] [Footnote 2: _not proved_ or _tried. Improvement_, as we use the word, is the result of proof or trial: _upon-proof-ment_.] [Footnote 3: Is _shark'd_ related to the German _scharren_? _Zusammen scharren--to scrape together._ The Anglo-Saxon _searwian_ is _to prepare, entrap, take_.] [Footnote 4: Some enterprise of acquisition; one for the sake of getting something.] [Footnote 5: In Scotch, _remish_--the noise of confused and varied movements; a _row_; a _rampage_.--Associated with French _remuage_?] [Footnote 6: _suit_: so used in Scotland still, I think.] [Footnote 7: _Julius Caesar_, act i. sc. 3, and act ii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 8: The only suggestion I dare make for the rectifying of the confusion of this speech is, that, if the eleventh line were inserted between the fifth and sixth, there would be sense, and very nearly grammar. and the sheeted dead Did squeake and gibber in the Roman streets, As harbindgers preceading still the fates; As starres with traines of fier, and dewes of blood (Here understand _precede_) Disasters in the sunne; The tenth will close with the twelfth line well enough. But no one, any more than myself, will be _satisfied_ with the suggestion. The probability is, of course, that a line has dropped out between the fifth and sixth. Anything like this would restore the connection: _The labouring heavens themselves teemed dire portent_ As starres &c.] [Page 12] Ile crosse it, though it blast me.[1] Stay Illusion:[2] [Sidenote: _It[4] spreads his armes_.] If thou hast any sound, or vse of Voyce,[3] Speake 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 priuy to thy Countries Fate (Which happily foreknowing may auoyd) Oh speake. Or, if thou hast vp-hoorded in thy life Extorted Treasure in the wombe of Earth, (For which, they say, you Spirits oft walke in death) [Sidenote: your] [Sidenote: _The cocke crowes_] Speake of it. Stay, and speake. Stop it _Marcellus_. _Mar_. Shall I strike at it with my Partizan? [Sidenote: strike it with] _Hor_. Do, if it will not stand. _Barn_. 'Tis heere. _Hor_. 'Tis heere. _Mar_. 'Tis gone. _Exit Ghost_[5] We do it wrong, being so Maiesticall[6] To offer it the shew of Violence, For it is as the Ayre, invulnerable, And our vaine blowes, malicious Mockery. _Barn_. It was about to speake, when the Cocke crew. _Hor_. And then it started, like a guilty thing Vpon a fearfull Summons. I haue heard, The Cocke that is the Trumpet to the day, [Sidenote: to the morne,] Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding Throate[7] Awake the God of Day: and at his warning, Whether in Sea, or Fire, in Earth, or Ayre, Th'extrauagant,[8] and erring[9] Spirit, hyes To his Confine. And of the truth heerein, This present Obiect made probation.[10] _Mar_. It faded on the crowing of the Cocke.[11] [Footnote 1: There are various tales of the blasting power of evil ghosts.] [Footnote 2: Plain doubt, and strong.] [Footnote 3: 'sound of voice, or use of voice': physical or mental faculty of speech.] [Footnote 4: I judge this _It_ a mistake for _H._, standing for _Horatio_: he would stop it.] [Footnote 5: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 6: 'As we cannot hurt it, our blows are a mockery; and it is wrong to mock anything so majestic': _For_ belongs to _shew_; 'We do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it what is but a _show_ of violence, for it is, &c.'] [Footnote 7: _1st Q._ 'his earely and shrill crowing throate.'] [Footnote 8: straying beyond bounds.] [Footnote 9: wandering.] [Footnote 10: 'gave proof.'] [Footnote 11: This line said thoughtfully--as the text of the observation following it. From the _eerie_ discomfort of their position, Marcellus takes refuge in the thought of the Saviour's birth into the haunted world, bringing sweet law, restraint, and health.] [Page 14] Some sayes, that euer 'gainst that Season comes [Sidenote: say] Wherein our Sauiours Birth is celebrated, The Bird of Dawning singeth all night long: [Sidenote: This bird] And then (they say) no Spirit can walke abroad, [Sidenote: spirit dare sturre] The nights are wholsome, then no Planets strike, No Faiery talkes, nor Witch hath power to Charme: [Sidenote: fairy takes,[1]] So hallow'd, and so gracious is the time. [Sidenote: is that time.] _Hor._ So haue I heard, and do in part beleeue it. But looke, the Morne in Russet mantle clad, Walkes o're the dew of yon high Easterne Hill, [Sidenote: Eastward[2]] Breake we our Watch vp, and by my aduice [Sidenote: advise] Let vs impart what we haue scene to night Vnto yong _Hamlet_. For vpon my life, This Spirit dumbe to vs, will speake to him: Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needfull in our Loues, fitting our Duty? [Sidenote: 30] _Mar._ Let do't I pray, and I this morning know Where we shall finde him most conueniently. [Sidenote: convenient.] _Exeunt._ SCENA SECUNDA[3] _Enter Claudius King of Denmarke. Gertrude the Queene, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, and his Sister Ophelia, Lords Attendant._[4] [Sidenote: _Florish. Enter Claudius, King of Denmarke, Gertrad the Queene, Counsaile: as Polonius, and his sonne Laertes, Hamelt Cum Abijs._] _King._ Though yet of _Hamlet_ our deere Brothers death [Sidenote: _Claud._] The memory be greene: and that it vs befitted To beare our hearts in greefe, and our whole Kingdome To be contracted in one brow of woe: Yet so farre hath Discretion fought with Nature, That we with wisest sorrow thinke on him, [Footnote 1: Does it mean--_carries off any child, leaving a changeling_? or does it mean--_affect with evil_, as a disease might infect or _take_?] [Footnote 2: _1st Q_. 'hie mountaine top,'] [Footnote 3: _In neither Q._] [Footnote 4: The first court after the marriage.] [Page 16] Together with remembrance of our selues. Therefore our sometimes Sister, now our Queen, Th'Imperiall Ioyntresse of this warlike State, [Sidenote: to this] Haue we, as 'twere, with a defeated ioy, With one Auspicious, and one Dropping eye, [Sidenote: an auspitious and a] With mirth in Funerall, and with Dirge in Marriage, In equall Scale weighing Delight and Dole[1] Taken to Wife; nor haue we heerein barr'd[2] Your better Wisedomes, which haue freely gone With this affaire along, for all our Thankes. [Sidenote: 8] Now followes, that you know young _Fortinbras_,[3] Holding a weake supposall of our worth; Or thinking by our late deere Brothers death, Our State to be disioynt, and out of Frame, Colleagued with the dreame of his Aduantage;[4] [Sidenote: this dreame] He hath not fayl'd to pester vs with Message, Importing the surrender of those Lands Lost by his Father: with all Bonds of Law [Sidenote: bands] To our most valiant Brother. So much for him. _Enter Voltemand and Cornelius._[5] Now for our selfe, and for this time of meeting Thus much the businesse is. We haue heere writ To Norway, Vncle of young _Fortinbras_, Who Impotent and Bedrid, scarsely heares Of this his Nephewes purpose, to suppresse His further gate[6] heerein. In that the Leuies, The Lists, and full proportions are all made Out of his subiect: and we heere dispatch You good _Cornelius_, and you _Voltemand_, For bearing of this greeting to old Norway, [Sidenote: bearers] Giuing to you no further personall power To businesse with the King, more then the scope Of these dilated Articles allow:[7] [Sidenote: delated[8]] Farewell and let your hast commend your duty.[9] [Footnote 1: weighing out an equal quantity of each.] [Footnote 2: Like _crossed_.] [Footnote 3: 'Now follows--that (_which_) you know--young Fortinbras:--'] [Footnote 4: _Colleagued_ agrees with _supposall_. The preceding two lines may be regarded as somewhat parenthetical. _Dream of advantage_--hope of gain.] [Footnote 5: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 6: _going; advance._ Note in Norway also, as well as in Denmark, the succession of the brother.] [Footnote 7: (_giving them papers_).] [Footnote 8: Which of these is right, I cannot tell. _Dilated_ means _expanded_, and would refer to _the scope; _delated_ means _committed_--to them, to limit them.] [Footnote 9: idea of duty.] [Page 18] _Volt._ In that, and all things, will we shew our duty. _King._ We doubt it nothing, heartily farewell. [Sidenote: 74] [1]_Exit Voltemand and Cornelius._ And now _Laertes_, what's the newes with you? You told vs of some suite. What is't _Laertes_? You cannot speake of Reason to the Dane, And loose your voyce. What would'st thou beg _Laertes_, That shall not be my Offer, not thy Asking?[2] The Head is not more Natiue to the Heart, The Hand more Instrumentall to the Mouth, Then is the Throne of Denmarke to thy Father.[3] What would'st thou haue _Laertes_? _Laer._ Dread my Lord, [Sidenote: My dread] Your leaue and fauour to returne to France, From whence, though willingly I came to Denmarke To shew my duty in your Coronation, Yet now I must confesse, that duty done, [Sidenote: 22] My thoughts and wishes bend againe towards toward France,[4] And bow them to your gracious leaue and pardon. _King._ Haue you your Fathers leaue? What sayes _Pollonius_? [A] _Pol._ He hath my Lord: I do beseech you giue him leaue to go. _King._ Take thy faire houre _Laertes_, time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will: But now my Cosin _Hamlet_, and my Sonne? [Footnote A: _In the Quarto_:-- _Polo._ Hath[5] my Lord wroung from me my slowe leaue By laboursome petition, and at last Vpon his will I seald my hard consent,[6] I doe beseech you giue him leaue to goe.] [Footnote 1: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 2: 'Before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.'--_Isaiah_, lxv. 24.] [Footnote 3: The villain king courts his courtiers.] [Footnote 4: He had been educated there. Compare 23. But it would seem rather to the court than the university he desired to return. See his father's instructions, 38.] [Footnote 5: _H'ath_--a contraction for _He hath_.] [Footnote 6: A play upon the act of sealing a will with wax.] [Page 20] _Ham._ A little more then kin, and lesse then kinde.[1] _King._ How is it that the Clouds still hang on you? _Ham._ Not so my Lord, I am too much i'th'Sun.[2] [Sidenote: so much my ... in the sonne.] _Queen._ Good Hamlet cast thy nightly colour off,[4] [Sidenote: nighted[3]] And let thine eye looke like a Friend on Denmarke. Do not for euer with thy veyled[5] lids [Sidenote: vailed] Seeke for thy Noble Father in the dust; Thou know'st 'tis common, all that liues must dye, Passing through Nature, to Eternity. _Ham._ I Madam, it is common.[6] _Queen._ If it be; Why seemes it so particular with thee. _Ham._ Seemes Madam? Nay, it is: I know not Seemes:[7] 'Tis not alone my Inky Cloake (good Mother) [Sidenote: cloake coold mother [8]] Nor Customary suites of solemne Blacke, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitfull Riuer in the Eye, Nor the deiected hauiour of the Visage, Together with all Formes, Moods, shewes of Griefe, [Sidenote: moodes, chapes of] That can denote me truly. These indeed Seeme,[9] [Sidenote: deuote] For they are actions that a man might[10] play: But I haue that Within, which passeth show; [Sidenote: passes] These, but the Trappings, and the Suites of woe. _King._ 'Tis sweet and commendable In your Nature _Hamlet_, To giue these mourning duties to your Father:[11] But you must know, your Father lost a Father, That Father lost, lost his, and the Suruiuer bound In filiall Obligation, for some terme To do obsequious[12] Sorrow. But to perseuer In obstinate Condolement, is a course [Footnote 1: An _aside_. Hamlet's first utterance is of dislike to his uncle. He is more than _kin_ through his unwelcome marriage--less than _kind_ by the difference in their natures. To be _kind_ is to behave as one _kinned_ or related. But the word here is the noun, and means _nature_, or sort by birth.] [Footnote 2: A word-play may be here intended between _sun_ and _son_: _a little more than kin--too much i' th' Son_. So George Herbert: For when he sees my ways, I die; But I have got his _Son_, and he hath none; and Dr. Donne: at my death thy Son Shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore.] [Footnote 3: 'Wintred garments'--_As You Like It_, iii. 2.] [Footnote 4: He is the only one who has not for the wedding put off his mourning.] [Footnote 5: _lowered_, or cast down: _Fr. avaler_, to lower.] [Footnote 6: 'Plainly you treat it as a common matter--a thing of no significance!' _I_ is constantly used for _ay_, _yes_.] [Footnote 7: He pounces on the word _seems_.] [Footnote 8: Not unfrequently the type would appear to have been set up from dictation.] [Footnote 9: They are things of the outside, and must _seem_, for they are capable of being imitated; they are the natural _shows_ of grief. But he has that in him which cannot _show_ or _seem_, because nothing can represent it. These are 'the Trappings and the Suites of _woe_;' they fitly represent woe, but they cannot shadow forth that which is within him--a something different from woe, far beyond it and worse, passing all reach of embodiment and manifestation. What this something is, comes out the moment he is left by himself.] [Footnote 10: The emphasis is on _might_.] [Footnote 11: Both his uncle and his mother decline to understand him. They will have it he mourns the death of his father, though they must at least suspect another cause for his grief. Note the intellectual mastery of the hypocrite--which accounts for his success.] [Footnote 12: belonging to _obsequies_.] [Page 22] Of impious stubbornnesse. Tis vnmanly greefe, It shewes a will most incorrect to Heauen, A Heart vnfortified, a Minde impatient, [Sidenote: or minde] An Vnderstanding simple, and vnschool'd: For, what we know must be, and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sence, Why should we in our peeuish Opposition Take it to heart? Fye, 'tis a fault to Heauen, A fault against the Dead, a fault to Nature, To Reason most absurd, whose common Theame Is death of Fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first Coarse,[1] till he that dyed to day, [Sidenote: course] This must be so. We pray you throw to earth This vnpreuayling woe, and thinke of vs As of a Father; For let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our Throne,[2] And with no lesse Nobility of Loue, Then that which deerest Father beares his Sonne, Do I impart towards you. For your intent [Sidenote: toward] [Sidenote: 18] In going backe to Schoole in Wittenberg,[3] It is most retrograde to our desire: [Sidenote: retrogard] And we beseech you, bend you to remaine Heere in the cheere and comfort of our eye, Our cheefest Courtier Cosin, and our Sonne. _Qu._ Let not thy Mother lose her Prayers _Hamlet_: [Sidenote: loose] I prythee stay with vs, go not to Wittenberg. [Sidenote: pray thee] _Ham._ I shall in all my best Obey you Madam.[4] _King._ Why 'tis a louing, and a faire Reply, Be as our selfe in Denmarke. Madam come, This gentle and vnforc'd accord of _Hamlet_[5] Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, No iocond health that Denmarke drinkes to day, [Sidenote: 44] But the great Cannon to the Clowds shall tell, [Footnote 1: _Corpse_.] [Footnote 2: --seeking to propitiate him with the hope that his succession had been but postponed by his uncle's election.] [Footnote 3: Note that Hamlet was educated in Germany--at Wittenberg, the university where in 1508 Luther was appointed professor of Philosophy. Compare 19. There was love of study as well as disgust with home in his desire to return to _Schoole_: this from what we know of him afterwards.] [Footnote 4: Emphasis on _obey_. A light on the character of Hamlet.] [Footnote 5: He takes it, or pretends to take it, for far more than it was. He desires friendly relations with Hamlet.] [Page 24] And the Kings Rouce,[1] the Heauens shall bruite againe, Respeaking earthly Thunder. Come away. _Exeunt_ [Sidenote: _Florish. Exeunt all but Hamlet._] _Manet Hamlet._ [2]_Ham._ Oh that this too too solid Flesh, would melt, [Sidenote: sallied flesh[3]] Thaw, and resolue it selfe into a Dew: [Sidenote: 125,247,260] Or that the Euerlasting had not fixt [Sidenote: 121 _bis_] His Cannon 'gainst Selfe-slaughter. O God, O God! [Sidenote: seale slaughter, o God, God,] How weary, stale, flat, and vnprofitable [Sidenote: wary] Seemes to me all the vses of this world? [Sidenote: seeme] Fie on't? Oh fie, fie, 'tis an vnweeded Garden [Sidenote: ah fie,] That growes to Seed: Things rank, and grosse in Nature Possesse it meerely. That it should come to this: [Sidenote: meerely that it should come thus] But two months dead[4]: Nay, not so much; not two, So excellent a King, that was to this _Hiperion_ to a Satyre: so louing to my Mother, That he might not beteene the windes of heauen [Sidenote: beteeme[5]] Visit her face too roughly. Heauen and Earth Must I remember: why she would hang on him, [Sidenote: should] As if encrease of Appetite had growne By what it fed on; and yet within a month? Let me not thinke on't: Frailty, thy name is woman.[6] A little Month, or ere those shooes were old, With which she followed my poore Fathers body Like _Niobe_, all teares. Why she, euen she.[7] (O Heauen! A beast that wants discourse[8] of Reason [Sidenote: O God] Would haue mourn'd longer) married with mine Vnkle, [Sidenote: my] [Footnote 1: German _Rausch_, _drunkenness_. 44, 68] [Footnote 2: A soliloquy is as the drawing called a section of a thing: it shows the inside of the man. Soliloquy is only rare, not unnatural, and in art serves to reveal more of nature. In the drama it is the lifting of a veil through which dialogue passes. The scene is for the moment shifted into the lonely spiritual world, and here we begin to know Hamlet. Such is his wretchedness, both in mind and circumstance, that he could well wish to vanish from the world. The suggestion of suicide, however, he dismisses at once--with a momentary regret, it is true--but he dismisses it--as against the will of God to whom he appeals in his misery. The cause of his misery is now made plain to us--his trouble that passes show, deprives life of its interest, and renders the world a disgust to him. There is no lamentation over his father's death, so dwelt upon by the king; for loving grief does not crush. Far less could his uncle's sharp practice, in scheming for his own election during Hamlet's absence, have wrought in a philosopher like him such an effect. The one makes him sorrowful, the other might well annoy him, but neither could render him unhappy: his misery lies at his mother's door; it is her conduct that has put out the light of her son's life. She who had been to him the type of all excellence, she whom his father had idolized, has within a month of his death married his uncle, and is living in habitual incest--for as such, a marriage of the kind was then unanimously regarded. To Hamlet's condition and behaviour, his mother, her past and her present, is the only and sufficing key. His very idea of unity had been rent in twain.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q_. 'too much grieu'd and sallied flesh.' _Sallied_, sullied: compare _sallets_, 67, 103. I have a strong suspicion that _sallied_ and not _solid_ is the true word. It comes nearer the depth of Hamlet's mood.] [Footnote 4: Two months at the present moment.] [Footnote 5: This is the word all the editors take: which is right, I do not know; I doubt if either is. The word in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i. sc. 1-- Belike for want of rain; which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes-- I cannot believe the same word. The latter means _produce for_, as from the place of origin. The word, in the sense necessary to this passage, is not, so far as I know, to be found anywhere else. I have no suggestion to make.] [Footnote 6: From his mother he generalizes to _woman_. After having believed in such a mother, it may well be hard for a man to believe in any woman.] [Footnote 7: _Q._ omits 'euen she.'] [Footnote 8: the going abroad among things.] [Page 26] My Fathers Brother: but no more like my Father, Then I to _Hercules_. Within a Moneth? Ere yet the salt of most vnrighteous Teares Had left the flushing of her gauled eyes, [Sidenote: in her] She married. O most wicked speed, to post[1] With such dexterity to Incestuous sheets: It is not, nor it cannot come to good, But breake my heart, for I must hold my tongue.[2] _Enter Horatio, Barnard, and Marcellus._ [Sidenote: _Marcellus, and Bernardo._] _Hor._ Haile to your Lordship.[3] _Ham._ I am glad to see you well: _Horatio_, or I do forget my selfe. _Hor._ The same my Lord, And your poore Seruant euer. [Sidenote: 134] _Ham._ [4]Sir my good friend, Ile change that name with you:[5] And what make you from Wittenberg _Horatio_?[6] _Marcellus._[7] _Mar._ My good Lord. _Ham._ I am very glad to see you: good euen Sir.[8] But what in faith make you from _Wittemberge_? _Hor._ A truant disposition, good my Lord.[9] _Ham._ I would not haue your Enemy say so;[10] [Sidenote: not heare] Nor shall you doe mine eare that violence,[11] [Sidenote: my eare] [Sidenote: 134] To make it truster of your owne report Against your selfe. I know you are no Truant: But what is your affaire in _Elsenour_? Wee'l teach you to drinke deepe, ere you depart.[12] [Sidenote: you for to drinke ere] _Hor._ My Lord, I came to see your Fathers Funerall. _Ham._ I pray thee doe not mock me (fellow Student) [Sidenote: pre thee] I thinke it was to see my Mothers Wedding. [Sidenote: was to my] [Footnote 1: I suggest the pointing: speed! To post ... sheets!] [Footnote 2: Fit moment for the entrance of his father's messengers.] [Footnote 3: They do not seem to have been intimate before, though we know from Hamlet's speech (134) that he had had the greatest respect for Horatio. The small degree of doubt in Hamlet's recognition of his friend is due to the darkness, and the unexpectedness of his appearance.] [Footnote 4: _1st Q._ 'O my good friend, I change, &c.' This would leave it doubtful whether he wished to exchange servant or friend; but 'Sir, my _good friend_,' correcting Horatio, makes his intent plain.] [Footnote 5: Emphasis on _that_: 'I will exchange the name of _friend_ with you.'] [Footnote 6: 'What are you doing from--out of, _away from_--Wittenberg?'] [Footnote 7: In recognition: the word belongs to Hamlet's speech.] [Footnote 8: _Point thus_: 'you.--Good even, sir.'--_to Barnardo, whom he does not know._] [Footnote 9: An ungrammatical reply. He does not wish to give the real, painful answer, and so replies confusedly, as if he had been asked, 'What makes you?' instead of, 'What do you make?'] [Footnote 10: '--I should know how to answer him.'] [Footnote 11: Emphasis on _you_.] [Footnote 12: Said with contempt for his surroundings.] [Page 28] _Hor._ Indeed my Lord, it followed hard vpon. _Ham._ Thrift, thrift _Horatio_: the Funerall Bakt-meats Did coldly furnish forth the Marriage Tables; Would I had met my dearest foe in heauen,[1] Ere I had euer seerie that day _Horatio_.[2] [Sidenote: Or ever I had] My father, me thinkes I see my father. _Hor._ Oh where my Lord? [Sidenote: Where my] _Ham._ In my minds eye (_Horatio_)[3] _Hor._ I saw him once; he was a goodly King. [Sidenote: once, a was] _Ham._ He was a man, take him for all in all: [Sidenote: A was a man] I shall not look vpon his like againe. _Hor._ My Lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight. _Ham._ Saw? Who?[4] _Hor._ My Lord, the King your Father. _Ham._ The King my Father?[5] _Hor._ Season[6] your admiration for a while With an attent eare;[7] till I may deliuer Vpon the witnesse of these Gentlemen, This maruell to you. _Ham._ For Heauens loue let me heare. [Sidenote: God's love] _Hor._ Two nights together, had these Gentlemen (_Marcellus_ and _Barnardo_) on their Watch In the dead wast and middle of the night[8] Beene thus encountred. A figure like your Father,[9] Arm'd at all points exactly, _Cap a Pe_,[10] [Sidenote: Armed at poynt] Appeares before them, and with sollemne march Goes slow and stately: By them thrice he walkt, [Sidenote: stately by them; thrice] By their opprest and feare-surprized eyes, Within his Truncheons length; whilst they bestil'd [Sidenote: they distill'd[11]] Almost to Ielly with the Act of feare,[12] Stand dumbe and speake not to him. This to me In dreadfull[13] secrecie impart they did, And I with them the third Night kept the Watch, Whereas[14] they had deliuer'd both in time, [Footnote 1: _Dear_ is not unfrequently used as an intensive; but 'my dearest foe' is not 'the man who hates me most,' but 'the man whom most I regard as my foe.'] [Footnote 2: Note Hamlet's trouble: the marriage, not the death, nor the supplantation.] [Footnote 3: --with a little surprise at Horatio's question.] [Footnote 4: Said as if he must have misheard. Astonishment comes only with the next speech.] [Footnote 5: _1st Q_. 'Ha, ha, the King my father ke you.'] [Footnote 6: Qualify.] [Footnote 7: _1st Q_. 'an attentiue eare,'.] [Footnote 8: Possibly, _dead vast_, as in _1st Q_.; but _waste_ as good, leaving also room to suppose a play in the word.] [Footnote 9: Note the careful uncertainty.] [Footnote 10: _1st Q. 'Capapea_.'] [Footnote 11: Either word would do: the _distilling_ off of the animal spirits would leave the man a jelly; the cold of fear would _bestil_ them and him to a jelly. _1st Q. distilled_. But I judge _bestil'd_ the better, as the truer to the operation of fear. Compare _The Winter's Tale_, act v. sc. 3:-- There's magic in thy majesty, which has From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee.] [Footnote 12: Act: present influence.] [Footnote 13: a secrecy more than solemn.] [Footnote 14: 'Where, as'.] [Page 30] Forme of the thing; each word made true and good, The Apparition comes. I knew your Father: These hands are not more like. _Ham_. But where was this? _Mar_. My Lord, vpon the platforme where we watcht. [Sidenote: watch] _Ham_. Did you not speake to it? _Her_. My Lord, I did; But answere made it none: yet once me thought It lifted vp it head, and did addresse It selfe to motion, like as it would speake: But euen then, the Morning Cocke crew lowd; And at the sound it shrunke in hast away, And vanisht from our sight. _Ham_. Tis very strange. _Hor_. As I doe liue my honourd Lord 'tis true; [Sidenote: 14] And we did thinke it writ downe in our duty To let you know of it. [Sidenote: 32,52] _Ham_. Indeed, indeed Sirs; but this troubles me. [Sidenote: Indeede Sirs but] Hold you the watch to Night? _Both_. We doe my Lord. [Sidenote: _All_.] _Ham_. Arm'd, say you? _Both_. Arm'd, my Lord. [Sidenote: _All_.] _Ham_. From top to toe? _Both_. My Lord, from head to foote. [Sidenote: _All_.] _Ham_. Then saw you not his face? _Hor_. O yes, my Lord, he wore his Beauer vp. _Ham_. What, lookt he frowningly? [Sidenote: 54,174] _Hor_. A countenance more in sorrow then in anger.[1] [Sidenote: 120] _Ham_. Pale, or red? _Hor_. Nay very pale. [Footnote 1: The mood of the Ghost thus represented, remains the same towards his wife throughout the play.] [Page 32] _Ham._ And fixt his eyes vpon you? _Hor._ Most constantly. _Ham._ I would I had beene there. _Hor._ It would haue much amaz'd you. _Ham._ Very like, very like: staid it long? [Sidenote: Very like, stayd] _Hor._ While one with moderate hast might tell a hundred. [Sidenote: hundreth] _All._ Longer, longer. [Sidenote: _Both._] _Hor._ Not when I saw't. _Ham._ His Beard was grisly?[1] no. [Sidenote: grissl'd] _Hor._ It was, as I haue seene it in his life, [Sidenote: 138] A Sable[2] Siluer'd. _Ham._ Ile watch to Night; perchance 'twill wake againe. [Sidenote: walke againe.] _Hor._ I warrant you it will. [Sidenote: warn't it] [Sidenote: 44] _Ham._ If it assume my noble Fathers person,[3] Ile speake to it, though Hell it selfe should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you haue hitherto conceald this sight; Let it bee treble[5] in your silence still: [Sidenote: be tenable in[4]] And whatsoeuer els shall hap to night, [Sidenote: what someuer els] Giue it an vnderstanding but no tongue; I will requite your loues; so, fare ye well: [Sidenote: farre you] Vpon the Platforme twixt eleuen and twelue, [Sidenote: a leauen and twelfe] Ile visit you. _All._ Our duty to your Honour. _Exeunt._ _Ham._ Your loue, as mine to you: farewell. [Sidenote: loves,] My Fathers Spirit in Armes?[6] All is not well: [Sidenote: 30,52] I doubt some foule play: would the Night were come; Till then sit still my soule; foule deeds will rise, [Sidenote: fonde deedes] Though all the earth orewhelm them to mens eies. _Exit._ [Footnote 1: _grisly_--gray; _grissl'd_--turned gray;--mixed with white.] [Footnote 2: The colour of sable-fur, I think.] [Footnote 3: Hamlet does not _accept_ the Appearance as his father; he thinks it may be he, but seems to take a usurpation of his form for very possible.] [Footnote 4: _1st Q_. 'tenible'] [Footnote 5: If _treble_ be the right word, the actor in uttering it must point to each of the three, with distinct yet rapid motion. The phrase would be a strange one, but not unlike Shakspere. Compare _Cymbeline_, act v. sc. 5: 'And your three motives to the battle,' meaning 'the motives of you three.' Perhaps, however, it is only the adjective for the adverb: '_having concealed it hitherto, conceal it trebly now_.' But _tenible_ may be the word: 'let it be a thing to be kept in your silence still.'] [Footnote 6: Alone, he does not dispute _the idea_ of its being his father.] [Page 34] _SCENA TERTIA_[1] _Enter Laertes and Ophelia_. [Sidenote: _Ophelia his Sister._] _Laer_. My necessaries are imbark't; Farewell: [Sidenote: inbarckt,] And Sister, as the Winds giue Benefit, And Conuoy is assistant: doe not sleepe, [Sidenote: conuay, in assistant doe] But let me heare from you. _Ophel_. Doe you doubt that? _Laer_. For _Hamlet_, and the trifling of his fauours, [Sidenote: favour,] Hold it a fashion and a toy in Bloud; A Violet in the youth of Primy Nature; Froward,[2] not permanent; sweet not lasting The suppliance of a minute? No more.[3] [Sidenote: The perfume and suppliance] _Ophel_. No more but so.[4] _Laer_. Thinke it no more. For nature cressant does not grow alone, [Sidenote: 172] In thewes[5] and Bulke: but as his Temple waxes,[6] [Sidenote: bulkes, but as this] The inward seruice of the Minde and Soule Growes wide withall. Perhaps he loues you now,[7] And now no soyle nor cautell[8] doth besmerch The vertue of his feare: but you must feare [Sidenote: of his will, but] His greatnesse weigh'd, his will is not his owne;[9] [Sidenote: wayd] For hee himselfe is subiect to his Birth:[10] Hee may not, as vnuallued persons doe, Carue for himselfe; for, on his choyce depends The sanctity and health of the weole State. [Sidenote: The safty and | this whole] And therefore must his choyce be circumscrib'd[11] Vnto the voyce and yeelding[12] of that Body, Whereof he is the Head. Then if he sayes he loues you, It fits your wisedome so farre to beleeue it; As he in his peculiar Sect and force[13] [Sidenote: his particuler act and place] May giue his saying deed: which is no further, [Footnote 1: _Not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 2: Same as _forward_.] [Footnote 3: 'No more' makes a new line in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 4: I think this speech should end with a point of interrogation.] [Footnote 5: muscles.] [Footnote 6: The body is the temple, in which the mind and soul are the worshippers: their service grows with the temple--wide, changing and increasing its objects. The degraded use of the grand image is after the character of him who makes it.] [Footnote 7: The studied contrast between Laertes and Hamlet begins already to appear: the dishonest man, honestly judging after his own dishonesty, warns his sister against the honest man.] [Footnote 8: deceit.] [Footnote 9: 'You have cause to fear when you consider his greatness: his will &c.' 'You must fear, his greatness being weighed; for because of that greatness, his will is not his own.'] [Footnote 10: _This line not in Quarto._] [Footnote 11: limited.] [Footnote 12: allowance.] [Footnote 13: This change from the _Quarto_ seems to me to bear the mark of Shakspere's hand. The meaning is the same, but the words are more individual and choice: the _sect_, the _head_ in relation to the body, is more pregnant than _place_; and _force_, that is _power_, is a fuller word than _act_, or even _action_, for which it plainly appears to stand.] [Page 36] Then the maine voyce of _Denmarke_ goes withall. Then weigh what losse your Honour may sustaine, If with too credent eare you list his Songs; Or lose your Heart; or your chast Treasure open [Sidenote: Or loose] To his vnmastred[1] importunity. Feare it _Ophelia_, feare it my deare Sister, And keepe within the reare of your Affection;[2] [Sidenote: keepe you in the] Out of the shot and danger of Desire. The chariest Maid is Prodigall enough, [Sidenote: The] If she vnmaske her beauty to the Moone:[3] Vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious stroakes, [Sidenote: Vertue] The Canker Galls, the Infants of the Spring [Sidenote: The canker gaules the] Too oft before the buttons[6] be disclos'd, [Sidenote: their buttons] And in the Morne and liquid dew of Youth, Contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary then, best safety lies in feare; Youth to it selfe rebels, though none else neere.[6] _Ophe_. I shall th'effect of this good Lesson keepe, As watchmen to my heart: but good my Brother [Sidenote: watchman] Doe not as some vngracious Pastors doe, Shew me the steepe and thorny way to Heauen; Whilst like a puft and recklesse Libertine Himselfe, the Primrose path of dalliance treads, And reaks not his owne reade.[7][8][9] _Laer_. Oh, feare me not.[10] _Enter Polonius_. I stay too long; but here my Father comes: A double blessing is a double grace; Occasion smiles vpon a second leaue.[11] _Polon_. Yet heere _Laertes_? Aboord, aboord for shame, The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, And you are staid for there: my blessing with you; [Sidenote: for, there my | with thee] [Footnote 1: Without a master; lawless.] [Footnote 2: Do not go so far as inclination would lead you. Keep behind your liking. Do not go to the front with your impulse.] [Footnote 3: --_but_ to the moon--which can show it so little.] [Footnote 4: Opened but not closed quotations in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 5: The French _bouton_ is also both _button_ and _bud_.] [Footnote 6: 'Inclination is enough to have to deal with, let alone added temptation.' Like his father, Laertes is wise for another--a man of maxims, not behaviour. His morality is in his intellect and for self-ends, not in his will, and for the sake of truth and righteousness.] [Footnote 7: _1st Q_. But my deere brother, do not you Like to a cunning Sophister, Teach me the path and ready way to heauen, While you forgetting what is said to me, Your selfe, like to a carelesse libertine Doth giue his heart, his appetite at ful, And little recks how that his honour dies. 'The primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.' --_Macbeth_, ii. 3: 'The flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.' _All's Well_, iv. 5.] [Footnote 8: 'heeds not his own counsel.'] [Footnote 9: Here in Quarto, _Enter Polonius._] [Footnote 10: With the fitting arrogance and impertinence of a libertine brother, he has read his sister a lecture on propriety of behaviour; but when she gently suggests that what is good for her is good for him too,--'Oh, fear me not!--I stay too long.'] [Footnote 11: 'A second leave-taking is a happy chance': the chance, or occasion, because it is happy, smiles. It does not mean that occasion smiles upon a second leave, but that, upon a second leave, occasion smiles. There should be a comma after _smiles_.] [Footnote 12: As many of Polonius' aphorismic utterances as are given in the 1st Quarto have there inverted commas; but whether intended as gleanings from books or as fruits of experience, the light they throw on the character of him who speaks them is the same: they show it altogether selfish. He is a man of the world, wise in his generation, his principles the best of their bad sort. Of these his son is a fit recipient and retailer, passing on to his sister their father's grand doctrine of self-protection. But, wise in maxim, Polonius is foolish in practice--not from senility, but from vanity.] [Page 38] And these few Precepts in thy memory,[1] See thou Character.[2] Giue thy thoughts no tongue, [Sidenote: Looke thou] Nor any vnproportion'd[3] thought his Act: Be thou familiar; but by no meanes vulgar:[4] The friends thou hast, and their adoption tride,[5] [Sidenote: Those friends] Grapple them to thy Soule, with hoopes of Steele: [Sidenote: unto] But doe not dull thy palme, with entertainment Of each vnhatch't, vnfledg'd Comrade.[6] Beware [Sidenote: each new hatcht unfledgd courage,] Of entrance to a quarrell: but being in Bear't that th'opposed may beware of thee. Giue euery man thine eare; but few thy voyce: [Sidenote: thy eare,] Take each mans censure[7]; but reserue thy Judgement; Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy; But not exprest in fancie; rich, not gawdie: For the Apparell oft proclaimes the man. And they in France of the best ranck and station, Are of a most select and generous[8] cheff in that.[10] [Sidenote: Or of a generous, chiefe[9]] Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; [Sidenote: lender boy,] For lone oft loses both it selfe and friend: [Sidenote: loue] And borrowing duls the edge of Husbandry.[11] [Sidenote: dulleth edge] This aboue all; to thine owne selfe be true: And it must follow, as the Night the Day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.[12] Farewell: my Blessing season[13] this in thee. _Laer_. Most humbly doe I take my leaue, my Lord. _Polon_. The time inuites you, goe, your seruants tend. [Sidenote: time inuests] _Laer._ Farewell _Ophelia_, and remember well What I haue said to you.[14] _Ophe_. Tis in my memory lockt, And you your selfe shall keepe the key of it, _Laer_. Farewell. _Exit Laer_. _Polon_. What ist _Ophelia_ he hath said to you? [Footnote 1: He hurries him to go, yet immediately begins to prose.] [Footnote 2: Engrave.] [Footnote 3: Not settled into its true shape (?) or, out of proportion with its occasions (?)--I cannot say which.] [Footnote 4: 'Cultivate close relations, but do not lie open to common access.' 'Have choice intimacies, but do not be _hail, fellow! well met_ with everybody.' What follows is an expansion of the lesson.] [Footnote 5: 'The friends thou hast--and the choice of them justified by trial--'_equal to_: 'provided their choice be justified &c.'] [Footnote 6: 'Do not make the palm hard, and dull its touch of discrimination, by shaking hands in welcome with every one that turns up.'] [Footnote 7: judgment, opinion.] [Footnote 8: _Generosus_, of good breed, a gentleman.] [Footnote 9: _1st Q_. 'generall chiefe.'] [Footnote 10: No doubt the omission of _of a_ gives the right number of syllables to the verse, and makes room for the interpretation which a dash between _generous_ and _chief_ renders clearer: 'Are most select and generous--chief in that,'--'are most choice and well-bred--chief, indeed--at the head or top, in the matter of dress.' But without _necessity_ or _authority_--one of the two, I would not throw away a word; and suggest therefore that Shakspere had here the French idiom _de son chef_ in his mind, and qualifies the noun in it with adjectives of his own. The Academy Dictionary gives _de son propre mouvement_ as one interpretation of the phrase. The meaning would be, 'they are of a most choice and developed instinct in dress.' _Cheff_ or _chief_ suggests the upper third of the heraldic shield, but I cannot persuade the suggestion to further development. The hypercatalectic syllables _of a_, swiftly spoken, matter little to the verse, especially as it is _dramatic_.] [Footnote 11: Those that borrow, having to pay, lose heart for saving. 'There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out.'--_Macbeth_, ii. 1.] [Footnote 12: Certainly a man cannot be true to himself without being true to others; neither can he be true to others without being true to himself; but if a man make himself the centre for the birth of action, it will follow, '_as the night the day_,' that he will be true neither to himself nor to any other man. In this regard note the history of Laertes, developed in the play.] [Footnote 13: --as salt, to make the counsel keep.] [Footnote 14: See _note 9, page 37_.] [Page 40] _Ophe._ So please you, somthing touching the L. _Hamlet._ _Polon._ Marry, well bethought: Tis told me he hath very oft of late Giuen priuate time to you; and you your selfe Haue of your audience beene most free and bounteous.[1] If it be so, as so tis put on me;[2] And that in way of caution: I must tell you, You doe not vnderstand your selfe so cleerely, As it behoues my Daughter, and your Honour What is betweene you, giue me vp the truth? _Ophe._ He hath my Lord of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me. _Polon._ Affection, puh. You speake like a greene Girle, Vnsifted in such perillous Circumstance. Doe you beleeue his tenders, as you call them? _Ophe._ I do not know, my Lord, what I should thinke. _Polon._ Marry Ile teach you; thinke your self a Baby, [Sidenote: I will] That you haue tane his tenders for true pay, [Sidenote: tane these] Which are not starling. Tender your selfe more dearly; [Sidenote: sterling] Or not to crack the winde of the poore Phrase, [Sidenote: (not ... &c.] Roaming it[3] thus, you'l tender me a foole.[4] [Sidenote: Wrong it thus] _Ophe._ My Lord, he hath importun'd me with loue, In honourable fashion. _Polon._ I, fashion you may call it, go too, go too. _Ophe._ And hath giuen countenance to his speech, My Lord, with all the vowes of Heauen. [Sidenote: with almost all the holy vowes of] [Footnote 1: There had then been a good deal of intercourse between Hamlet and Ophelia: she had heartily encouraged him.] [Footnote 2: 'as so I am informed, and that by way of caution,'] [Footnote 3: --making it, 'the poor phrase' _tenders_, gallop wildly about--as one might _roam_ a horse; _larking it_.] [Footnote 4: 'you will in your own person present me a fool.'] [Page 42] _Polon_. I, Springes to catch Woodcocks.[1] I doe know [Sidenote: springs] When the Bloud burnes, how Prodigall the Soule[2] Giues the tongue vowes: these blazes, Daughter, [Sidenote: Lends the] Giuing more light then heate; extinct in both,[3] Euen in their promise, as it is a making; You must not take for fire. For this time Daughter,[4] [Sidenote: fire, from this] Be somewhat scanter of your Maiden presence; [Sidenote: something] Set your entreatments[5] at a higher rate, Then a command to parley. For Lord _Hamlet_, [Sidenote: parle;] Beleeue so much in him, that he is young, And with a larger tether may he walke, [Sidenote: tider] Then may be giuen you. In few,[6] _Ophelia_, Doe not beleeue his vowes; for they are Broakers, Not of the eye,[7] which their Inuestments show: [Sidenote: of that die] But meere implorators of vnholy Sutes, [Sidenote: imploratators] Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for all:[8] [Sidenote: beguide] I would not, in plaine tearmes, from this time forth, Haue you so slander any moment leisure,[9] [Sidenote: 70, 82] As to giue words or talke with the Lord _Hamlet_:[10] Looke too't, I charge you; come your wayes. _Ophe_. I shall obey my Lord.[11] _Exeunt_. _Enter Hamlet, Horatio, Marcellus._ [Sidenote: _and Marcellus_] [Sidenote: 2] _Ham_. [12]The Ayre bites shrewdly: is it very cold?[13] _Hor_. It is a nipping and an eager ayre. _Ham_. What hower now? _Hor_. I thinke it lacks of twelue. _Mar_. No, it is strooke. _Hor_. Indeed I heard it not: then it drawes neere the season, [Sidenote: it then] Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walke. What does this meane my Lord? [14] [Sidenote: _A flourish of trumpets and 2 peeces goes of._[14]] [Footnote 1: Woodcocks were understood to have no brains.] [Footnote 2: _1st Q_. 'How prodigall the tongue lends the heart vowes.' I was inclined to take _Prodigall_ for a noun, a proper name or epithet given to the soul, as in a moral play: _Prodigall, the soul_; but I conclude it only an adjective used as an adverb, and the capital P a blunder.] [Footnote 3: --in both light and heat.] [Footnote 4: The _Quarto_ has not 'Daughter.'] [Footnote 5: _To be entreated_ is _to yield_: 'he would nowise be entreated:' _entreatments, yieldings_: 'you are not to see him just because he chooses to command a parley.'] [Footnote 6: 'In few words'; in brief.] [Footnote 7: I suspect a misprint in the Folio here--that an _e_ has got in for a _d_, and that the change from the _Quarto_ should be _Not of the dye_. Then the line would mean, using the antecedent word _brokers_ in the bad sense, 'Not themselves of the same colour as their garments (_investments_); his vows are clothed in innocence, but are not innocent; they are mere panders.' The passage is rendered yet more obscure to the modern sense by the accidental propinquity of _bonds, brokers_, and _investments_--which have nothing to do with _stocks_.] [Footnote 8: 'This means in sum:'.] [Footnote 9: 'so slander any moment with the name of leisure as to': to call it leisure, if leisure stood for talk with Hamlet, would be to slander the time. We might say, 'so slander any man friend as to expect him to do this or that unworthy thing for you.'] [Footnote 10: _1st Q_. _Ofelia_, receiue none of his letters, For louers lines are snares to intrap the heart; [Sidenote: 82] Refuse his tokens, both of them are keyes To vnlocke Chastitie vnto Desire; Come in _Ofelia_; such men often proue, Great in their wordes, but little in their loue. '_men often prove such_--great &c.'--Compare _Twelfth Night_, act ii. sc. 4, lines 120, 121, _Globe ed.] [Footnote 11: Fresh trouble for Hamlet_.] [Footnote 12: _1st Q._ The ayre bites shrewd; it is an eager and An nipping winde, what houre i'st?] [Footnote 13: Again the cold.] [Footnote 14: The stage-direction of the _Q_. is necessary here.] [Page 44] [Sidenote: 22, 25] _Ham_. The King doth wake to night, and takes his rouse, Keepes wassels and the swaggering vpspring reeles,[1] [Sidenote: wassell | up-spring] And as he dreines his draughts of Renish downe, The kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge. _Horat_. Is it a custome? _Ham_. I marry ist; And to my mind, though I am natiue heere, [Sidenote: But to] And to the manner borne: It is a Custome More honour'd in the breach, then the obseruance. [A] _Enter Ghost._ _Hor_. Looke my Lord, it comes. [Sidenote: 172] _Ham_. Angels and Ministers of Grace defend vs: [Sidenote: 32] Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from Heauen, or blasts from Hell,[2] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:--_ This heauy headed reueale east and west[3] Makes vs tradust, and taxed of other nations, They clip[4] vs drunkards, and with Swinish phrase Soyle our addition,[5] and indeede it takes From our atchieuements, though perform'd at height[6] The pith and marrow of our attribute, So oft it chaunces in particuler men,[7] That for some vicious mole[8] of nature in them As in their birth wherein they are not guilty,[8] (Since nature cannot choose his origin) By their ore-grow'th of some complextion[10] Oft breaking downe the pales and forts of reason Or by[11] some habit, that too much ore-leauens The forme of plausiue[12] manners, that[13] these men Carrying I say the stamp of one defect Being Natures liuery, or Fortunes starre,[14] His[15] vertues els[16] be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may vndergoe,[17] Shall in the generall censure[18] take corruption From that particuler fault:[19] the dram of eale[20] Doth all the noble substance of a doubt[21] To his[22] owne scandle.] [Footnote 1: Does Hamlet here call his uncle an _upspring_, an _upstart_? or is the _upspring_ a dance, the English equivalent of 'the high _lavolt_' of _Troil. and Cress_. iv. 4, and governed by _reels_--'keeps wassels, and reels the swaggering upspring'--a dance that needed all the steadiness as well as agility available, if, as I suspect, it was that in which each gentleman lifted the lady high, and kissed her before setting her down? I cannot answer, I can only put the question. The word _swaggering_ makes me lean to the former interpretation.] [Footnote 2: Observe again Hamlet's uncertainty. He does not take it for granted that it is _his father's_ spirit, though it is plainly his form.] [Footnote 3: The Quarto surely came too early for this passage to have been suggested by the shameful habits which invaded the court through the example of Anne of Denmark! Perhaps Shakspere cancelled it both because he would not have it supposed he had meant to reflect on the queen, and because he came to think it too diffuse.] [Footnote 4: clepe, _call_.] [Footnote 5: Same as _attribute_, two lines lower--the thing imputed to, or added to us--our reputation, our title or epithet.] [Footnote 6: performed to perfection.] [Footnote 7: individuals.] [Footnote 8: A mole on the body, according to the place where it appeared, was regarded as significant of character: in that relation, a _vicious mole_ would be one that indicated some special vice; but here the allusion is to a live mole of constitutional fault, burrowing within, whose presence the mole-_heap_ on the skin indicates.] [Footnote 9: The order here would be: 'for some vicious mole of nature in them, as by their o'er-growth, in their birth--wherein they are not guilty, since nature cannot choose his origin (or parentage)--their o'ergrowth of (their being overgrown or possessed by) some complexion, &c.'] [Footnote 10: _Complexion_, as the exponent of the _temperament_, or masterful tendency of the nature, stands here for _temperament_--'oft breaking down &c.' Both words have in them the element of _mingling_--a mingling to certain results.] [Footnote 11: The connection is: That for some vicious mole-- As by their o'ergrowth-- Or by some habit, &c.] [Footnote 12: pleasing.] [Footnote 13: Repeat from above '--so oft it chaunces,' before 'that these men.'] [Footnote 14: 'whether the thing come by Nature or by Destiny,' _Fortune's star_: the mark set on a man by fortune to prove her share in him. 83.] [Footnote 15: A change to the singular.] [Footnote l6: 'be his virtues besides as pure &c.'] [Footnote 17: _walk under; carry_.] [Footnote 18: the judgment of the many.] [Footnote 19: 'Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour.' Eccles. x. 1.] [Footnote 20: Compare Quarto reading, page 112: The spirit that I haue scene May be a deale, and the deale hath power &c. If _deale_ here stand for _devil_, then _eale_ may in the same edition be taken to stand for _evil_. It is hardly necessary to suspect a Scotch printer; _evil_ is often used as a monosyllable, and _eale_ may have been a pronunciation of it half-way towards _ill_, which is its contraction.] [Footnote 21: I do not believe there is any corruption in the rest of the passage. 'Doth it of a doubt:' _affects it with a doubt_, brings it into doubt. The following from _Measure for Measure_, is like, though not the same. I have on Angelo imposed the office, Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home And yet my nature never in the fight _To do in slander._ 'To do my nature in slander'; to affect it with slander; to bring it into slander, 'Angelo may punish in my name, but, not being present, I shall not be accused of cruelty, which would be to slander my nature.'] [Footnote 22: _his_--the man's; see _note_ 13 above.] [Page 46] [Sidenote: 112] Be thy euents wicked or charitable, [Sidenote: thy intent] Thou com'st in such a questionable shape[1] That I will speake to thee. Ile call thee _Hamlet_,[2] King, Father, Royall Dane: Oh, oh, answer me, [Sidenote: Dane, ô answere] Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell Why thy Canoniz'd bones Hearsed in death,[3] Haue burst their cerments; why the Sepulcher Wherein we saw thee quietly enurn'd,[4] [Sidenote: quietly interr'd[3]] Hath op'd his ponderous and Marble iawes, To cast thee vp againe? What may this meane? That thou dead Coarse againe in compleat steele, Reuisits thus the glimpses of the Moone, Making Night hidious? And we fooles of Nature,[6] So horridly to shake our disposition,[7] With thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our Soules,[8] [Sidenote: the reaches] Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we doe?[9] _Ghost beckens Hamlet._ _Hor._ It beckons you to goe away with it, [Sidenote: Beckins] As if it some impartment did desire To you alone. _Mar._ Looke with what courteous action It wafts you to a more remoued ground: [Sidenote: waues] But doe not goe with it. _Hor._ No, by no meanes. _Ham_. It will not speake: then will I follow it. [Sidenote: I will] _Hor._ Doe not my Lord. _Ham._ Why, what should be the feare? I doe not set my life at a pins fee; And for my Soule, what can it doe to that? Being a thing immortall as it selfe:[10] It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it. _Hor._ What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord?[11] [Footnote 1: --that of his father, so moving him to question it. _Questionable_ does not mean _doubtful_, but _fit to be questioned_.] [Footnote 2: 'I'll _call_ thee'--for the nonce.] [Footnote 3: I think _hearse_ was originally the bier--French _herse_, a harrow--but came to be applied to the coffin: _hearsed_ in death--_coffined_ in death.] [Footnote 4: There is no impropriety in the use of the word _inurned_. It is a figure--a word once-removed in its application: the sepulchre is the urn, the body the ashes. _Interred_ Shakspere had concluded incorrect, for the body was not laid in the earth.] [Footnote 5: So in _1st Q_.] [Footnote 6: 'fooles of Nature'--fools in the presence of her knowledge--to us no knowledge--of her action, to us inexplicable. _A fact_ that looks unreasonable makes one feel like a fool. See Psalm lxxiii. 22: 'So foolish was I and ignorant, I was as a beast before thee.' As some men are our fools, we are all Nature's fools; we are so far from knowing anything as it is.] [Footnote 7: Even if Shakspere cared more about grammar than he does, a man in Hamlet's perturbation he might well present as making a breach in it; but we are not reduced even to justification. _Toschaken_ (_to_ as German _zu_ intensive) is a recognized English word; it means _to shake to pieces_. The construction of the passage is, 'What may this mean, that thou revisitest thus the glimpses of the moon, and that we so horridly to-shake our disposition?' So in _The Merry Wives_, And fairy-like to-pinch the unclean knight. 'our disposition': our _cosmic structure_.] [Footnote 8: 'with thoughts that are too much for them, and as an earthquake to them.'] [Footnote 9: Like all true souls, Hamlet wants to know what he is _to do_. He looks out for the action required of him.] [Footnote 10: Note here Hamlet's mood--dominated by his faith. His life in this world his mother has ruined; he does not care for it a pin: he is not the less confident of a nature that is immortal. In virtue of this belief in life, he is indifferent to the form of it. When, later in the play, he seems to fear death, it is death the consequence of an action of whose rightness he is not convinced.] [Footnote 11: _The Quarto has dropped out_ 'Lord.'] [Page 48] Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe, [Sidenote: somnet] That beetles[1] o're his base into the Sea, [Sidenote: bettles] [Sidenote: 112] And there assumes some other horrible forme,[2] [Sidenote: assume] Which might depriue your Soueraignty[3] of Reason And draw you into madnesse thinke of it? [A] _Ham._ It wafts me still; goe on, Ile follow thee. [Sidenote: waues] _Mar._ You shall not goe my Lord. _Ham._ Hold off your hand. [Sidenote: hands] _Hor._ Be rul'd, you shall not goe. _Ham._ My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire[4] in this body, [Sidenote: arture[4]] As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue: Still am I cal'd? Vnhand me Gentlemen: By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, goe on, Ile follow thee. _Exeunt Ghost & Hamlet._ _Hor._ He waxes desperate with imagination.[5] [Sidenote: imagion] _Mar._ Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. _Hor._ Haue after, to what issue will this come? _Mar._ Something is rotten in the State of Denmarke. _Hor._ Heauen will direct it. _Mar._ Nay, let's follow him. _Exeunt._ _Enter Ghost and Hamlet._ _Ham._ Where wilt thou lead me? speak; Ile go no further. [Sidenote: Whether] _Gho._ Marke me. _Ham._ I will. [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- The very place puts toyes of desperation Without more motiue, into euery braine That lookes so many fadoms to the sea And heares it rore beneath.] [Footnote 1: _1st Q_. 'beckles'--perhaps for _buckles--bends_.] [Footnote 2: Note the unbelief in the Ghost.] [Footnote 3: sovereignty--_soul_: so in _Romeo and Juliet_, act v. sc. 1, l. 3:-- My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne.] [Footnote 4: The word _artery_, invariably substituted by the editors, is without authority. In the first Quarto, the word is _Artiue_; in the second (see margin) _arture_. This latter I take to be the right one--corrupted into _Artire_ in the Folio. It seems to have troubled the printers, and possibly the editors. The third Q. has followed the second; the fourth has _artyre_; the fifth Q. and the fourth F. have _attire_; the second and third Folios follow the first. Not until the sixth Q. does _artery_ appear. See _Cambridge Shakespeare. Arture_ was to all concerned, and to the language itself, a new word. That _artery_ was not Shakspere's intention might be concluded from its unfitness: what propriety could there be in _making an artery hardy_? The sole, imperfect justification I was able to think of for such use of the word arose from the fact that, before the discovery of the circulation of the blood (published in 1628), it was believed that the arteries (found empty after death) served for the movements of the animal spirits: this might vaguely _associate_ the arteries with _courage_. But the sight of the word _arture_ in the second Quarto at once relieved me. I do not know if a list has ever been gathered of the words _made_ by Shakspere: here is one of them--_arture_, from the same root as _artus, a joint--arcere, to hold together_, adjective _arctus, tight. Arture_, then, stands for _juncture_. This perfectly fits. In terror the weakest parts are the joints, for their _artures_ are not _hardy_. 'And you, my sinews, ... bear me stiffly up.' 55, 56. Since writing as above, a friend informs me that _arture_ is the exact equivalent of the [Greek: haphae] of Colossians ii. 19, as interpreted by Bishop Lightfoot--'the relation between contiguous limbs, not the parts of the limbs themselves in the neighbourhood of contact,'--for which relation 'there is no word in our language in common use.'] [Footnote 5: 'with the things he imagines.'] [Page 50] _Gho._ My hower is almost come,[1] When I to sulphurous and tormenting Flames Must render vp my selfe. _Ham._ Alas poore Ghost. _Gho._ Pitty me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall vnfold. _Ham._ Speake, I am bound to heare. _Gho._ So art thou to reuenge, when thou shalt heare. _Ham._ What? _Gho._ I am thy Fathers Spirit, Doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night;[2] And for the day confin'd to fast in Fiers,[3] Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature Are burnt and purg'd away? But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my Prison-House; I could a Tale vnfold, whose lightest word[4] Would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like Starres, start from their Spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part, [Sidenote: knotted] And each particular haire to stand an end,[5] Like Quilles vpon the fretfull[6] Porpentine [Sidenote: fearefull[6]] But this eternall blason[7] must not be To eares of flesh and bloud; list _Hamlet_, oh list, [Sidenote: blood, list, ô list;] If thou didst euer thy deare Father loue. _Ham._ Oh Heauen![8] [Sidenote: God] _Gho._ Reuenge his foule and most vnnaturall Murther.[9] _Ham._ Murther? _Ghost._ Murther most foule, as in the best it is; But this most foule, strange, and vnnaturall. _Ham._ Hast, hast me to know it, [Sidenote: Hast me to know't,] That with wings as swift [Footnote 1: The night is the Ghost's day.] [Footnote 2: To walk the night, and see how things go, without being able to put a finger to them, is part of his cleansing.] [Footnote 3: More horror yet for Hamlet.] [Footnote 4: He would have him think of life and its doings as of awful import. He gives his son what warning he may.] [Footnote 5: _An end_ is like _agape, an hungred_. 71, 175.] [Footnote 6: The word in the Q. suggests _fretfull_ a misprint for _frightful_. It is _fretfull_ in the 1st Q. as well.] [Footnote 7: To _blason_ is to read off in proper heraldic terms the arms blasoned upon a shield. _A blason_ is such a reading, but is here used for a picture in words of other objects.] [Footnote 8: --in appeal to God whether he had not loved his father.] [Footnote 9: The horror still accumulates. The knowledge of evil--not evil in the abstract, but evil alive, and all about him--comes darkening down upon Hamlet's being. Not only is his father an inhabitant of the nether fires, but he is there by murder.] [Page 52] As meditation, or the thoughts of Loue, May sweepe to my Reuenge.[1] _Ghost._ I finde thee apt, And duller should'st thou be then the fat weede[2] [Sidenote: 194] That rots it selfe in ease, on Lethe Wharfe,[4] [Sidenote: rootes[3]] Would'st thou not stirre in this. Now _Hamlet_ heare: It's giuen out, that sleeping in mine Orchard, [Sidenote: 'Tis] A Serpent stung me: so the whole eare of Denmarke, Is by a forged processe of my death Rankly abus'd: But know thou Noble youth, The Serpent that did sting thy Fathers life, Now weares his Crowne. [Sidenote: 30,32] _Ham._ O my Propheticke soule: mine Vncle?[5] [Sidenote: my] _Ghost._ I that incestuous, that adulterate Beast[6] With witchcraft of his wits, hath Traitorous guifts. [Sidenote: wits, with] Oh wicked Wit, and Gifts, that haue the power So to seduce? Won to to this shamefull Lust [Sidenote: wonne to his] The will of my most seeming vertuous Queene: Oh _Hamlet_, what a falling off was there, [Sidenote: what failing] From me, whose loue was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand, euen with[7] the Vow I made to her in Marriage; and to decline Vpon a wretch, whose Naturall gifts were poore To those of mine. But Vertue, as it neuer wil be moued, Though Lewdnesse court it in a shape of Heauen: So Lust, though to a radiant Angell link'd, [Sidenote: so but though] Will sate it selfe in[8] a Celestiall bed, and prey on Garbage.[9] [Sidenote: Will sort it selfe] But soft, me thinkes I sent the Mornings Ayre; [Sidenote: morning ayre,] Briefe let me be: Sleeping within mine Orchard, [Sidenote: my] My custome alwayes in the afternoone; [Sidenote: of the] Vpon my secure hower thy Vncle stole [Footnote 1: Now, _for the moment_, he has no doubt, and vengeance is his first thought.] [Footnote 2: Hamlet may be supposed to recall this, if we suppose him afterwards to accuse himself so bitterly and so unfairly as in the _Quarto_, 194.] [Footnote 3: Also _1st Q_.] [Footnote 4: landing-place on the bank of Lethe, the hell-river of oblivion.] [Footnote 5: This does not mean that he had suspected his uncle, but that his dislike to him was prophetic.] [Footnote 6: How can it be doubted that in this speech the Ghost accuses his wife and brother of adultery? Their marriage was not adultery. See how the ghastly revelation grows on Hamlet--his father in hell--murdered by his brother--dishonoured by his wife!] [Footnote 7: _parallel with; correspondent to_.] [Footnote 8: _1st Q_. 'fate itself from a'.] [Footnote 9: This passage, from 'Oh _Hamlet_,' most indubitably asserts the adultery of Gertrude.] [Page 54] With iuyce of cursed Hebenon[1] in a Violl, [Sidenote: Hebona] And in the Porches of mine eares did poure [Sidenote: my] The leaperous Distilment;[2] whose effect Holds such an enmity with bloud of Man, That swift as Quick-siluer, it courses[3] through The naturall Gates and Allies of the Body; And with a sodaine vigour it doth posset [Sidenote: doth possesse] And curd, like Aygre droppings into Milke, [Sidenote: eager[4]] The thin and wholsome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant Tetter bak'd about, [Sidenote: barckt about[5]] Most Lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth Body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a Brothers hand, Of Life, of Crowne, and Queene at once dispatcht; [Sidenote: of Queene] [Sidenote: 164] Cut off euen in the Blossomes of my Sinne, Vnhouzzled, disappointed, vnnaneld,[6] [Sidenote: Vnhuzled, | vnanueld,] [Sidenote: 262] No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head; Oh horrible, Oh horrible, most horrible: If thou hast nature in thee beare it not; Let not the Royall Bed of Denmarke be A Couch for Luxury and damned Incest.[7] But howsoeuer thou pursuest this Act, [Sidenote: howsomeuer thou pursues] [Sidenote: 30,174] Taint not thy mind; nor let thy Soule contriue [Sidenote: 140] Against thy Mother ought; leaue her to heauen, And to those Thornes that in her bosome lodge, To pricke and sting her. Fare thee well at once; The Glow-worme showes the Matine to be neere, And gins to pale his vneffectuall Fire: Adue, adue, _Hamlet_: remember me. _Exit_. [Sidenote: Adiew, adiew, adiew, remember me.[8]] _Ham._ Oh all you host of Heauen! Oh Earth: what els? And shall I couple Hell?[9] Oh fie[10]: hold my heart; [Sidenote: hold, hold my] And you my sinnewes, grow not instant Old; [Footnote 1: Ebony.] [Footnote 2: _producing leprosy_--as described in result below.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q_. 'posteth'.] [Footnote 4: So also _1st Q_.] [Footnote 5: This _barckt_--meaning _cased as a bark cases its tree_--is used in _1st Q_. also: 'And all my smoothe body, barked, and tetterd ouer.' The word is so used in Scotland still.] [Footnote 6: _Husel (Anglo-Saxon)_ is _an offering, the sacrament. Disappointed, not appointed_: Dr. Johnson. _Unaneled, unoiled, without the extreme unction_.] [Footnote 7: It is on public grounds, as a king and a Dane, rather than as a husband and a murdered man, that he urges on his son the execution of justice. Note the tenderness towards his wife that follows--more marked, 174; here it is mingled with predominating regard to his son to whose filial nature he dreads injury.] [Footnote 8: _Q_. omits _Exit_.] [Footnote 9: He must: his father is there!] [Footnote 10: The interjection is addressed to _heart_ and _sinews_, which forget their duty.] [Page 56] But beare me stiffely vp: Remember thee?[1] [Sidenote: swiftly vp] I, thou poore Ghost, while memory holds a seate [Sidenote: whiles] In this distracted Globe[2]: Remember thee? Yea, from the Table of my Memory,[3] Ile wipe away all triuiall fond Records, All sawes[4] of Bookes, all formes, all presures past, That youth and obseruation coppied there; And thy Commandment all alone shall liue Within the Booke and Volume of my Braine, Vnmixt with baser matter; yes, yes, by Heauen: [Sidenote: matter, yes by] [Sidenote: 168] Oh most pernicious woman![5] Oh Villaine, Villaine, smiling damned Villaine! My Tables, my Tables; meet it is I set it downe,[6] [Sidenote: My tables, meet] That one may smile, and smile and be a Villaine; At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmarke; [Sidenote: I am] So Vnckle there you are: now to my word;[7] It is; Adue, Adue, Remember me:[8] I haue sworn't. [Sidenote: _Enter Horatio, and Marcellus_] _Hor. and Mar. within_. My Lord, my Lord. [Sidenote: _Hora._ My] _Enter Horatio and Marcellus._ _Mar_. Lord _Hamlet_. _Hor_. Heauen secure him. [Sidenote: Heauens] _Mar_. So be it. _Hor_. Illo, ho, ho, my Lord. _Ham_. Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come.[9] [Sidenote: boy come, and come.] _Mar_. How ist't my Noble Lord? _Hor_. What newes, my Lord? _Ham_. Oh wonderfull![10] _Hor_. Good my Lord tell it. _Ham_. No you'l reueale it. [Sidenote: you will] _Hor_. Not I, my Lord, by Heauen. _Mar_. Nor I, my Lord. _Ham_. How say you then, would heart of man once think it? But you'l be secret? [Footnote 1: For the moment he has no doubt that he has seen and spoken with the ghost of his father.] [Footnote 2: his head.] [Footnote 3: The whole speech is that of a student, accustomed to books, to take notes, and to fix things in his memory. 'Table,' _tablet_.] [Footnote 4: _wise sayings_.] [Footnote 5: The Ghost has revealed her adultery: Hamlet suspects her of complicity in the murder, 168.] [Footnote 6: It may well seem odd that Hamlet should be represented as, at such a moment, making a note in his tablets; but without further allusion to the student-habit, I would remark that, in cases where strongest passion is roused, the intellect has yet sometimes an automatic trick of working independently. For instance from Shakspere, see Constance in _King John_--how, in her agony over the loss of her son, both her fancy, playing with words, and her imagination, playing with forms, are busy. Note the glimpse of Hamlet's character here given: he had been something of an optimist; at least had known villainy only from books; at thirty years of age it is to him a discovery that a man may smile and be a villain! Then think of the shock of such discoveries as are here forced upon him! Villainy is no longer a mere idea, but a fact! and of all villainous deeds those of his own mother and uncle are the worst! But note also his honesty, his justice to humanity, his philosophic temperament, in the qualification he sets to the memorandum, '--at least in Denmark!'] [Footnote 7: 'my word,'--the word he has to keep in mind; his cue.] [Footnote 8: Should not the actor here make a pause, with hand uplifted, as taking a solemn though silent oath?] [Footnote 9: --as if calling to a hawk.] [Footnote 10: Here comes the test of the actor's _possible_: here Hamlet himself begins to act, and will at once assume a _rôle_, ere yet he well knows what it must be. One thing only is clear to him--that the communication of the Ghost is not a thing to be shared--that he must keep it with all his power of secrecy: the honour both of father and of mother is at stake. In order to do so, he must begin by putting on himself a cloak of darkness, and hiding his feelings--first of all the present agitation which threatens to overpower him. His immediate impulse or instinctive motion is to force an air, and throw a veil of grimmest humour over the occurrence. The agitation of the horror at his heart, ever working and constantly repressed, shows through the veil, and gives an excited uncertainty to his words, and a wild vacillation to his manner and behaviour.] [Page 58] _Both_. I, by Heau'n, my Lord.[1] _Ham_. There's nere a villaine dwelling in all Denmarke But hee's an arrant knaue. _Hor_. There needs no Ghost my Lord, come from the Graue, to tell vs this. _Ham_. Why right, you are i'th'right; [Sidenote: in the] And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part: You, as your busines and desires shall point you: [Sidenote: desire] For euery man ha's businesse and desire,[2] [Sidenote: hath] Such as it is: and for mine owne poore part, [Sidenote: my] Looke you, Ile goe pray.[4] [Sidenote: I will goe pray.[3]] _Hor_. These are but wild and hurling words, my Lord. [Sidenote: whurling[5]] _Ham_. I'm sorry they offend you heartily: [Sidenote: I am] Yes faith, heartily. _Hor_. There's no offence my Lord. _Ham_. Yes, by Saint _Patricke_, but there is my Lord,[6] [Sidenote: there is _Horatio_] And much offence too, touching this Vision heere;[7] [Sidenote: 136] It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you:[8] For your desire to know what is betweene vs, O'remaster't as you may. And now good friends, As you are Friends, Schollers and Soldiers, Giue me one poore request. _Hor_. What is't my Lord? we will. _Ham_. Neuer make known what you haue seen to night.[9] _Both_. My Lord, we will not. _Ham_. Nay, but swear't. _Hor_. Infaith my Lord, not I.[10] _Mar_. Nor I my Lord: in faith. _Ham_. Vpon my sword.[11] [Footnote 1: _Q. has not_ 'my Lord.'] [Footnote 2: Here shows the philosopher.] [Footnote 3: _Q. has not_ 'Looke you.'] [Footnote 4: '--nothing else is left me.' This seems to me one of the finest touches in the revelation of Hamlet.] [Footnote 5: _1st Q_. 'wherling'.] [Footnote 6: I take the change from the _Quarto_ here to be no blunder.] [Footnote 7: _Point thus_: 'too!--Touching.'] [Footnote 8: The struggle to command himself is plain throughout.] [Footnote 9: He could not endure the thought of the resulting gossip;--which besides would interfere with, possibly frustrate, the carrying out of his part.] [Footnote 10: This is not a refusal to swear; it is the oath itself: '_In faith I will not_!'] [Footnote 11: He would have them swear on the cross-hilt of his sword.] [Page 60] _Marcell._ We haue sworne my Lord already.[1] _Ham._ Indeed, vpon my sword, Indeed. _Gho._ Sweare.[2] _Ghost cries vnder the Stage._[3] _Ham._ Ah ha boy, sayest thou so. Art thou [Sidenote: Ha, ha,] there truepenny?[4] Come one you here this fellow [Sidenote: Come on, you heare] in the selleredge Consent to sweare. _Hor._ Propose the Oath my Lord.[5] _Ham._ Neuer to speake of this that you haue seene. Sweare by my sword. _Gho._ Sweare. _Ham. Hic & vbique_? Then wee'l shift for grownd, [Sidenote: shift our] Come hither Gentlemen, And lay your hands againe vpon my sword, Neuer to speake of this that you haue heard:[6] Sweare by my Sword. _Gho._ Sweare.[7] [Sidenote: Sweare by his sword.] _Ham._ Well said old Mole, can'st worke i'th' ground so fast? [Sidenote: it'h' earth] A worthy Pioner, once more remoue good friends. _Hor._ Oh day and night: but this is wondrous strange. _Ham._ And therefore as a stranger giue it welcome. There are more things in Heauen and Earth, _Horatio_, Then are dream't of in our Philosophy But come, [Sidenote: in your] Here as before, neuer so helpe you mercy, How strange or odde so ere I beare my selfe; [Sidenote: How | so mere] (As I perchance heereafter shall thinke meet [Sidenote: As] [Sidenote: 136, 156, 178] To put an Anticke disposition on:)[8] [Sidenote: on] That you at such time seeing me, neuer shall [Sidenote: times] With Armes encombred thus, or thus, head shake; [Sidenote: or this head] [Footnote 1: He feels his honour touched.] [Footnote 2: The Ghost's interference heightens Hamlet's agitation. If he does not talk, laugh, jest, it will overcome him. Also he must not show that he believes it his father's ghost: that must be kept to himself--for the present at least. He shows it therefore no respect--treats the whole thing humorously, so avoiding, or at least parrying question. It is all he can do to keep the mastery of himself, dodging horror with half-forced, half-hysterical laughter. Yet is he all the time intellectually on the alert. See how, instantly active, he makes use of the voice from beneath to enforce his requisition of silence. Very speedily too he grows quiet: a glimmer of light as to the course of action necessary to him has begun to break upon him: it breaks from his own wild and disjointed behaviour in the attempt to hide the conflict of his feelings--which suggests to him the idea of shrouding himself, as did David at the court of the Philistines, in the cloak of madness: thereby protected from the full force of what suspicion any absorption of manner or outburst of feeling must occasion, he may win time to lay his plans. Note how, in the midst of his horror, he is yet able to think, plan, resolve.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q. 'The Gost under the stage.'_] [Footnote 4: While Hamlet seems to take it so coolly, the others have fled in terror from the spot. He goes to them. Their fear must be what, on the two occasions after, makes him shift to another place when the Ghost speaks.] [Footnote 5: Now at once he consents.] [Footnote 6: In the _Quarto_ this and the next line are transposed.] [Footnote 7: What idea is involved as the cause of the Ghost's thus interfering?--That he too sees what difficulties must encompass the carrying out of his behest, and what absolute secrecy is thereto essential.] [Footnote 8: This idea, hardly yet a resolve, he afterwards carries out so well, that he deceives not only king and queen and court, but the most of his critics ever since: to this day they believe him mad. Such must have studied in the play a phantom of their own misconception, and can never have seen the Hamlet of Shakspere. Thus prejudiced, they mistake also the effects of moral and spiritual perturbation and misery for further sign of intellectual disorder--even for proof of moral weakness, placing them in the same category with the symptoms of the insanity which he simulates, and by which they are deluded.] [Page 62] Or by pronouncing of some doubtfull Phrase; As well, we know, or we could and if we would, [Sidenote: As well, well, we] Or if we list to speake; or there be and if there might, [Sidenote: if they might] Or such ambiguous giuing out to note, [Sidenote: note] That you know ought of me; this not to doe: [Sidenote: me, this doe sweare,] So grace and mercy at your most neede helpe you: Sweare.[1] _Ghost_. Sweare.[2] _Ham_. Rest, rest perturbed Spirit[3]: so Gentlemen, With all my loue I doe commend me to you; And what so poore a man as _Hamlet_ is, May doe t'expresse his loue and friending to you, God willing shall not lacke: let vs goe in together, And still your fingers on your lippes I pray, The time is out of ioynt: Oh cursed spight,[4] [Sidenote: 126] That euer I was borne to set it right. Nay, come let's goe together. _Exeunt._[5] * * * * * SUMMARY OF ACT I. This much of Hamlet we have now learned: he is a thoughtful man, a genuine student, little acquainted with the world save through books, and a lover of his kind. His university life at Wittenberg is suddenly interrupted by a call to the funeral of his father, whom he dearly loves and honours. Ere he reaches Denmark, his uncle Claudius has contrived, in an election (202, 250, 272) probably hastened and secretly influenced, to gain the voice of the representatives at least of the people, and ascend the throne. Hence his position must have been an irksome one from the first; but, within a month of his father's death, his mother's marriage with his uncle--a relation universally regarded as incestuous--plunges him in the deepest misery. The play introduces him at the first court held after the wedding. He is attired in the mourning of his father's funeral, which he had not laid aside for the wedding. His aspect is of absolute dejection, and he appears in a company for which he is so unfit only for the sake of desiring permission to leave the court, and go back to his studies at Wittenberg.[A] Left to himself, he breaks out in agonized and indignant lamentation over his mother's conduct, dwelling mainly on her disregard of his father's memory. Her conduct and his partial discovery of her character, is the sole cause of his misery. In such his mood, Horatio, a fellow-student, brings him word that his father's spirit walks at night. He watches for the Ghost, and receives from him a frightful report of his present condition, into which, he tells him, he was cast by the murderous hand of his brother, with whom his wife had been guilty of adultery. He enjoins him to put a stop to the crime in which they are now living, by taking vengeance on his uncle. Uncertain at the moment how to act, and dreading the consequences of rousing suspicion by the perturbation which he could not but betray, he grasps at the sudden idea of affecting madness. We have learned also Hamlet's relation to Ophelia, the daughter of the selfish, prating, busy Polonius, who, with his son Laertes, is destined to work out the earthly fate of Hamlet. Of Laertes, as yet, we only know that he prates like his father, is self-confident, and was educated at Paris, whither he has returned. Of Ophelia we know nothing but that she is gentle, and that she is fond of Hamlet, whose attentions she has encouraged, but with whom, upon her father's severe remonstrance, she is ready, outwardly at least, to break. [Footnote A: Roger Ascham, in his _Scholemaster_, if I mistake not, sets the age, up to which a man should be under tutors, at twenty-nine.] [Footnote 1: 'Sweare' _not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 2: They do not this time shift their ground, but swear--in dumb show.] [Footnote 3: --for now they had obeyed his command and sworn secrecy.] [Footnote 4: 'cursed spight'--not merely that he had been born to do hangman's work, but that he should have been born at all--of a mother whose crime against his father had brought upon him the wretched necessity which must proclaim her ignominy. Let the student do his best to realize the condition of Hamlet's heart and mind in relation to his mother.] [Footnote: 5 This first act occupies part of a night, a day, and part of the next night.] [Page 64] ACTUS SECUNDUS.[1] _Enter Polonius, and Reynoldo._ [Sidenote: _Enter old Polonius, with his man, or two._] _Polon._ Giue him his money, and these notes _Reynoldo_.[2] [Sidenote: this money] _Reynol._ I will my Lord. _Polon._ You shall doe maruels wisely: good _Reynoldo_, [Sidenote: meruiles] Before you visite him you make inquiry [Sidenote: him, to make inquire] Of his behauiour.[3] _Reynol._ My Lord, I did intend it. _Polon._ Marry, well said; Very well said. Looke you Sir, Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who; what meanes; and where they keepe: What company, at what expence: and finding By this encompassement and drift of question, That they doe know my sonne: Come you more neerer[4] Then your particular demands will touch it, Take you as 'twere some distant knowledge of him, And thus I know his father and his friends, [Sidenote: As thus] And in part him. Doe you marke this _Reynoldo_? _Reynol._ I, very well my Lord. _Polon._ And in part him, but you may say not well; But if't be hee I meane, hees very wilde; Addicted so and so; and there put on him What forgeries you please: marry, none so ranke, As may dishonour him; take heed of that: But Sir, such wanton, wild, and vsuall slips, As are Companions noted and most knowne To youth and liberty. [Footnote 1: _Not in Quarto._ Between this act and the former, sufficient time has passed to allow the ambassadors to go to Norway and return: 74. See 138, and what Hamlet says of the time since his father's death, 24, by which together the interval _seems_ indicated as about two months, though surely so much time was not necessary. Cause and effect _must_ be truly presented; time and space are mere accidents, and of small consequence in the drama, whose very idea is compression for the sake of presentation. All that is necessary in regard to time is, that, either by the act-pause, or the intervention of a fresh scene, the passing of it should be indicated. This second act occupies the forenoon of one day.] [Footnote 2: _1st Q._ _Montano_, here, these letters to my sonne, And this same mony with my blessing to him, And bid him ply his learning good _Montano_.] [Footnote 3: The father has no confidence in the son, and rightly, for both are unworthy: he turns on him the cunning of the courtier, and sends a spy on his behaviour. The looseness of his own principles comes out very clear in his anxieties about his son; and, having learned the ideas of the father as to what becomes a gentleman, we are not surprised to find the son such as he afterwards shows himself. Till the end approaches, we hear no more of Laertes, nor is more necessary; but without this scene we should have been unprepared for his vileness.] [Footnote 4: _Point thus_: 'son, come you more nearer; then &c.' The _then_ here does not stand for _than_, and to change it to _than_ makes at once a contradiction. The sense is: 'Having put your general questions first, and been answered to your purpose, then your particular demands will come in, and be of service; they will reach to the point--_will touch it_.' The _it_ is impersonal. After it should come a period.] [Page 66] _Reynol._ As gaming my Lord. _Polon._ I, or drinking, fencing, swearing, Quarelling, drabbing. You may goe so farre. _Reynol._ My Lord that would dishonour him. _Polon._ Faith no, as you may season it in the charge;[1] [Sidenote: Fayth as you] You must not put another scandall on him, That hee is open to Incontinencie;[2] That's not my meaning: but breath his faults so quaintly, That they may seeme the taints of liberty; The flash and out-breake of a fiery minde, A sauagenes in vnreclaim'd[3] bloud of generall assault.[4] _Reynol._ But my good Lord.[5] _Polon._ Wherefore should you doe this?[6] _Reynol._ I my Lord, I would know that. _Polon._ Marry Sir, heere's my drift, And I belieue it is a fetch of warrant:[7] [Sidenote: of wit,] You laying these slight sulleyes[8] on my Sonne, [Sidenote: sallies[8]] As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th'working: [Sidenote: soiled with working,] Marke you your party in conuerse; him you would sound, Hauing euer seene. In the prenominate crimes, [Sidenote: seene in the] The youth you breath of guilty, be assur'd He closes with you in this consequence: Good sir, or so, or friend, or Gentleman. According to the Phrase and the Addition,[9] [Sidenote: phrase or the] Of man and Country. _Reynol._ Very good my Lord. _Polon._ And then Sir does he this? [Sidenote: doos a this a doos, what was _I_] He does: what was I about to say? I was about to say somthing: where did I leaue? [Sidenote: By the masse I was] _Reynol._ At closes in the consequence: At friend, or so, and Gentleman.[10] [Footnote 1: _1st Q._ I faith not a whit, no not a whit, As you may bridle it not disparage him a iote.] [Footnote 2: This may well seem prating inconsistency, but I suppose means that he must not be represented as without moderation in his wickedness.] [Footnote 3: _Untamed_, as a hawk.] [Footnote 4: The lines are properly arranged in _Q_. A sauagenes in vnreclamed blood, Of generall assault. --that is, 'which assails all.'] [Footnote 5: Here a hesitating pause.] [Footnote 6: --with the expression of, 'Is that what you would say?'] [Footnote 7: 'a fetch with warrant for it'--a justifiable trick.] [Footnote 8: Compare _sallied_, 25, both Quartos; _sallets_ 67, 103; and see _soil'd_, next line.] [Footnote 9: 'Addition,' epithet of courtesy in address.] [Footnote 10: _Q_. has not this line] [Page 68] _Polon._ At closes in the consequence, I marry, He closes with you thus. I know the Gentleman, [Sidenote: He closes thus,] I saw him yesterday, or tother day; [Sidenote: th'other] Or then or then, with such and such; and as you say, [Sidenote: or such,] [Sidenote: 25] There was he gaming, there o'retooke in's Rouse, [Sidenote: was a gaming there, or tooke] There falling out at Tennis; or perchance, I saw him enter such a house of saile; [Sidenote: sale,] _Videlicet_, a Brothell, or so forth. See you now; Your bait of falshood, takes this Cape of truth; [Sidenote: take this carpe] And thus doe we of wisedome and of reach[1] With windlesses,[2] and with assaies of Bias, By indirections finde directions out: So by my former Lecture and aduice Shall you my Sonne; you haue me, haue you not? _Reynol._ My Lord I haue. _Polon._ God buy you; fare you well, [Sidenote: ye | ye] _Reynol._ Good my Lord. _Polon._ Obserue his inclination in your selfe.[3] _Reynol._ I shall my Lord. _Polon._ And let him[4] plye his Musicke. _Reynol._ Well, my Lord. _Exit_. _Enter Ophelia_. _Polon_. Farewell: How now _Ophelia_, what's the matter? _Ophe_. Alas my Lord, I haue beene so affrighted. [Sidenote: O my Lord, my Lord,] _Polon_. With what, in the name of Heauen? [Sidenote: i'th name of God?] _Ophe_. My Lord, as I was sowing in my Chamber, [Sidenote: closset,] Lord _Hamlet_ with his doublet all vnbrac'd,[5] No hat vpon his head, his stockings foul'd, Vngartred, and downe giued[6] to his Anckle, Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a looke so pitious in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell, [Footnote 1: of far reaching mind.] [Footnote 2: The word windlaces is explained in the dictionaries as _shifts, subtleties_--but apparently on the sole authority of this passage. There must be a figure in _windlesses_, as well as in _assaies of Bias_, which is a phrase plain enough to bowlers: the trying of other directions than that of the _jack_, in the endeavour to come at one with the law of the bowl's bias. I find _wanlass_ a term in hunting: it had to do with driving game to a given point--whether in part by getting to windward of it, I cannot tell. The word may come of the verb wind, from its meaning '_to manage by shifts or expedients_': _Barclay_. As he has spoken of fishing, could the _windlesses_ refer to any little instrument such as now used upon a fishing-rod? I do not think it. And how do the words _windlesses_ and _indirections_ come together? Was a windless some contrivance for determining how the wind blew? I bethink me that a thin withered straw is in Scotland called a _windlestrae_: perhaps such straws were thrown up to find out 'by indirection' the direction of the wind. The press-reader sends me two valuable quotations, through Latham's edition of Johnson's Dictionary, from Dr. H. Hammond (1605-1660), in which _windlass_ is used as a verb:-- 'A skilful woodsman, by windlassing, presently gets a shoot, which, without taking a compass, and thereby a commodious stand, he could never have obtained.' 'She is not so much at leasure as to windlace, or use craft, to satisfy them.' To _windlace_ seems then to mean 'to steal along to leeward;' would it be absurd to suggest that, so-doing, the hunter _laces the wind_? Shakspere, with many another, I fancy, speaks of _threading the night_ or _the darkness_. Johnson explains the word in the text as 'A handle by which anything is turned.'] [Footnote 3: 'in your selfe.' may mean either 'through the insight afforded by your own feelings'; or 'in respect of yourself,' 'toward yourself.' I do not know which is intended.] [Footnote 4: 1st Q. 'And bid him'.] [Footnote 5: loose; _undone_.] [Footnote 6: His stockings, slipped down in wrinkles round his ankles, suggested the rings of _gyves_ or fetters. The verb _gyve_, of which the passive participle is here used, is rarer.] [Page 70] To speake of horrors: he comes before me. _Polon._ Mad for thy Loue? _Ophe._ My Lord, I doe not know: but truly I do feare it.[1] _Polon._ What said he? _Ophe._[2] He tooke me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arme; And with his other hand thus o're his brow, He fals to such perusall of my face, As he would draw it. Long staid he so, [Sidenote: As a] At last, a little shaking of mine Arme: And thrice his head thus wauing vp and downe; He rais'd a sigh, so pittious and profound, That it did seeme to shatter all his bulke, [Sidenote: As it] And end his being. That done, he lets me goe, And with his head ouer his shoulders turn'd, [Sidenote: shoulder] He seem'd to finde his way without his eyes, For out adores[3] he went without their helpe; [Sidenote: helps,] And to the last, bended their light on me. _Polon._ Goe with me, I will goe seeke the King, [Sidenote: Come, goe] This is the very extasie of Loue, Whose violent property foredoes[4] it selfe, And leads the will to desperate Vndertakings, As oft as any passion vnder Heauen, [Sidenote: passions] That does afflict our Natures. I am sorrie, What haue you giuen him any hard words of late? _Ophe_. No my good Lord: but as you did command, [Sidenote: 42, 82] I did repell his Letters, and deny'de His accesse to me.[5] _Pol_. That hath made him mad. I am sorrie that with better speed and Judgement [Sidenote: better heede] [Sidenote: 83] I had not quoted[6] him. I feare he did but trifle, [Sidenote: coted[6] | fear'd] And meant to wracke thee: but beshrew my iealousie: [Footnote 1: She would be glad her father should think so.] [Footnote 2: The detailed description of Hamlet and his behaviour that follows, must be introduced in order that the side mirror of narrative may aid the front mirror of drama, and between them be given a true notion of his condition both mental and bodily. Although weeks have passed since his interview with the Ghost, he is still haunted with the memory of it, still broods over its horrible revelation. That he had, probably soon, begun to feel far from certain of the truth of the apparition, could not make the thoughts and questions it had awaked, cease tormenting his whole being. The stifling smoke of his mother's conduct had in his mind burst into loathsome flame, and through her he has all but lost his faith in humanity. To know his uncle a villain, was to know his uncle a villain; to know his mother false, was to doubt women, doubt the whole world. In the meantime Ophelia, in obedience to her father, and evidently without reason assigned, has broken off communication with him: he reads her behaviour by the lurid light of his mother's. She too is false! she too is heartless! he can look to her for no help! She has turned against him to curry favour with his mother and his uncle! Can she be such as his mother! Why should she not be? His mother had seemed as good! He would give his life to know her honest and pure. Might he but believe her what he had believed her, he would yet have a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest! If he could but know the truth! Alone with her once more but for a moment, he would read her very soul by the might of his! He must see her! He would see her! In the agony of a doubt upon which seemed to hang the bliss or bale of his being, yet not altogether unintimidated by a sense of his intrusion, he walks into the house of Polonius, and into the chamber of Ophelia. Ever since the night of the apparition, the court, from the behaviour assumed by Hamlet, has believed his mind affected; and when he enters her room, Ophelia, though such is the insight of love that she is able to read in the face of the son the father's purgatorial sufferings, the picture of one 'loosed out of hell, to speak of horrors,' attributes all the strangeness of his appearance and demeanour, such as she describes them to her father, to that supposed fact. But there is, in truth, as little of affected as of actual madness in his behaviour in her presence. When he comes before her pale and trembling, speechless and with staring eyes, it is with no simulated insanity, but in the agonized hope, scarce distinguishable from despair, of finding, in the testimony of her visible presence, an assurance that the doubts ever tearing his spirit and sickening his brain, are but the offspring of his phantasy. There she sits!--and there he stands, vainly endeavouring through her eyes to read her soul! for, alas, there's no art To find the mind's construction in the face! --until at length, finding himself utterly baffled, but unable, save by the removal of his person, to take his eyes from her face, he retires speechless as he came. Such is the man whom we are now to see wandering about the halls and corridors of the great castle-palace. He may by this time have begun to doubt even the reality of the sight he had seen. The moment the pressure of a marvellous presence is removed, it is in the nature of man the same moment to begin to doubt; and instead of having any reason to wish the apparition a true one, he had every reason to desire to believe it an illusion or a lying spirit. Great were his excuse even if he forced likelihoods, and suborned witnesses in the court of his own judgment. To conclude it false was to think his father in heaven, and his mother not an adulteress, not a murderess! At once to kill his uncle would be to seal these horrible things irrevocable, indisputable facts. Strongest reasons he had for not taking immediate action in vengeance; but no smallest incapacity for action had share in his delay. The Poet takes recurrent pains, as if he foresaw hasty conclusions, to show his hero a man of promptitude, with this truest fitness for action, that he would not make unlawful haste. Without sufficing assurance, he would have no part in the fate either of the uncle he disliked or the mother he loved.] [Footnote 3: _a doors_, like _an end_. 51, 175.] [Footnote 4: _undoes, frustrates, destroys_.] [Footnote 5: See quotation from _1st Quarto,_ 43.] [Footnote 6: _Quoted_ or _coted: observed_; Fr. _coter_, to mark the number. Compare 95.] [Page 72] It seemes it is as proper to our Age, [Sidenote: By heauen it is] To cast beyond our selues[1] in our Opinions, As it is common for the yonger sort To lacke discretion.[2] Come, go we to the King, This must be knowne, which being kept close might moue More greefe to hide, then hate to vtter loue.[3] [Sidenote: Come.] _Exeunt._ _SCENA SECUNDA._[4] _Enter King, Queene, Rosincrane, and Guildensterne Cum alijs. [Sidenote: Florish: Enter King and Queene, Rosencraus and Guyldensterne.[5]] _King._ Welcome deere _Rosincrance_ and _Guildensterne_. Moreouer,[6] that we much did long to see you, The neede we haue to vse you, did prouoke [Sidenote: 92] Our hastie sending.[7] Something haue you heard Of _Hamlets_ transformation: so I call it, [Sidenote: so call] Since not th'exterior, nor the inward man [Sidenote: Sith nor] Resembles that it was. What it should bee More then his Fathers death, that thus hath put him So much from th'understanding of himselfe, I cannot deeme of.[8] I intreat you both, [Sidenote: dreame] That being of so young dayes[9] brought vp with him: And since so Neighbour'd to[10] his youth,and humour, [Sidenote: And sith | and hauior,] That you vouchsafe your rest heere in our Court Some little time: so by your Companies To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather [Sidenote: 116] So much as from Occasions you may gleane, [Sidenote: occasion] [A] That open'd lies within our remedie.[11] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- Whether ought to vs vnknowne afflicts him thus,] [Footnote 1: 'to be overwise--to overreach ourselves' 'ambition, which o'erleaps itself,' --_Macbeth_, act i. sc. 7.] [Footnote 2: Polonius is a man of faculty. His courtier-life, his self-seeking, his vanity, have made and make him the fool he is.] [Footnote 3: He hopes now to get his daughter married to the prince. We have here a curious instance of Shakspere's not unfrequently excessive condensation. Expanded, the clause would be like this: 'which, being kept close, might move more grief by the hiding of love, than to utter love might move hate:' the grief in the one case might be greater than the hate in the other would be. It verges on confusion, and may not be as Shakspere wrote it, though it is like his way. _1st Q._ Lets to the king, this madnesse may prooue, Though wilde a while, yet more true to thy loue.] [Footnote 4: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 5: _Q._ has not _Cum alijs._] [Footnote 6: 'Moreover that &c.': _moreover_ is here used as a preposition, with the rest of the clause for its objective.] [Footnote 7: Rosincrance and Guildensterne are, from the first and throughout, the creatures of the king.] [Footnote 8: The king's conscience makes him suspicious of Hamlet's suspicion.] [Footnote 9: 'from such an early age'.] [Footnote 10: 'since then so familiar with'.] [Footnote 11: 'to gather as much as you may glean from opportunities, of that which, when disclosed to us, will lie within our remedial power.' If the line of the Quarto be included, it makes plainer construction. The line beginning with '_So much_,' then becomes parenthetical, and _to gather_ will not immediately govern that line, but the rest of the sentence.] [Page 74] _Qu._ Good Gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, And sure I am, two men there are not liuing, [Sidenote: there is not] To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To shew vs so much Gentrie,[1] and good will, As to expend your time with vs a-while, For the supply and profit of our Hope,[2] Your Visitation shall receiue such thankes As fits a Kings remembrance. _Rosin._ Both your Maiesties Might by the Soueraigne power you haue of vs, Put your dread pleasures, more into Command Then to Entreatie, _Guil._ We both[3] obey, [Sidenote: But we] And here giue vp our selues, in the full bent,[4] To lay our Seruices freely at your feete, [Sidenote: seruice] To be commanded. _King._ Thankes _Rosincrance_, and gentle _Guildensterne_. _Qu._ Thankes _Guildensterne_ and gentle _Rosincrance_,[5] And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed Sonne. Go some of ye, [Sidenote: you] And bring the Gentlemen where _Hamlet_ is, [Sidenote: bring these] _Guil._ Heauens make our presence and our practises Pleasant and helpfull to him. _Exit_[6] _Queene._ Amen. [Sidenote: Amen. _Exeunt Ros. and Guyld._] _Enter Polonius._ [Sidenote: 18] _Pol._ Th'Ambassadors from Norwey, my good Lord, Are ioyfully return'd. [Footnote 1: gentleness, grace, favour.] [Footnote 2: Their hope in Hamlet, as their son and heir.] [Footnote 3: both majesties.] [Footnote 4: If we put a comma after _bent_, the phrase will mean 'in the full _purpose_ or _design_ to lay our services &c.' Without the comma, the content of the phrase would be general:--'in the devoted force of our faculty.' The latter is more like Shakspere.] [Footnote 5: Is there not tact intended in the queen's reversal of her husband's arrangement of the two names--that each might have precedence, and neither take offence?] [Footnote 6: _Not in Quarto._] [Page 76] _King._ Thou still hast bin the Father of good Newes. _Pol._ Haue I, my Lord?[1] Assure you, my good Liege, [Sidenote: I assure my] I hold my dutie, as I hold my Soule, Both to my God, one to my gracious King:[2] [Sidenote: God, and to[2]] And I do thinke, or else this braine of mine Hunts not the traile of Policie, so sure As I haue vs'd to do: that I haue found [Sidenote: it hath vsd] The very cause of _Hamlets_ Lunacie. _King._ Oh speake of that, that I do long to heare. [Sidenote: doe I long] _Pol._ Giue first admittance to th'Ambassadors, My Newes shall be the Newes to that great Feast, [Sidenote: the fruite to that] _King._ Thy selfe do grace to them, and bring them in. He tels me my sweet Queene, that he hath found [Sidenote: my deere Gertrard he] The head[3] and sourse of all your Sonnes distemper. _Qu._ I doubt it is no other, but the maine, His Fathers death, and our o're-hasty Marriage.[4] [Sidenote: our hastie] _Enter Polonius, Voltumand, and Cornelius._ [Sidenote: _Enter_ Embassadors.] _King._ Well, we shall sift him. Welcome good Frends: [Sidenote: my good] Say _Voltumand_, what from our Brother Norwey? _Volt._ Most faire returne of Greetings, and Desires. Vpon our first,[5] he sent out to suppresse His Nephewes Leuies, which to him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Poleak: [Sidenote: Pollacke,] But better look'd into, he truly found It was against your Highnesse, whereat greeued, That so his Sicknesse, Age, and Impotence Was falsely borne in hand,[6] sends[7] out Arrests On _Fortinbras_, which he (in breefe) obeyes, [Footnote 1: To be spoken triumphantly, but in the peculiar tone of one thinking, 'You little know what better news I have behind!'] [Footnote 2: I cannot tell which is the right reading; if the _Q.'s_, it means, '_I hold my duty precious as my soul, whether to my God or my king_'; if the _F.'s_, it is a little confused by the attempt of Polonius to make a fine euphuistic speech:--'_I hold my duty as I hold my soul,--both at the command of my God, one at the command of my king_.'] [Footnote 3: the spring; the river-head 'The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood' _Macbeth,_ act ii. sc. 3.] [Footnote 4: She goes a step farther than the king in accounting for Hamlet's misery--knows there is more cause of it yet, but hopes he does not know so much cause for misery as he might know.] [Footnote 5: Either 'first' stands for _first desire_, or it is a noun, and the meaning of the phrase is, 'The instant we mentioned the matter'.] [Footnote 6: 'borne in hand'--played with, taken advantage of. 'How you were borne in hand, how cross'd,' _Macbeth,_ act iii. sc. 1.] [Footnote 7: The nominative pronoun was not _quite_ indispensable to the verb in Shakspere's time.] [Page 78] Receiues rebuke from Norwey: and in fine, Makes Vow before his Vnkle, neuer more To giue th'assay of Armes against your Maiestie. Whereon old Norwey, ouercome with ioy, Giues him three thousand Crownes in Annuall Fee, [Sidenote: threescore thousand] And his Commission to imploy those Soldiers So leuied as before, against the Poleak: [Sidenote: Pollacke,] With an intreaty heerein further shewne, [Sidenote: 190] That it might please you to giue quiet passe Through your Dominions, for his Enterprize, [Sidenote: for this] On such regards of safety and allowance, As therein are set downe. _King_. It likes vs well: And at our more consider'd[1] time wee'l read, Answer, and thinke vpon this Businesse. Meane time we thanke you, for your well-tooke Labour. Go to your rest, at night wee'l Feast together.[2] Most welcome home. _Exit Ambass_. [Sidenote: Exeunt Embassadors] _Pol_. This businesse is very well ended.[3] [Sidenote: is well] My Liege, and Madam, to expostulate[4] What Maiestie should be, what Dutie is,[5] Why day is day; night, night; and time is time, Were nothing but to waste Night, Day and Time. Therefore, since Breuitie is the Soule of Wit, [Sidenote: Therefore breuitie] And tediousnesse, the limbes and outward flourishes,[6] I will be breefe. Your Noble Sonne is mad: Mad call I it; for to define true Madnesse, What is't, but to be nothing else but mad.[7] But let that go. _Qu_. More matter, with lesse Art.[8] _Pol_. Madam, I sweare I vse no Art at all: That he is mad, 'tis true: 'Tis true 'tis pittie, [Sidenote: hee's mad] And pittie it is true; A foolish figure,[9] [Sidenote: pitty tis tis true,] [Footnote 1: time given up to, or filled with consideration; _or, perhaps_, time chosen for a purpose.] [Footnote 2: He is always feasting.] [Footnote 3: Now for _his_ turn! He sets to work at once with his rhetoric.] [Footnote 4: to lay down beforehand as postulates.] [Footnote 5: We may suppose a dash and pause after '_Dutie is_'. The meaning is plain enough, though logical form is wanting.] [Footnote 6: As there is no imagination in Polonius, we cannot look for great aptitude in figure.] [Footnote 7: The nature of madness also is a postulate.] [Footnote 8: She is impatient, but wraps her rebuke in a compliment. Art, so-called, in speech, was much favoured in the time of Elizabeth. And as a compliment Polonius takes the form in which she expresses her dislike of his tediousness, and her anxiety after his news: pretending to wave it off, he yet, in his gratification, coming on the top of his excitement with the importance of his fancied discovery, plunges immediately into a very slough of _art_, and becomes absolutely silly.] [Footnote 9: It is no figure at all. It is hardly even a play with the words.] [Page 80] But farewell it: for I will vse no Art. Mad let vs grant him then: and now remaines That we finde out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect defectiue, comes by cause, Thus it remaines, and the remainder thus. Perpend, I haue a daughter: haue, whil'st she is mine, [Sidenote: while] Who in her Dutie and Obedience, marke, Hath giuen me this: now gather, and surmise. _The Letter_.[1] _To the Celestiall, and my Soules Idoll, the most beautified Ophelia_. That's an ill Phrase, a vilde Phrase, beautified is a vilde Phrase: but you shall heare these in her thus in her excellent white bosome, these.[2] [Sidenote: these, &c] _Qu_. Came this from _Hamlet_ to her. _Pol_. Good Madam stay awhile, I will be faithfull. _Doubt thou, the Starres are fire_, [Sidenote: _Letter_] _Doubt, that the Sunne doth moue; Doubt Truth to be a Lier, But neuer Doubt, I loue.[3] 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. This in Obedience hath my daughter shew'd me: [Sidenote: _Pol_. This showne] And more aboue hath his soliciting, [Sidenote: more about solicitings] As they fell out by Time, by Meanes, and Place, All giuen to mine eare. _King_. But how hath she receiu'd his Loue? _Pol_. What do you thinke of me? _King_. As of a man, faithfull and Honourable. _Pol_. I wold faine proue so. But what might you think? [Footnote 1: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 2: _Point thus_: 'but you shall heare. _These, in her excellent white bosom, these_:' Ladies, we are informed, wore a small pocket in front of the bodice;--but to accept the fact as an explanation of this passage, is to cast the passage away. Hamlet _addresses_ his letter, not to Ophelia's pocket, but to Ophelia herself, at her house--that is, in the palace of her bosom, excellent in whiteness. In like manner, signing himself, he makes mention of his body as a machine of which he has the use for a time. So earnest is Hamlet that when he makes love, he is the more a philosopher. But he is more than a philosopher: he is a man of the Universe, not a man of this world only. We must not allow the fashion of the time in which the play was written, to cause doubt as to the genuine heartiness of Hamlet's love-making.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q._ Doubt that in earth is fire, Doubt that the starres doe moue, Doubt trueth to be a liar, But doe not doubt I loue.] [Page 82] When I had seene this hot loue on the wing, As I perceiued it, I must tell you that Before my Daughter told me, what might you Or my deere Maiestie your Queene heere, think, If I had playd the Deske or Table-booke,[1] Or giuen my heart a winking, mute and dumbe, [Sidenote: working] Or look'd vpon this Loue, with idle sight,[2] What might you thinke? No, I went round to worke, And (my yong Mistris) thus I did bespeake[3] Lord _Hamlet_ is a Prince out of thy Starre,[4] This must not be:[5] and then, I Precepts gaue her, [Sidenote: I prescripts] That she should locke her selfe from his Resort, [Sidenote: from her] [Sidenote: 42[6], 43, 70] Admit no Messengers, receiue no Tokens: Which done, she tooke the Fruites of my Aduice,[7] And he repulsed. A short Tale to make, [Sidenote: repell'd, a] Fell into a Sadnesse, then into a Fast,[8] Thence to a Watch, thence into a Weaknesse, [Sidenote: to a wath,] Thence to a Lightnesse, and by this declension [Sidenote: to lightnes] Into the Madnesse whereon now he raues, [Sidenote: wherein] And all we waile for.[9] [Sidenote: mourne for] _King_. Do you thinke 'tis this?[10] [Sidenote: thinke this?] _Qu_. It may be very likely. [Sidenote: like] _Pol_. Hath there bene such a time, I'de fain know that, [Sidenote: I would] That I haue possitiuely said, 'tis so, When it prou'd otherwise? _King_. Not that I know. _Pol_. Take this from this[11]; if this be otherwise, If Circumstances leade me, I will finde Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeede Within the Center. _King_. How may we try it further? [Footnote 1: --behaved like a piece of furniture.] [Footnote 2: The love of talk makes a man use many idle words, foolish expressions, and useless repetitions.] [Footnote 3: Notwithstanding the parenthesis, I take 'Mistris' to be the objective to 'bespeake'--that is, _address_.] [Footnote 4: _Star_, mark of sort or quality; brand (45). The _1st Q_. goes on-- An'd one that is vnequall for your loue: But it may mean, as suggested by my _Reader_, 'outside thy destiny,'--as ruled by the star of nativity--and I think it does.] [Footnote 5: Here is a change from the impression conveyed in the first act: he attributes his interference to his care for what befitted royalty; whereas, talking to Ophelia (40, 72), he attributes it entirely to his care for her;--so partly in the speech correspondent to the present in _1st Q_.:-- Now since which time, seeing his loue thus cross'd, Which I tooke to be idle, and but sport, He straitway grew into a melancholy,] [Footnote 6: See also passage in note from _1st Q_.] [Footnote 7: She obeyed him. The 'fruits' of his advice were her conformed actions.] [Footnote 8: When the appetite goes, and the sleep follows, doubtless the man is on the steep slope of madness. But as to Hamlet, and how matters were with him, what Polonius says is worth nothing.] [Footnote 9: '_wherein_ now he raves, and _wherefor_ all we wail.'] [Footnote 10: _To the queen_.] [Footnote 11: head from shoulders.] [Page 84] _Pol_. You know sometimes He walkes foure houres together, heere[1] In the Lobby. _Qu_. So he ha's indeed. [Sidenote: he dooes indeede] [Sidenote: 118] _Pol_. At such a time Ile loose my Daughter to him, Be you and I behinde an Arras then, Marke the encounter: If he loue her not, And be not from his reason falne thereon; Let me be no Assistant for a State, And keepe a Farme and Carters. [Sidenote: But keepe] _King_. We will try it. _Enter Hamlet reading on a Booke._[2] _Qu_. But looke where sadly the poore wretch Comes reading.[3] _Pol_. Away I do beseech you, both away, He boord[4] him presently. _Exit King & Queen_[5] Oh giue me leaue.[6] How does my good Lord _Hamlet_? _Ham_. Well, God-a-mercy. _Pol_. Do you know me, my Lord? [Sidenote: 180] _Ham_. Excellent, excellent well: y'are a Fish-monger.[7] [Sidenote: Excellent well, you are] _Pol_. Not I my Lord. _Ham_. Then I would you were so honest a man. _Pol_. Honest, my Lord? _Ham_. I sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to bee one man pick'd out of two thousand. [Sidenote: tenne thousand[8]] _Pol_. That's very true, my Lord. _Ham_.[9] For if the Sun breed Magots in a dead dogge, being a good kissing Carrion--[10] [Sidenote: carrion. Have] Haue you a daughter?[11] _Pol_. I haue my Lord. [Footnote 1: _1st Q_. The Princes walke is here in the galery, There let _Ofelia_, walke vntill hee comes: Your selfe and I will stand close in the study,] [Footnote 2: _Not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 3: _1st Q_.-- _King_. See where hee comes poring vppon a booke.] [Footnote 4: The same as accost, both meaning originally _go to the side of_.] [Footnote 5: _A line back in the Quarto_.] [Footnote 6: 'Please you to go away.' 89, 203. Here should come the preceding stage-direction.] [Footnote 7: Now first the Play shows us Hamlet in his affected madness. He has a great dislike to the selfish, time-serving courtier, who, like his mother, has forsaken the memory of his father--and a great distrust of him as well. The two men are moral antipodes. Each is given to moralizing--but compare their reflections: those of Polonius reveal a lover of himself, those of Hamlet a lover of his kind; Polonius is interested in success; Hamlet in humanity.] [Footnote 8: So also in _1st Q_.] [Footnote 9: --reading, or pretending to read, the words from the book he carries.] [Footnote 10: When the passion for emendation takes possession of a man, his opportunities are endless--so many seeming emendations offer themselves which are in themselves not bad, letters and words affording as much play as the keys of a piano. 'Being a god kissing carrion,' is in itself good enough; but Shakspere meant what stands in both Quarto and Folio: _the dead dog being a carrion good at kissing_. The arbitrary changes of the editors are amazing.] [Footnote 11: He cannot help his mind constantly turning upon women; and if his thoughts of them are often cruelly false, it is not Hamlet but his mother who is to blame: her conduct has hurled him from the peak of optimism into the bottomless pool of pessimistic doubt, above the foul waters of which he keeps struggling to lift his head.] [Page 86] _Ham_. Let her not walke i'th'Sunne: Conception[1] is a blessing, but not as your daughter may [Sidenote: but as your] conceiue. Friend looke too't. [Sidenote: 100] _Pol_.[2] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said [Sidenote: a sayd I] I was a Fishmonger: he is farre gone, farre gone: [Sidenote: Fishmonger, a is farre gone, and truly] and truly in my youth, I suffred much extreamity and truly for loue: very neere this. Ile speake to him againe. What do you read my Lord? _Ham_. Words, words, words. _Pol_. What is the matter, my Lord? _Ham_. Betweene who?[3] _Pol_. I meane the matter you meane, my [Sidenote: matter that you reade my] Lord. _Ham_. Slanders Sir: for the Satyricall slaue [Sidenote: satericall rogue sayes] 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 [Sidenote: Amber, and] a plentifull locke of Wit, together with weake [Sidenote: lacke | with most weake] Hammes. All which Sir, though I most powerfully, and potently beleeue; yet I holde it not Honestie[4] to haue it thus set downe: For you [Sidenote: for your selfe sir shall grow old as I am:] your selfe Sir, should be old as I am, if like a Crab you could go backward. _Pol_.[5] Though this be madnesse, Yet there is Method in't: will you walke Out of the ayre[6] my Lord? _Ham_. Into my Graue? _Pol_. Indeed that is out o'th'Ayre: [Sidenote: that's out of the ayre;] How pregnant (sometimes) his Replies are? A happinesse, That often Madnesse hits on, Which Reason and Sanitie could not [Sidenote: sanctity] So prosperously be deliuer'd of. [Footnote 1: One of the meanings of the word, and more in use then than now, is _understanding_.] [Footnote 2: (_aside_).] [Footnote 3: --pretending to take him to mean by _matter_, the _point of quarrel_.] [Footnote 4: Propriety.] [Footnote 5: (_aside_).] [Footnote 6: the draught.] [Page 88] [A] I will leaue him, And sodainely contriue the meanes of meeting Betweene him,[1] and my daughter. My Honourable Lord, I will most humbly Take my leaue of you. _Ham_. You cannot Sir take from[2] me any thing, that I will more willingly part withall, except my [Sidenote: will not more | my life, except my] life, my life.[3] [Sidenote: _Enter Guyldersterne, and Rosencrans_.] _Polon_. Fare you well my Lord. _Ham_. These tedious old fooles. _Polon_. You goe to seeke my Lord _Hamlet_; [Sidenote: the Lord] there hee is. _Enter Rosincran and Guildensterne_.[4] _Rosin_. God saue you Sir. _Guild_. Mine honour'd Lord? _Rosin_. My most deare Lord? _Ham_. My excellent good friends? How do'st [Sidenote: My extent good] thou _Guildensterne_? Oh, _Rosincrane_; good Lads: [Sidenote: A Rosencraus] How doe ye both? [Sidenote: you] _Rosin_. As the indifferent Children of the earth. _Guild_. Happy, in that we are not ouer-happy: [Sidenote: euer happy on] on Fortunes Cap, we are not the very Button. [Sidenote: Fortunes lap,] _Ham_. Nor the Soales of her Shoo? _Rosin_. Neither my Lord. _Ham_. Then you liue about her waste, or in the middle of her fauour? [Sidenote: fauors.] _Guil_. Faith, her priuates, we. _Ham_. In the secret parts of Fortune? Oh, most true: she is a Strumpet.[5] What's the newes? [Sidenote: What newes?] _Rosin_. None my Lord; but that the World's [Sidenote: but the] growne honest. _Ham_. Then is Doomesday neere: But your [Footnote A: _In the Quarto, the speech ends thus_:--I will leaue him and my daughter.[6] My Lord, I will take my leaue of you.] [Footnote 1: From 'And sodainely' _to_ 'betweene him,' _not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 2: It is well here to recall the modes of the word _leave_: '_Give me leave_,' Polonius says with proper politeness to the king and queen when he wants _them_ to go--that is, 'Grant me your _departure_'; but he would, going himself, _take_ his leave, his departure, _of_ or _from_ them--by their permission to go. Hamlet means, 'You cannot take from me anything I will more willingly part with than your leave, or, my permission to you to go.' 85, 203. See the play on the two meanings of the word in _Twelfth Night_, act ii. sc. 4: _Duke_. Give me now leave to leave thee; though I suspect it ought to be-- _Duke_. Give me now leave. _Clown_. To leave thee!--Now, the melancholy &c.] [Footnote 3: It is a relief to him to speak the truth under the cloak of madness--ravingly. He has no one to whom to open his heart: what lies there he feels too terrible for even the eye of Horatio. He has not apparently told him as yet more than the tale of his father's murder.] [Footnote 4: _Above, in Quarto_.] [Footnote 5: In this and all like utterances of Hamlet, we see what worm it is that lies gnawing at his heart.] [Footnote 6: This is a slip in the _Quarto_--rectified in the _Folio_: his daughter was not present.] [Page 90] newes is not true.[1] [2] 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? _Guil_. Prison, my Lord? _Ham_. Denmark's a Prison. _Rosin_. Then is the World one. _Ham_. A goodly one, in which there are many Confines, Wards, and Dungeons; _Denmarke_ being one o'th'worst. _Rosin_. We thinke not so my Lord. _Ham_. Why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so[3]: to me it is a prison. _Rosin_. Why then your Ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your minde.[4] _Ham_. 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. _Guil_. Which dreames indeed are Ambition: for the very substance[5] of the Ambitious, is meerely the shadow of a Dreame. _Ham_. A dreame it selfe is but a shadow. _Rosin_. Truely, and I hold Ambition of so ayry and light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow. _Ham_. Then are our Beggers bodies; and our Monarchs and out-stretcht Heroes the Beggers Shadowes: shall wee to th'Court: for, by my fey[6] I cannot reason?[7] _Both_. Wee'l wait vpon you. _Ham_. No such matter.[8] 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;[9] but in the beaten way of friendship,[10] [Sidenote: But in] What make you at _Elsonower_? [Footnote 1: 'it is not true that the world is grown honest': he doubts themselves. His eye is sharper because his heart is sorer since he left Wittenberg. He proceeds to examine them.] [Footnote 2: This passage, beginning with 'Let me question,' and ending with 'dreadfully attended,' is not in the _Quarto_. Who inserted in the Folio this and other passages? Was it or was it not Shakspere? Beyond a doubt they are Shakspere's all. Then who omitted those omitted? Was Shakspere incapable of refusing any of his own work? Or would these editors, who profess to have all opportunity, and who, belonging to the theatre, must have had the best of opportunities, have desired or dared to omit what far more painstaking editors have since presumed, though out of reverence, to restore?] [Footnote 3: 'but it is thinking that makes it so:'] [Footnote 4: --feeling after the cause of Hamlet's strangeness, and following the readiest suggestion, that of chagrin at missing the succession.] [Footnote 5: objects and aims.] [Footnote 6: _foi_.] [Footnote 7: Does he choose beggars as the representatives of substance because they lack ambition--that being shadow? Or does he take them as the shadows of humanity, that, following Rosincrance, he may get their shadows, the shadows therefore of shadows, to parallel _monarchs_ and _heroes_? But he is not satisfied with his own analogue--therefore will to the court, where good logic is not wanted--where indeed he knows a hellish lack of reason.] [Footnote 8: 'On no account.'] [Footnote 9: 'I have very bad servants.' Perhaps he judges his servants spies upon him. Or might he mean that he was _haunted with bad thoughts_? Or again, is it a stroke of his pretence of madness--suggesting imaginary followers?] [Footnote: 10: 'to speak plainly, as old friends.'] [Page 92] _Rosin_. To visit you my Lord, no other occasion. _Ham_. Begger that I am, I am euen poore in [Sidenote: am ever poore] thankes; but I thanke you: and sure deare friends my thanks are too deare a halfepeny[1]; were you [Sidenote: 72] not sent for? Is it your owne inclining? Is it a free visitation?[2] Come, deale iustly with me: come, come; nay speake. [Sidenote: come, come,] _Guil_. What should we say my Lord?[3] _Ham_. Why any thing. But to the purpose; [Sidenote: Any thing but to'th purpose:] you were sent for; and there is a kinde confession [Sidenote: kind of confession] in your lookes; which your modesties haue not craft enough to color, I know the good King and [Sidenote: 72] Queene haue sent for you. _Rosin_. To what end my Lord? _Ham_. That you must teach me: but let mee coniure[4] you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth,[5] by the Obligation of our euer-preserued loue, and by what more deare, a better proposer could charge you withall; [Sidenote: can] be euen and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. _Rosin_. What say you?[6] _Ham_. Nay then I haue an eye of you[7]: if you loue me hold not off.[8] [Sidenote: 72] _Guil_. My Lord, we were sent for. _Ham_. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation preuent your discouery of your secricie to [Sidenote: discovery, and your secrecie to the King and Queene moult no feather,[10]] the King and Queene[9] moult no feather, I haue [Sidenote: 116] of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercise; and indeed, [Sidenote: exercises;] it goes so heauenly with my disposition; that this [Sidenote: heauily] goodly frame the Earth, seemes to me a sterrill Promontory; this most excellent Canopy the Ayre, look you, this braue ore-hanging, this Maiesticall [Sidenote: orehanging firmament,] Roofe, fretted with golden fire: why, it appeares no [Sidenote: appeareth] [Footnote 1: --because they were by no means hearty thanks.] [Footnote 2: He wants to know whether they are in his uncle's employment and favour; whether they pay court to himself for his uncle's ends.] [Footnote 3: He has no answer ready.] [Footnote 4: He will not cast them from him without trying a direct appeal to their old friendship for plain dealing. This must be remembered in relation to his treatment of them afterwards. He affords them every chance of acting truly--conjuring them to honesty--giving them a push towards repentance.] [Footnote 5: Either, 'the harmony of our young days,' or, 'the sympathies of our present youth.'] [Footnote 6: --_to Guildenstern_.] [Footnote 7: (_aside_) 'I will keep an eye upon you;'.] [Footnote 8: 'do not hold back.'] [Footnote 9: The _Quarto_ seems here to have the right reading.] [Footnote 10: 'your promise of secrecy remain intact;'.] [Page 94] other thing to mee, then a foule and pestilent congregation [Sidenote: nothing to me but a] of vapours. What a piece of worke is [Sidenote: what peece] a man! how Noble in Reason? how infinite in faculty? in forme and mouing how expresse and [Sidenote: faculties,] 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;[1] no, nor Woman neither; though by your [Sidenote: not me, nor women] smiling you seeme to say so.[2] _Rosin._ My Lord, there was no such stuffe in my thoughts. _Ham._ Why did you laugh, when I said, Man [Sidenote: yee laugh then, when] delights not me? _Rosin._ To thinke, my Lord, if you delight not in Man, what Lenton entertainment the Players shall receiue from you:[3] wee coated them[4] on the way, and hither are they comming to offer you Seruice. _Ham._[5] He that playes the King shall be welcome; his Maiesty shall haue Tribute of mee: [Sidenote: on me,] the aduenturous Knight shal vse his Foyle and Target: the Louer shall not sigh _gratis_, the humorous man[6] shall end his part in peace: [7] the Clowne shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled a'th' sere:[8] and the Lady shall say her minde freely; or the blanke Verse shall halt for't[9]: [Sidenote: black verse] what Players are they? _Rosin._ Euen those you Were wont to take [Sidenote: take such delight] delight in the Tragedians of the City. _Ham._ How chances it they trauaile? their residence both in reputation and profit was better both wayes. _Rosin._ I thinke their Inhibition comes by the meanes of the late Innouation?[10] [Footnote 1: A genuine description, so far as it goes, of the state of Hamlet's mind. But he does not reveal the operating cause--his loss of faith in women, which has taken the whole poetic element out of heaven, earth, and humanity: he would have his uncle's spies attribute his condition to mere melancholy.] [Footnote 2: --said angrily, I think.] [Footnote 3: --a ready-witted subterfuge.] [Footnote 4: came alongside of them; got up with them; apparently rather from Fr. _côté_ than _coter_; like _accost_. Compare 71. But I suspect it only means _noted_, _observed_, and is from _coter_.] [Footnote 5: --_with humorous imitation, perhaps, of each of the characters_.] [Footnote 6: --the man with a whim.] [Footnote 7: This part of the speech--from [7] to [8], is not in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 8: Halliwell gives a quotation in which the touch-hole of a pistol is called the _sere_: the _sere_, then, of the lungs would mean the opening of the lungs--the part with which we laugh: those 'whose lungs are tickled a' th' sere,' are such as are ready to laugh on the least provocation: _tickled_--_irritable, ticklish_--ready to laugh, as another might be to cough. 'Tickled o' the sere' was a common phrase, signifying, thus, _propense_. _1st Q._ The clowne shall make them laugh That are tickled in the lungs,] [Footnote 9: Does this refer to the pause that expresses the unutterable? or to the ruin of the measure of the verse by an incompetent heroine?] [Footnote 10: Does this mean, 'I think their prohibition comes through the late innovation,'--of the children's acting; or, 'I think they are prevented from staying at home by the late new measures,'--such, namely, as came of the puritan opposition to stage-plays? This had grown so strong, that, in 1600, the Privy Council issued an order restricting the number of theatres in London to two: by such an _innovation_ a number of players might well be driven to the country.] [Page 96] _Ham_. Doe they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the City? Are they so follow'd? _Rosin_. No indeed, they are not. [Sidenote: are they not.] [1]_Ham_. How comes it? doe they grow rusty? _Rosin_. Nay, their indeauour keepes in the wonted pace; But there is Sir an ayrie of Children,[2] little Yases,[3] that crye out[4] on the top of question;[5] and are most tyrannically clap't for't: these are now the fashion, and so be-ratled the common Stages[6] (so they call them) that many wearing Rapiers,[7] are affraide of Goose-quils, and dare scarse come thither.[8] _Ham_. What are they Children? Who maintains 'em? How are they escoted?[9] Will they pursue the Quality[10] no longer then they can sing?[11] Will they not say afterwards if they should grow themselues to common Players (as it is like most[12] if their meanes are no better) their Writers[13] do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their owne Succession.[14] _Rosin_. Faith there ha's bene much to do on both sides: and the Nation holds it no sinne, to tarre them[15] to Controuersie. There was for a while, no mony bid for argument, vnlesse the Poet and the Player went to Cuffes in the Question.[16] _Ham_. Is't possible? _Guild_. Oh there ha's beene much throwing about of Braines. _Ham_. Do the Boyes carry it away?[17] _Rosin_. I that they do my Lord, _Hercules_ and his load too.[18] _Ham_. It is not strange: for mine Vnckle is [Sidenote: not very strange, | my] King of Denmarke, and those that would make mowes at him while my Father liued; giue twenty, [Sidenote: make mouths] [Footnote 1: The whole of the following passage, beginning with 'How comes it,' and ending with 'Hercules and his load too,' belongs to the _Folio_ alone--is not in the _Quarto_. In the _1st Quarto_ we find the germ of the passage--unrepresented in the _2nd_, developed in the _Folio_. _Ham_. Players, what Players be they? _Ross_. My Lord, the Tragedians of the Citty, Those that you tooke delight to see so often. _Ham_. How comes it that they trauell? Do they grow restie? _Gil_. No my Lord, their reputation holds as it was wont. _Ham_. How then? _Gil_. Yfaith my Lord, noueltie carries it away, For the principall publike audience that Came to them, are turned to priuate playes,[19] And to the humour[20] of children. _Ham_. I doe not greatly wonder of it, For those that would make mops and moes At my vncle, when my father liued, &c.] [Footnote 2: _a nest of children_. The acting of the children of two or three of the chief choirs had become the rage.] [Footnote 3: _Eyases_--unfledged hawks.] [Footnote 4: Children _cry out_ rather than _speak_ on the stage.] [Footnote 5: 'cry out beyond dispute'--_unquestionably_; 'cry out and no mistake.' 'He does not top his part.' _The Rehearsal_, iii. 1.--'_He is not up to it_.' But perhaps here is intended _above reason_: 'they cry out excessively, excruciatingly.' 103. This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,--_A Lover's Complaint_.] [Footnote 6: I presume it should be the present tense, _beratle_--except the _are_ of the preceding member be understood: 'and so beratled _are_ the common stages.' If the _present_, then the children 'so abuse the grown players,'--in the pieces they acted, particularly in the new _arguments_, written for them--whence the reference to _goose-quills_.] [Footnote 7: --of the play-going public.] [Footnote 8: --for dread of sharing in the ridicule.] [Footnote 9: _paid_--from the French _escot_, a shot or reckoning: _Dr. Johnson_.] [Footnote 10: --the quality of players; the profession of the stage.] [Footnote 11: 'Will they cease playing when their voices change?'] [Footnote 12: Either _will_ should follow here, or _like_ and _most_ must change places.] [Footnote 13: 'those that write for them'.] [Footnote 14: --what they had had to come to themselves.] [Footnote 15: 'to incite the children and the grown players to controversy': _to tarre them on like dogs_: see _King John_, iv. 1.] [Footnote 16: 'No stage-manager would buy a new argument, or prologue, to a play, unless the dramatist and one of the actors were therein represented as falling out on the question of the relative claims of the children and adult actors.'] [Footnote 17: 'Have the boys the best of it?'] [Footnote 18: 'That they have, out and away.' Steevens suggests that allusion is here made to the sign of the Globe Theatre--Hercules bearing the world for Atlas.] [Footnote 19: amateur-plays.] [Footnote 20: whimsical fashion.] [Page 98] forty, an hundred Ducates a peece, for his picture[1] [Sidenote: fortie, fifty, a hundred] in Little.[2] There is something in this more then [Sidenote: little, s'bloud there is] Naturall, if Philosophic could finde it out. _Flourish for tke Players_.[3] [Sidenote: _A Florish_.] _Guil_. There are the Players. _Ham_. Gentlemen, you are welcom to _Elsonower_: your hands, come: The appurtenance of [Sidenote: come then, th'] Welcome, is Fashion and Ceremony. Let me [Sidenote: 260] comply with you in the Garbe,[4] lest my extent[5] to [Sidenote: in this garb: let me extent] the Players (which I tell you must shew fairely outward) should more appeare like entertainment[6] [Sidenote: outwards,] then yours.[7] You are welcome: but my Vnckle Father, and Aunt Mother are deceiu'd. _Guil_. In what my deere Lord? _Ham_. I am but mad North, North-West: when the Winde is Southerly, I know a Hawke from a Handsaw.[8] _Enter Polonius_. _Pol_. Well[9] be with you Gentlemen. _Ham_. 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. [Sidenote: swadling clouts.] _Rosin_. Happily he's the second time come to [Sidenote: he is] them: for they say, an old man is twice a childe. _Ham_. I will Prophesie. Hee comes to tell me of the Players. Mark it, you say right Sir: for a [Sidenote: sir, a Monday] Monday morning 'twas so indeed.[10] [Sidenote: t'was then indeede.] _Pol_. My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you. _Ham_. My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you. When _Rossius_ an Actor in Rome----[11] [Sidenote: _Rossius_ was an] _Pol_. The Actors are come hither my Lord. _Ham_. Buzze, buzze.[12] _Pol_. Vpon mine Honor.[13] [Sidenote: my] _Ham_. Then can each Actor on his Asse---- [Sidenote: came each] [Footnote 1: If there be any logical link here, except that, after the instance adduced, no change in social fashion--nothing at all indeed, is to be wondered at, I fail to see it. Perhaps the speech is intended to belong to the simulation. The last sentence of it appears meant to convey the impression that he suspects nothing--is only bewildered by the course of things.] [Footnote 2: his miniature.] [Footnote 3: --to indicate their approach.] [Footnote 4: _com'ply_--accent on first syllable--'pass compliments with you' (260)--_in the garb_, either 'in appearance,' or 'in the fashion of the hour.'] [Footnote 5: 'the amount of courteous reception I extend'--'my advances to the players.'] [Footnote 6: reception, welcome.] [Footnote 7: He seems to desire that they shall no more be on the footing of fellow-students, and thus to rid himself of the old relation. Perhaps he hints that they are players too. From any further show of friendliness he takes refuge in convention--and professed convention--supplying a reason in order to escape a dangerous interpretation of his sudden formality--'lest you should suppose me more cordial to the players than to you.' The speech is full of inwoven irony, doubtful, and refusing to be ravelled out. With what merely half-shown, yet scathing satire it should be spoken and accompanied!] [Footnote 8: A proverb of the time comically corrupted--_handsaw for hernshaw_--a heron, the quarry of the hawk. He denies his madness as madmen do--and in terms themselves not unbefitting madness--so making it seem the more genuine. Yet every now and then, urged by the commotion of his being, he treads perilously on the border of self-betrayal.] [Footnote 9: used as a noun.] [Footnote 10: _Point thus_: 'Mark it.--You say right, sir; &c.' He takes up a speech that means nothing, and might mean anything, to turn aside the suspicion their whispering might suggest to Polonius that they had been talking about him--so better to lay his trap for him.] [Footnote 11: He mentions the _actor_ to lead Polonius so that his prophecy of him shall come true.] [Footnote 12: An interjection of mockery: he had made a fool of him.] [Footnote 13: Polonius thinks he is refusing to believe him.] [Page 100] _Polon_. The best Actors in the world, either for Tragedie, Comedie, Historic, Pastorall: Pastoricall- Comicall-Historicall-Pastorall: [1] Tragicall-Historicall: Tragicall-Comicall--Historicall-Pastorall[1]: Scene indiuible,[2] or Poem vnlimited.[3] _Seneca_ cannot [Sidenote: scene indeuidible,[2]] be too heauy, nor _Plautus_ too light, for the law of Writ, and the Liberty. These are the onely men.[4] _Ham_. O _Iephta_ Iudge of Israel, what a Treasure had'st thou? _Pol_. What a Treasure had he, my Lord?[5] _Ham_. Why one faire Daughter, and no more,[6] The which he loued passing well.[6] [Sidenote: 86] _Pol_. Still on my Daughter. _Ham_. Am I not i'th'right old _Iephta_? _Polon_. If you call me _Iephta_ my Lord, I haue a daughter that I loue passing well. _Ham_. Nay that followes not.[7] _Polon_. What followes then, my Lord? _Ham_. Why, As by lot, God wot:[6] and then you know, It came to passe, as most like it was:[6] The first rowe of the _Pons[8] Chanson_ will shew you more, [Sidenote: pious chanson] For looke where my Abridgements[9] come. [Sidenote: abridgment[9] comes] _Enter foure or fiue Players._ [Sidenote: _Enter the Players._] Y'are welcome Masters, welcome all. I am glad [Sidenote: You are] to see thee well: Welcome good Friends. O my [Sidenote: oh old friend, why thy face is valanct[10]] olde Friend? Thy face is valiant[10] since I saw thee last: Com'st thou to beard me in Denmarke? What, my yong Lady and Mistris?[11] Byrlady [Sidenote: by lady] your Ladiship is neerer Heauen then when I saw [Sidenote: nerer to] you last, by the altitude of a Choppine.[12] Pray God your voice like a peece of vncurrant Gold be not crack'd within the ring.[13] Masters, you are all welcome: wee'l e'ne to't like French Faulconers,[14] [Sidenote: like friendly Fankner] flie at any thing we see: wee'l haue a Speech [Footnote 1: From [1] to [1] is not in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 2: Does this phrase mean _all in one scene_?] [Footnote 3: A poem to be recited only--one not _limited_, or _divided_ into speeches.] [Footnote 4: _Point thus_: 'too light. For the law of Writ, and the Liberty, these are the onely men':--_either for written plays_, that is, _or for those in which the players extemporized their speeches_. _1st Q_. 'For the law hath writ those are the onely men.'] [Footnote 5: Polonius would lead him on to talk of his daughter.] [Footnote 6: These are lines of the first stanza of an old ballad still in existence. Does Hamlet suggest that as Jephthah so Polonius had sacrificed his daughter? Or is he only desirous of making him talk about her?] [Footnote 7: 'That is not as the ballad goes.'] [Footnote 8: That this is a corruption of the _pious_ in the _Quarto_, is made clearer from the _1st Quarto_: 'the first verse of the godly Ballet wil tel you all.'] [Footnote 9: _abridgment_--that which _abridges_, or cuts short. His 'Abridgements' were the Players.] [Footnote 10: _1st Q_. 'Vallanced'--_with a beard_, that is. Both readings may be correct.] [Footnote 11: A boy of course: no women had yet appeared on the stage.] [Footnote 12: A Venetian boot, stilted, sometimes very high.] [Footnote 13: --because then it would be unfit for a woman-part. A piece of gold so worn that it had a crack reaching within the inner circle was no longer current. _1st Q_. 'in the ring:'--was a pun intended?] [Footnote 14: --like French sportsmen of the present day too.] [Page 102] straight. Come giue vs a tast of your quality: come, a passionate speech. _1. Play._ What speech, my Lord? [Sidenote: my good Lord?] _Ham._ I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was neuer Acted: or if it was, not aboue once, for the Play I remember pleas'd not the Million, 'twas _Cauiarie_ to the Generall[1]: but it was (as I receiu'd it, and others, whose iudgement in such matters, cried in the top of mine)[2] an excellent Play; well digested in the Scoenes, set downe with as much modestie, as cunning.[3] I remember one said there was no Sallets[4] in the lines, to make the [Sidenote: were] matter sauoury; nor no matter in the phrase,[5] that might indite the Author of affectation, but cal'd it [Sidenote: affection,] an honest method[A]. One cheefe Speech in it, I [Sidenote: one speech in't I] cheefely lou'd, 'twas _�neas_ Tale to _Dido_, and [Sidenote: _Aeneas_ talke to] thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of [Sidenote: when] _Priams_[6] slaughter. If it liue in your memory, begin at this Line, let me see, let me see: The rugged _Pyrrhus_ like th'_Hyrcanian_ Beast.[7] It is [Sidenote: tis not] not so: it begins[8] with _Pyrrhus_.[9] [10] The rugged _Pyrrhus_, he whose Sable Armes[11] Blacke as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the Ominous[12] Horse, Hath now this dread and blacke Complexion smear'd With Heraldry more dismall: Head to foote Now is he to take Geulles,[13] horridly Trick'd [Sidenote: is he totall Gules [18]] With blood of Fathers, Mothers, Daughters, Sonnes, [14] Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous, and damned light [Sidenote: and a damned] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:_-- as wholesome as sweete, and by very much, more handsome then fine:] [Footnote 1: The salted roe of the sturgeon is a delicacy disliked by most people.] [Footnote 2: 'were superior to mine.' The _1st Quarto_ has, 'Cried in the toppe of their iudgements, an excellent play,'--that is, _pronounced it, to the best of their judgments, an excellent play_. Note the difference between 'the top of _my_ judgment', and 'the top of _their_ judgments'. 97.] [Footnote 3: skill.] [Footnote 4: coarse jests. 25, 67.] [Footnote 5: _style_.] [Footnote 6: _1st Q_. 'Princes slaughter.'] [Footnote 7: _1st Q_. 'th'arganian beast:' 'the Hyrcan tiger,' Macbeth, iii. 4.] [Footnote 8: 'it _begins_': emphasis on begins.] [Footnote 9: A pause; then having recollected, he starts afresh.] [Footnote 10: These passages are Shakspere's own, not quotations: the Quartos differ. But when he wrote them he had in his mind a phantom of Marlowe's _Dido, Queen of Carthage_. I find Steevens has made a similar conjecture, and quotes from Marlowe two of the passages I had marked as being like passages here.] [Footnote 11: The poetry is admirable in its kind--intentionally _charged_, to raise it to the second stage-level, above the blank verse, that is, of the drama in which it is set, as that blank verse is raised above the ordinary level of speech. 143. The correspondent passage in _1st Q_. runs nearly parallel for a few lines.] [Footnote 12:--like _portentous_.] [Footnote 13: 'all red', _1st Q_. 'totall guise.'] [Footnote 14: Here the _1st Quarto_ has:-- Back't and imparched in calagulate gore, Rifted in earth and fire, olde grandsire _Pryam_ seekes: So goe on.] [Page 104] To their vilde Murthers, roasted in wrath and fire, [Sidenote: their Lords murther,] And thus o're-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like Carbuncles, the hellish _Pyrrhus_ Old Grandsire _Priam_ seekes.[1] [Sidenote: seekes; so proceede you.[2]] _Pol_. Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.[3] _1. Player_. Anon he findes him, [Sidenote: _Play_] Striking too short at Greekes.[4] His anticke Sword, Rebellious to his Arme, lyes where it falles Repugnant to command[4]: vnequall match, [Sidenote: matcht,] _Pyrrhus_ at _Priam_ driues, in Rage strikes wide: But with the whiffe and winde of his fell Sword, Th'vnnerued Father fals.[5] Then senselesse Illium,[6] Seeming to feele his blow, with flaming top [Sidenote: seele[7] this blowe,] Stoopes to his Bace, and with a hideous crash Takes Prisoner _Pyrrhus_ eare. For loe, his Sword Which was declining on the Milkie head Of Reuerend _Priam_, seem'd i'th'Ayre to sticke: So as a painted Tyrant _Pyrrhus_ stood,[8] [Sidenote: stood Like] And like a Newtrall to his will and matter,[9] did nothing.[10] [11] But as we often see against some storme, A silence in the Heauens, the Racke stand still, The bold windes speechlesse, and the Orbe below As hush as death: Anon the dreadfull Thunder [Sidenote: 110] Doth rend the Region.[11] So after _Pyrrhus_ pause, Arowsed Vengeance sets him new a-worke, And neuer did the Cyclops hammers fall On Mars his Armours, forg'd for proofe Eterne, [Sidenote: _Marses_ Armor] With lesse remorse then _Pyrrhus_ bleeding sword Now falles on _Priam_. [12] Out, out, thou Strumpet-Fortune, all you Gods, In generall Synod take away her power: Breake all the Spokes and Fallies from her wheele, [Sidenote: follies] [Footnote 1: This, though horrid enough, is in degree below the description in _Dido_.] [Footnote 2: He is directing the player to take up the speech there where he leaves it. See last quotation from _1st Q_.] [Footnote 3: _judgment_.] [Footnote 4: --with an old man's under-reaching blows--till his arm is so jarred by a missed blow, that he cannot raise his sword again.] [Footnote 5: Whereat he lifted up his bedrid limbs, And would have grappled with Achilles' son, * * * * * Which he, disdaining, whisk'd his sword about, And with the wound[13] thereof the king fell down. Marlowe's _Dido, Queen of Carthage_.] [Footnote 6: The _Quarto_ has omitted '_Then senselesse Illium_,' or something else.] [Footnote 7: Printed with the long f[symbol for archaic long s].] [Footnote 8: --motionless as a tyrant in a picture.] [Footnote 9: 'standing between his will and its object as if he had no relation to either.'] [Footnote 10: And then in triumph ran into the streets, Through which he could not pass for slaughtered men; So, leaning on his sword, he stood stone still, Viewing the fire wherewith rich Ilion burnt. Marlowe's _Dido, Queen of Carthage_.] [Footnote 11: Who does not feel this passage, down to 'Region,' thoroughly Shaksperean!] [Footnote 12: Is not the rest of this speech very plainly Shakspere's?] [Footnote 13: _wind_, I think it should be.] [Page 106] And boule the round Naue downe the hill of Heauen, As low as to the Fiends. _Pol_. This is too long. _Ham_. It shall to'th Barbars, with your beard. [Sidenote: to the] Prythee say on: He's for a Iigge, or a tale of Baudry, or hee sleepes. Say on; come to _Hecuba_. _1. Play_. But who, O who, had seen the inobled[1] Queen. [Sidenote: But who, a woe, had | mobled[1]] _Ham_. The inobled[1] Queene? [Sidenote: mobled] _Pol_. That's good: Inobled[1] Queene is good.[2] _1. Play_. Run bare-foot vp and downe, Threatning the flame [Sidenote: flames] With Bisson Rheume:[3] A clout about that head, [Sidenote: clout vppon] Where late the Diadem stood, and for a Robe About her lanke and all ore-teamed Loines,[4] A blanket in th'Alarum of feare caught vp. [Sidenote: the alarme] Who this had seene, with tongue in Venome steep'd, 'Gainst Fortunes State, would Treason haue pronounc'd?[5] But if the Gods themselues did see her then, When she saw _Pyrrhus_ make malicious sport In mincing with his Sword her Husbands limbes,[6] [Sidenote: husband] The instant Burst of Clamour that she made (Vnlesse things mortall moue them not at all) Would haue made milche[7] the Burning eyes of Heauen, And passion in the Gods.[8] _Pol_. Looke where[9] he ha's not turn'd his colour, and ha's teares in's eyes. Pray you no more. [Sidenote: prethee] _Ham_. 'Tis well, He haue thee speake out the rest, soone. Good my Lord, will you see the [Sidenote: rest of this] Players wel bestow'd. Do ye heare, let them be [Sidenote: you] well vs'd: for they are the Abstracts and breefe [Sidenote: abstract] Chronicles of the time. After your death, you [Footnote 1: '_mobled_'--also in _1st Q_.--may be the word: _muffled_ seems a corruption of it: compare _mob-cap_, and 'The moon does mobble up herself' --_Shirley_, quoted by _Farmer_; but I incline to '_inobled_,' thrice in the _Folio_--once with a capital: I take it to stand for _'ignobled,' degraded_.] [Footnote 2: 'Inobled Queene is good.' _Not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 3: --threatening to put the flames out with blind tears: '_bisen,' blind_--Ang. Sax.] [Footnote 4: --she had had so many children.] [Footnote 5: There should of course be no point of interrogation here.] [Footnote 6: This butcher, whilst his hands were yet held up, Treading upon his breast, struck off his hands. Marlowe's _Dido, Queen of Carthage_.] [Footnote 7: '_milche_'--capable of giving milk: here _capable of tears_, which the burning eyes of the gods were not before.] [Footnote 8: 'And would have made passion in the Gods.'] [Footnote 9: 'whether'.] [Page 108] were better haue a bad Epitaph, then their ill report while you liued.[1] [Sidenote: live] _Pol_. My Lord, I will vse them according to their desart. _Ham_. Gods bodykins man, better. Vse euerie [Sidenote: bodkin man, much better,] man after his desart, and who should scape whipping: [Sidenote: shall] vse them after your own Honor and Dignity. The lesse they deserue, the more merit is in your bountie. Take them in. _Pol_. Come sirs. _Exit Polon_.[2] _Ham_. Follow him Friends: wee'l heare a play to morrow.[3] Dost thou heare me old Friend, can you play the murther of _Gonzago_? _Play_. I my Lord. _Ham_. Wee'l ha't to morrow night. You could for a need[4] study[5] a speech of some dosen or sixteene [Sidenote: for neede | dosen lines, or] lines, which I would set downe, and insert in't? Could ye not?[6] [Sidenote: you] _Play_. I my Lord. _Ham_. Very well. Follow that Lord, and looke you mock him not.[7] My good Friends, Ile leaue you til night you are welcome to _Elsonower_? [Sidenote: _Exeuent Pol. and Players_.] _Rosin_. Good my Lord. _Exeunt_. _Manet Hamlet_.[8] _Ham_. I so, God buy'ye[9]: Now I am alone. [Sidenote: buy to you,[9]] Oh what a Rogue and Pesant slaue am I?[10] Is it not monstrous that this Player heere,[11] But in a Fixion, in a dreame of Passion, Could force his soule so to his whole conceit,[12] [Sidenote: his own conceit] That from her working, all his visage warm'd; [Sidenote: all the visage wand,] Teares in his eyes, distraction in's Aspect, [Sidenote: in his] A broken voyce, and his whole Function suiting [Sidenote: an his] With Formes, to his Conceit?[13] And all for nothing? [Footnote 1: Why do the editors choose the present tense of the _Quarto_? Hamlet does not mean, 'It is worse to have the ill report of the Players while you live, than a bad epitaph after your death.' The order of the sentence has provided against that meaning. What he means is, that their ill report in life will be more against your reputation after death than a bad epitaph.] [Footnote 2: _Not in Quarto_.] [Footnote 3: He detains their leader.] [Footnote 4: 'for a special reason'.] [Footnote 5: _Study_ is still the Player's word for _commit to memory_.] [Footnote 6: Note Hamlet's quick resolve, made clearer towards the end of the following soliloquy.] [Footnote 7: Polonius is waiting at the door: this is intended for his hearing.] [Footnote 8: _Not in Q_.] [Footnote 9: Note the varying forms of _God be with you_.] [Footnote 10: _1st Q_. Why what a dunghill idiote slaue am I? Why these Players here draw water from eyes: For Hecuba, why what is Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?] [Footnote 11: Everything rings on the one hard, fixed idea that possesses him; but this one idea has many sides. Of late he has been thinking more upon the woman-side of it; but the Player with his speech has brought his father to his memory, and he feels he has been forgetting him: the rage of the actor recalls his own 'cue for passion.' Always more ready to blame than justify himself, he feels as if he ought to have done more, and so falls to abusing himself.] [Footnote 12: _imagination_.] [Footnote 13: 'his whole operative nature providing fit forms for the embodiment of his imagined idea'--of which forms he has already mentioned his _warmed visage_, his _tears_, his _distracted look_, his _broken voice_. In this passage we have the true idea of the operation of the genuine _acting faculty_. Actor as well as dramatist, the Poet gives us here his own notion of his second calling.] [Page 110] For _Hecuba_? What's _Hecuba_ to him, or he to _Hecuba_,[1] [Sidenote: or he to her,] That he should weepe for her? What would he doe, Had he the Motiue and the Cue[2] for passion [Sidenote: , and that for] That I haue? He would drowne the Stage with teares, And cleaue the generall eare with horrid speech: Make mad the guilty, and apale[3] the free,[4] Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, The very faculty of Eyes and Eares. Yet I, [Sidenote: faculties] A dull and muddy-metled[5] Rascall, peake Like Iohn a-dreames, vnpregnant of my cause,[6] And can say nothing: No, not for a King, Vpon whose property,[7] and most deere life, A damn'd defeate[8] was made. Am I a Coward?[9] Who calles me Villaine? breakes my pate a-crosse? Pluckes off my Beard, and blowes it in my face? Tweakes me by'th'Nose?[10] giues me the Lye i'th' Throate, [Sidenote: by the] As deepe as to the Lungs? Who does me this? Ha? Why I should take it: for it cannot be, [Sidenote: Hah, s'wounds I] But I am Pigeon-Liuer'd, and lacke Gall[11] To make Oppression bitter, or ere this, [Sidenote: 104] I should haue fatted all the Region Kites [Sidenote: should a fatted] With this Slaues Offall, bloudy: a Bawdy villaine, [Sidenote: bloody, baudy] Remorselesse,[12] Treacherous, Letcherous, kindles[13] villaine! Oh Vengeance![14] Who? What an Asse am I? I sure, this is most braue, [Sidenote: Why what an Asse am I, this] That I, the Sonne of the Deere murthered, [Sidenote: a deere] Prompted to my Reuenge by Heauen, and Hell, Must (like a Whore) vnpacke my heart with words, And fall a Cursing like a very Drab,[15] A Scullion? Fye vpon't: Foh. About my Braine.[16] [Sidenote: a stallyon, | braines; hum,] [Footnote 1: Here follows in 1st _Q_. What would he do and if he had my losse? His father murdred, and a Crowne bereft him, [Sidenote: 174] He would turne all his teares to droppes of blood, Amaze the standers by with his laments, &c. &c.] [Footnote 2: Speaking of the Player, he uses the player-word.] [Footnote 3: _make pale_--appal.] [Footnote 4: _the innocent_.] [Footnote 5: _Mettle_ is spirit--rather in the sense of _animal-spirit_: _mettlesome_--spirited, _as a horse_.] [Footnote 6: '_unpossessed by_ my cause'.] [Footnote 7: _personality, proper person_.] [Footnote 8: _undoing, destruction_--from French _défaire_.] [Footnote 9: In this mood he no more understands, and altogether doubts himself, as he has previously come to doubt the world.] [Footnote 10: _1st Q_. 'or twites my nose.'] [Footnote 11: It was supposed that pigeons had no gall--I presume from their livers not tasting bitter like those of perhaps most birds.] [Footnote 12: _pitiless_.] [Footnote 13: _unnatural_.] [Footnote 14: This line is not in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 15: Here in _Q._ the line runs on to include _Foh_. The next line ends with _heard_.] [Footnote 16: _Point thus_: 'About! my brain.' He apostrophizes his brain, telling it to set to work.] [Page 112] I haue heard, that guilty Creatures sitting at a Play, Haue by the very cunning of the Scoene,[1] Bene strooke so to the soule, that presently They haue proclaim'd their Malefactions. For Murther, though it haue no tongue, will speake With most myraculous Organ.[2] Ile haue these Players, Play something like the murder of my Father, Before mine Vnkle. Ile obserue his lookes, [Sidenote: 137] Ile tent him to the quicke: If he but blench[3] [Sidenote: if a doe blench] I know my course. The Spirit that I haue seene [Sidenote: 48] May[4] be the Diuell, and the Diuel hath power [Sidenote: May be a deale, and the deale] T'assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhaps Out of my Weaknesse, and my Melancholly,[5] As he is very potent with such Spirits,[6] [Sidenote: 46] Abuses me to damne me.[7] Ile haue grounds More Relatiue then this: The Play's the thing, Wherein Ile catch the Conscience of the King. _Exit._ * * * * * SUMMARY. The division between the second and third acts is by common consent placed here. The third act occupies the afternoon, evening, and night of the same day with the second. This soliloquy is Hamlet's first, and perhaps we may find it correct to say _only_ outbreak of self-accusation. He charges himself with lack of feeling, spirit, and courage, in that he has not yet taken vengeance on his uncle. But unless we are prepared to accept and justify to the full his own hardest words against himself, and grant him a muddy-mettled, pigeon-livered rascal, we must examine and understand him, so as to account for his conduct better than he could himself. If we allow that perhaps he accuses himself too much, we may find on reflection that he accuses himself altogether wrongfully. If a man is content to think the worst of Hamlet, I care to hold no argument with that man. We must not look for _expressed_ logical sequence in a soliloquy, which is a vocal mind. The mind is seldom conscious of the links or transitions of a yet perfectly logical process developed in it. This remark, however, is more necessary in regard to the famous soliloquy to follow. In Hamlet, misery has partly choked even vengeance; and although sure in his heart that his uncle is guilty, in his brain he is not sure. Bitterly accusing himself in an access of wretchedness and rage and credence, he forgets the doubt that has restrained him, with all besides which he might so well urge in righteous defence, not excuse, of his delay. But ungenerous criticism has, by all but universal consent, accepted his own verdict against himself. So in common life there are thousands on thousands who, upon the sad confession of a man immeasurably greater than themselves, and showing his greatness in the humility whose absence makes admission impossible to them, immediately pounce upon him with vituperation, as if he were one of the vile, and they infinitely better. Such should be indignant with St. Paul and say--if he was the chief of sinners, what insolence to lecture _them_! and certainly the more justified publican would never by them have been allowed to touch the robe of the less justified Pharisee. Such critics surely take little or no pains to understand the object of their contempt: because Hamlet is troubled and blames himself, they without hesitation condemn him--and there where he is most commendable. It is the righteous man who is most ready to accuse himself; the unrighteous is least ready. Who is able when in deep trouble, rightly to analyze his feelings? Delay in action is not necessarily abandonment of duty; in Hamlet's case it is a due recognition of duty, which condemns precipitancy--and action in the face of doubt, so long as it is nowise compelled, is precipitancy. The first thing is _to be sure_: Hamlet has never been sure; he spies at length a chance of making himself sure; he seizes upon it; and while his sudden resolve to make use of the players, like the equally sudden resolve to shroud himself in pretended madness, manifests him fertile in expedient, the carrying out of both manifests him right capable and diligent in execution--_a man of action in every true sense of the word_. The self-accusation of Hamlet has its ground in the lapse of weeks during which nothing has been done towards punishing the king. Suddenly roused to a keen sense of the fact, he feels as if surely he might have done something. The first act ends with a burning vow of righteous vengeance; the second shows him wandering about the palace in profoundest melancholy--such as makes it more than easy for him to assume the forms of madness the moment he marks any curious eye bent upon him. Let him who has never loved and revered a mother, call such melancholy weakness. He has indeed done nothing towards the fulfilment of his vow; but the way in which he made the vow, the terms in which he exacted from his companions their promise of silence, and his scheme for eluding suspicion, combine to show that from the first he perceived its fulfilment would be hard, saw the obstacles in his way, and knew it would require both time and caution. That even in the first rush of his wrath he should thus be aware of difficulty, indicates moral symmetry; but the full weight of what lay in his path could appear to him only upon reflection. Partly in the light of passages yet to come, I will imagine the further course of his thoughts, which the closing couplet of the first act shows as having already begun to apale 'the native hue of resolution.' 'But how shall I take vengeance on my uncle? Shall I publicly accuse him, or slay him at once? In the one case what answer can I make to his denial? in the other, what justification can I offer? If I say the spirit of my father accuses him, what proof can I bring? My companions only saw the apparition--heard no word from him; and my uncle's party will assert, with absolute likelihood to the minds of those who do not know me--and who here knows me but my mother!--that charge is a mere coinage of jealous disappointment, working upon the melancholy I have not cared to hide. (174-6.) When I act, it must be to kill him, and to what misconstruction shall I not expose myself! (272) If the thing must so be, I must brave all; but I could never present myself thereafter as successor to the crown of one whom I had first slain and then vilified on the accusation of an apparition whom no one heard but myself! I must find _proof_--such proof as will satisfy others as well as myself. My immediate duty is _evidence_, not vengeance.' We have seen besides, that, when informed of the haunting presence of the Ghost, he expected the apparition with not a little doubt as to its authenticity--a doubt which, even when he saw it, did not immediately vanish: is it any wonder that when the apparition was gone, the doubt should return? Return it did, in accordance with the reaction which waits upon all high-strung experience. If he did not believe in the person who performed it, would any man long believe in any miracle? Hamlet soon begins to question whether he can with confidence accept the appearance for that which it appeared and asserted itself to be. He steps over to the stand-point of his judges, and doubts the only testimony he has to produce. Far more:--was he not bound in common humanity, not to say _filialness_, to doubt it? To doubt the Ghost, was to doubt a testimony which to accept was to believe his father in horrible suffering, his uncle a murderer, his mother at least an adulteress; to kill his uncle was to set his seal to the whole, and, besides, to bring his mother into frightful suspicion of complicity in his father's murder. Ought not the faintest shadow of a doubt, assuaging ever so little the glare of the hell-sun of such crime, to be welcome to the tortured heart? Wretched wife and woman as his mother had shown herself, the Ghost would have him think her far worse--perhaps, even accessory to her husband's murder! For action he _must_ have proof! At the same time, what every one knew of his mother, coupled now with the mere idea of the Ghost's accusation, wrought in him such misery, roused in him so many torturing and unanswerable questions, so blotted the face of the universe and withered the heart of hope, that he could not but doubt whether, in such a world of rogues and false women, it was worth his while to slay one villain out of the swarm. Ophelia's behaviour to him, in obedience to her father, of which she gives him no explanation, has added 'the pangs of disprized love,' and increased his doubts of woman-kind. 120. But when his imagination, presenting afresh the awful interview, brings him more immediately under the influence of the apparition and its behest, he is for the moment delivered both from the stunning effect of its communication and his doubt of its truth; forgetting then the considerations that have wrought in him, he accuses himself of remissness, blames himself grievously for his delay. Soon, however, his senses resume their influence, and he doubts again. So goes the mill-round of his thoughts, with the revolving of many wheels. His whole conscious nature is frightfully shaken: he would be the poor creature most of his critics would make of him, were it otherwise; it is because of his greatness that he suffers so terribly, and doubts so much. A mother's crime is far more paralyzing than a father's murder is stimulating; and either he has not set himself in thorough earnest to find the proof he needs, or he has as yet been unable to think of any serviceable means to the end, when the half real, half simulated emotion of the Player yet again rouses in him the sense of remissness, leads him to accuse himself of forgotten obligation and heartlessness, and simultaneously suggests a device for putting the Ghost and his words to the test. Instantly he seizes the chance: when a thing has to be done, and can be done, Hamlet is _never_ wanting--shows himself the very promptest of men. In the last passage of this act I do not take it that he is expressing an idea then first occurring to him: that the whole thing may be a snare of the devil is a doubt with which during weeks he has been familiar. The delay through which, in utter failure to comprehend his character, he has been so miserably misjudged, falls really between the first and second acts, although it seems in the regard of most readers to underlie and protract the whole play. Its duration is measured by the journey of the ambassadors to and from the neighbouring kingdom of Norway. It is notably odd, by the way, that those who accuse Hamlet of inaction, are mostly the same who believe his madness a reality! In truth, however, his affected madness is one of the strongest signs of his activity, and his delay one of the strongest proofs of his sanity. This second act, the third act, and a part always given to the fourth, but which really belongs to the third, occupy in all only one day. [Footnote 1: Here follows in _1st Q._ confest a murder Committed long before. This spirit that I haue seene may be the Diuell, And out of my weakenesse and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such men, Doth seeke to damne me, I will haue sounder proofes, The play's the thing, &c.] [Footnote 2: 'Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;' &c. _Macbeth_, iii. 4.] [Footnote 3: In the _1st Q._ Hamlet, speaking to Horatio (l 37), says, And if he doe not bleach, and change at that,-- _Bleach_ is radically the same word as _blench_:--to bleach, to blanch, to blench--_to grow white_.] [Footnote 4: Emphasis on _May_, as resuming previous doubtful thought and suspicion.] [Footnote 5: --caused from the first by his mother's behaviour, not constitutional.] [Footnote 6: --'such conditions of the spirits'.] [Footnote 7: Here is one element in the very existence of the preceding act: doubt as to the facts of the case has been throughout operating to restrain him; and here first he reveals, perhaps first recognizes its influence. Subject to change of feeling with the wavering of conviction, he now for a moment regards his uncertainty as involving unnatural distrust of a being in whose presence he cannot help _feeling_ him his father. He was familiar with the lore of the supernatural, and knew the doubt he expresses to be not without support.--His companions as well had all been in suspense as to the identity of the apparition with the late king.] [Page 116] _Enter King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrance, Guildenstern, and Lords._[1] [Sidenote: Guyldensterne, Lords.] [Sidenote: 72] _King._ And can you by no drift of circumstance [Sidenote: An can | of conference] Get from him why he puts on[2] this Confusion: Grating so harshly all his dayes of quiet With turbulent and dangerous Lunacy. _Rosin._ He does confesse he feeles himselfe distracted, [Sidenote: 92] But from what cause he will by no meanes speake. [Sidenote: a will] _Guil._ Nor do we finde him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty Madnesse[3] keepes aloofe: When we would bring him on to some Confession Of his true state. _Qu._ Did he receiue you well? _Rosin._ Most like a Gentleman. _Guild._ But with much forcing of his disposition.[4] _Rosin._ Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply.[5] _Qu._ Did you assay him to any pastime? _Rosin._ Madam, it so fell out, that certaine Players We ore-wrought on the way: of these we told him, [Sidenote: ore-raught[6]] And there did seeme in him a kinde of ioy To heare of it: They are about the Court, [Sidenote: are heere about] And (as I thinke) they haue already order This night to play before him. _Pol._ 'Tis most true; And he beseech'd me to intreate your Majesties To heare, and see the matter. _King._ With all my heart, and it doth much content me To heare him so inclin'd. Good Gentlemen, [Footnote 1: This may be regarded as the commencement of the Third Act.] [Footnote 2: The phrase seems to imply a doubt of the genuineness of the lunacy.] [Footnote 3: _Nominative pronoun omitted here._] [Footnote 4: He has noted, without understanding them, the signs of Hamlet's suspicion of themselves.] [Footnote 5: Compare the seemingly opposite statements of the two: Hamlet had bewildered them.] [Foonote 6: _over-reached_--came up with, caught up, overtook.] [Page 118] Giue him a further edge,[1] and driue his purpose on [Sidenote: purpose into these] To these delights. _Rosin._ We shall my Lord. _Exeunt._ [Sidenote: _Exeunt Ros. & Guyl._] _King._ Sweet Gertrude leaue vs too, [Sidenote: Gertrard | two] For we haue closely sent for _Hamlet_ hither, [Sidenote: 84] That he, as 'twere by accident, may there [Sidenote: heere] Affront[2] _Ophelia_. Her Father, and my selfe[3] (lawful espials)[4] Will so bestow our selues, that seeing vnseene We may of their encounter frankely iudge, And gather by him, as he is behaued, If't be th'affliction of his loue, or no, That thus he suffers for. _Qu._ I shall obey you, And for your part _Ophelia_,[5] I do wish That your good Beauties be the happy cause Of _Hamlets_ wildenesse: so shall I hope your Vertues [Sidenote: 240] Will bring him to his wonted way againe, To both your Honors.[6] _Ophe._ Madam, I wish it may. _Pol. Ophelia_, walke you heere. Gracious so please ye[7] [Sidenote: you,] We will bestow our selues: Reade on this booke,[8] That shew of such an exercise may colour Your lonelinesse.[9] We are oft too blame in this,[10] [Sidenote: lowlines:] 'Tis too much prou'd, that with Deuotions visage, And pious Action, we do surge o're [Sidenote: sugar] The diuell himselfe. [Sidenote: 161] _King._ Oh 'tis true: [Sidenote: tis too true] How smart a lash that speech doth giue my Conscience? The Harlots Cheeke beautied with plaist'ring Art Is not more vgly to the thing that helpes it,[11] Then is my deede, to my most painted word.[12] Oh heauie burthen![13] [Footnote 1: '_edge_ him on'--somehow corrupted into _egg_.] [Footnote 2: _confront_.] [Footnote 3: _Clause in parenthesis not in Q._] [Footnote 4: --apologetic to the queen.] [Footnote 5: --_going up to Ophelia_--I would say, who stands at a little distance, and has not heard what has been passing between them.] [Footnote 6: The queen encourages Ophelia in hoping to marry Hamlet, and may so have a share in causing a certain turn her madness takes.] [Footnote 7: --_aside to the king_.] [Footnote 8: --_to Ophelia:_ her prayer-book. 122.] [Footnote 9: _1st Q._ And here _Ofelia_, reade you on this booke, And walke aloofe, the King shal be vnseene.] [Footnote 10: --_aside to the king._ I insert these _asides_, and suggest the queen's going up to Ophelia, to show how we may easily hold Ophelia ignorant of their plot. Poor creature as she was, I would believe Shakspere did not mean her to lie to Hamlet. This may be why he omitted that part of her father's speech in the _1st Q._ given in the note immediately above, telling her the king is going to hide. Still, it would be excuse enough for _her_, that she thought his madness justified the deception.] [Footnote 11: --ugly to the paint that helps by hiding it--to which it lies so close, and from which it has no secrets. Or, 'ugly to' may mean, 'ugly _compared with_.'] [Footnote 12: 'most painted'--_very much painted_. His painted word is the paint to the deed. _Painted_ may be taken for _full of paint_.] [Footnote 13: This speech of the king is the first _assurance_ we have of his guilt.] [Page 120] _Pol._ I heare him comming, let's withdraw my Lord. [Sidenote: comming, with-draw] _Exeunt._[1] _Enter Hamlet._[2] _Ham._ To be, or not to be, that is the Question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the minde to suffer The Slings and Arrowes of outragious Fortune, [Sidenote: 200,250] Or to take Armes against a Sea of troubles,[3] And by opposing end them:[4] to dye, to sleepe No more; and by a sleepe, to say we end The Heart-ake, and the thousand Naturall shockes That Flesh is heyre too? 'Tis a consummation Deuoutly to be wish'd.[5] To dye to sleepe, To sleepe, perchance to Dreame;[6] I, there's the rub, For in that sleepe of death, what[7] dreames may come,[8] When we haue shuffle'd off this mortall coile, [Sidenote: 186] Must giue vs pawse.[9] There's the respect That makes Calamity of so long life:[10] For who would beare the Whips and Scornes of time, The Oppressors wrong, the poore mans Contumely, [Sidenote: proude mans] [Sidenote: 114] The pangs of dispriz'd Loue,[11] the Lawes delay, [Sidenote: despiz'd] The insolence of Office, and the Spurnes That patient merit of the vnworthy takes, [Sidenote: th'] When he himselfe might his _Quietus_ make [Sidenote: 194,252-3] With a bare Bodkin?[12] Who would these Fardles beare[13] [Sidenote: would fardels] To grunt and sweat vnder a weary life, [Sidenote: 194] But that the dread of something after death,[14] The vndiscouered Countrey, from whose Borne No Traueller returnes,[15] Puzels the will, And makes vs rather beare those illes we haue, Then flye to others that we know not of. Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all,[16] [Sidenote: 30] And thus the Natiue hew of Resolution[17] Is sicklied o're, with the pale cast of Thought,[18] [Sidenote: sickled] [Footnote 1: _Not in Q._--They go behind the tapestry, where it hangs over the recess of the doorway. Ophelia thinks they have left the room.] [Footnote 2: _In Q. before last speech._] [Footnote 3: Perhaps to a Danish or Dutch critic, or one from the eastern coast of England, this simile would not seem so unfit as it does to some.] [Footnote 4: To print this so as I would have it read, I would complete this line from here with points, and commence the next with points. At the other breaks of the soliloquy, as indicated below, I would do the same--thus: And by opposing end them.... ....To die--to sleep,] [Footnote 5: _Break_.] [Footnote 6: _Break_.] [Footnote 7: Emphasis on _what_.] [Footnote 8: Such dreams as the poor Ghost's.] [Footnote 9: _Break._ --'_pawse_' is the noun, and from its use at page 186, we may judge it means here 'pause for reflection.'] [Footnote 10: 'makes calamity so long-lived.'] [Footnote 11: --not necessarily disprized by the _lady_; the disprizer in Hamlet's case was the worldly and suspicious father--and that in part, and seemingly to Hamlet altogether, for the king's sake.] [Footnote 12: _small sword_. If there be here any allusion to suicide, it is on the general question, and with no special application to himself. 24. But it is the king and the bare bodkin his thought associates. How could he even glance at the things he has just mentioned, as each, a reason for suicide? It were a cowardly country indeed where the question might be asked, 'Who would not commit suicide because of any one of these things, except on account of what may follow after death?'! One might well, however, be tempted to destroy an oppressor, _and risk his life in that._] [Footnote 13: _Fardel_, burden: the old French for _fardeau_, I am informed.] [Footnote 14: --a dread caused by conscience.] [Footnote 15: The Ghost could not be imagined as having _returned_.] [Footnote 16: 'of us all' _not in Q._ It is not the fear of evil that makes us cowards, but the fear of _deserved_ evil. The Poet may intend that conscience alone is the cause of fear in man. '_Coward_' does not here involve contempt: it should be spoken with a grim smile. But Hamlet would hardly call turning from _suicide_ cowardice in any sense. 24.] [Footnote 17: --such as was his when he vowed vengeance.] [Footnote 18: --such as immediately followed on that The _native_ hue of resolution--that which is natural to man till interruption comes--is ruddy; the hue of thought is pale. I suspect the '_pale cast_' of an allusion to whitening with _rough-cast_.] [Page 122] And enterprizes of great pith and moment,[1] [Sidenote: pitch [1]] With this regard their Currants turne away, [Sidenote: awry] And loose the name of Action.[2] Soft you now, [Sidenote: 119] The faire _Ophelia_? Nimph, in thy Orizons[3] Be all my sinnes remembred.[4] _Ophe._ Good my Lord, How does your Honor for this many a day? _Ham._ I humbly thanke you: well, well, well.[5] _Ophe._ My Lord, I haue Remembrances of yours, That I haue longed long to re-deliuer. I pray you now, receiue them. _Ham._ No, no, I neuer gaue you ought.[6] [Sidenote: No, not I, I never] _Ophe._ My honor'd Lord, I know right well you did, [Sidenote: you know] And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd, As made the things more rich, then perfume left: [Sidenote: these things | their perfume lost.[7]] Take these againe, for to the Noble minde Rich gifts wax poore, when giuers proue vnkinde. There my Lord.[8] _Ham._ Ha, ha: Are you honest?[9] _Ophe._ My Lord. _Ham._ Are you faire? _Ophe._ What meanes your Lordship? _Ham._ That if you be honest and faire, your [Sidenote: faire, you should admit] Honesty[10] should admit no discourse to your Beautie. _Ophe._ Could Beautie my Lord, haue better Comerce[11] then your Honestie?[12] [Sidenote: Then with honestie?[11]] _Ham._ 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.[13] _Ophe._ Indeed my Lord, you made me beleeue so. [Footnote 1: How could _suicide_ be styled _an enterprise of great pith_? Yet less could it be called _of great pitch_.] [Footnote 2: I allow this to be a general reflection, but surely it serves to show that _conscience_ must at least be one of Hamlet's restraints.] [Footnote 3: --by way of intercession.] [Footnote 4: Note the entire change of mood from that of the last soliloquy. The right understanding of this soliloquy is indispensable to the right understanding of Hamlet. But we are terribly trammelled and hindered, as in the understanding of Hamlet throughout, so here in the understanding of his meditation, by traditional assumption. I was roused to think in the right direction concerning it, by the honoured friend and relative to whom I have feebly acknowledged my obligation by dedicating to him this book. I could not at first see it as he saw it: 'Think about it, and you will,' he said. I did think, and by degrees--not very quickly--my prejudgments thinned, faded, and almost vanished. I trust I see it now as a whole, and in its true relations, internal and external--its relations to itself, to the play, and to the Hamlet, of Shakspere. Neither in its first verse, then, nor in it anywhere else, do I find even an allusion to suicide. What Hamlet is referring to in the said first verse, it is not possible with certainty to determine, for it is but the vanishing ripple of a preceding ocean of thought, from which he is just stepping out upon the shore of the articulate. He may have been plunged in some profound depth of the metaphysics of existence, or he may have been occupied with the one practical question, that of the slaying of his uncle, which has, now in one form, now in another, haunted his spirit for weeks. Perhaps, from the message he has just received, he expects to meet the king, and conscience, confronting temptation, has been urging the necessity of proof; perhaps a righteous consideration of consequences, which sometimes have share in the primary duty, has been making him shrink afresh from the shedding of blood, for every thoughtful mind recoils from the irrevocable, and that is an awful form of the irrevocable. But whatever thought, general or special, this first verse may be dismissing, we come at once thereafter into the light of a definite question: 'Which is nobler--to endure evil fortune, or to oppose it _à outrance_; to bear in passivity, or to resist where resistance is hopeless--resist to the last--to the death which is its unavoidable end?' Then comes a pause, during which he is thinking--we will not say 'too precisely on the event,' but taking his account with consequences: the result appears in the uttered conviction that the extreme possible consequence, death, is a good and not an evil. Throughout, observe, how here, as always, he generalizes, himself being to himself but the type of his race. Then follows another pause, during which he seems prosecuting the thought, for he has already commenced further remark in similar strain, when suddenly a new and awful element introduces itself: ....To die--to sleep.-- --To _sleep_! perchance to _dream_! He had been thinking of death only as the passing away of the present with its troubles; here comes the recollection that death has its own troubles--its own thoughts, its own consciousness: if it be a sleep, it has its dreams. '_What dreams may come_' means, 'the sort of dreams that may come'; the emphasis is on the _what_, not on the _may_; there is no question whether dreams will come, but there is question of the character of the dreams. This consideration is what makes calamity so long-lived! 'For who would bear the multiform ills of life'--he alludes to his own wrongs, but mingles, in his generalizing way, others of those most common to humanity, and refers to the special cure for some of his own which was close to his hand--'who would bear these things if he could, as I can, make his quietus with a bare bodkin'--that is, by slaying his enemy--'who would then bear them, but that he fears the future, and the divine judgment upon his life and actions--that conscience makes a coward of him!'[14] To run, not the risk of death, but the risks that attend upon and follow death, Hamlet must be certain of what he is about; he must be sure it is a right thing he does, or he will leave it undone. Compare his speech, 250, 'Does it not, &c.':--by the time he speaks this speech, he has had perfect proof, and asserts the righteousness of taking vengeance in almost an agony of appeal to Horatio. The more continuous and the more formally logical a soliloquy, the less natural it is. The logic should be all there, but latent; the bones of it should not show: they do not show here.] [Footnote 5: _One_ 'well' _only in Q._] [Footnote 6: He does not want to take them back, and so sever even that weak bond between them. He has not given her up.] [Footnote 7: The _Q._ reading seems best. The perfume of his gifts was the sweet words with which they were given; those words having lost their savour, the mere gifts were worth nothing.] [Footnote 8: Released from the commands her father had laid upon her, and emboldened by the queen's approval of more than the old relation between them, she would timidly draw Hamlet back to the past--to love and a sound mind.] [Footnote 9: I do not here suppose a noise or movement of the arras, or think that the talk from this point bears the mark of the madness he would have assumed on the least suspicion of espial. His distrust of Ophelia comes from a far deeper source--suspicion of all women, grown doubtful to him through his mother. Hopeless for her, he would give his life to know that Ophelia was not like her. Hence the cruel things he says to her here and elsewhere; they are the brood of a heart haunted with horrible, alas! too excusable phantoms of distrust. A man wretched as Hamlet must be forgiven for being rude; it is love suppressed, love that can neither breathe nor burn, that makes him rude. His horrid insinuations are a hungry challenge to indignant rejection. He would sting Ophelia to defence of herself and her sex. But, either from her love, or from gentleness to his supposed madness, as afterwards in the play-scene, or from the poverty and weakness of a nature so fathered and so brothered, she hears, and says nothing. 139.] [Footnote 10: Honesty is here figured as a porter,--just after, as a porter that may be corrupted.] [Footnote 11: If the _Folio_ reading is right, _commerce_ means _companionship_; if the _Quarto_ reading, then it means _intercourse_. Note _then_ constantly for our _than_.] [Footnote 12: I imagine Ophelia here giving Hamlet a loving look--which hardens him. But I do not think she lays emphasis on _your_; the word is here, I take it, used (as so often then) impersonally.] [Footnote 13: '--proof in you and me: _I_ loved _you_ once, but my honesty did not translate your beauty into its likeness.'] [Footnote 14: That the Great Judgement was here in Shakspere's thought, will be plain to those who take light from the corresponding passage in the _1st Quarto_. As it makes an excellent specimen of that issue in the character I am most inclined to attribute to it--that of original sketch and continuous line of notes, with more or less finished passages in place among the notes--I will here quote it, recommending it to my student's attention. If it be what I suggest, it is clear that Shakspere had not at first altogether determined how he would carry the soliloquy--what line he was going to follow in it: here hope and fear contend for the place of motive to patience. The changes from it in the text are well worth noting: the religion is lessened: the hope disappears: were they too much of pearls to cast before 'barren spectators'? The manuscript could never have been meant for any eye but his own, seeing it was possible to print from it such a chaos--over which yet broods the presence of the formative spirit of the Poet. _Ham._ To be, or not to be, I there's the point, To Die, to sleepe, is that all? I all: No, to sleepe, to dreame, I mary there it goes, For in that dreame of death, when wee awake, [Sidenote: 24, 247, 260] And borne before an euerlasting Iudge, From whence no passenger euer retur'nd, The vndiscouered country, at whose sight The happy smile, and the accursed damn'd. But for this, the ioyfull hope of this, Whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? The widow being oppressed, the orphan wrong'd, The taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne, And thousand more calamities besides, To grunt and sweate vnder this weary life, When that he may his full _Quietus_ make, With a bare bodkin, who would this indure, But for a hope of something after death? Which pulses the braine, and doth confound the sence, Which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue, Than flie to others that we know not of. I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of vs all, Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred.] [Page 126] _Ham._ You should not haue beleeued me. For vertue cannot so innocculate[1] our old stocke,[2] but we shall rellish of it.[3] I loued you not.[4] _Ophe._ I was the more deceiued. _Ham._ Get thee to a Nunnerie. Why would'st [Sidenote: thee a] thou be a breeder of Sinners? I am my selfe indifferent[5] [Sidenote: 132] honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things,[6] that it were better my Mother had [Sidenote: 62] not borne me,[7] 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 [Sidenote: earth and heauen] and Earth.[8] We are arrant Knaues all[10], beleeue none of vs.[9] Goe thy wayes to a Nunnery. Where's your Father?[11] _Ophe._ At home, my Lord.[12] _Ham._ Let the doores be shut vpon him, that he may play the Foole no way, but in's owne house.[13] [Sidenote: no where but] Farewell.[14] _Ophe._ O helpe him, you sweet Heauens. _Ham._[15] 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.[16] Get thee to a Nunnery. Go,[17] Farewell.[18] Or if thou wilt needs Marry, marry a fool: for Wise men know well enough, what monsters[19] you make of them. To a Nunnery go, and quickly too. Farwell.[20] _Ophe._ O[21] heauenly Powers, restore him. _Ham._[22] I haue heard of your pratlings[23] too wel [Sidenote: your paintings well] enough. God has giuen you one pace,[23] and you [Sidenote: hath | one face,] make your selfe another: you gidge, you amble, [Sidenote: selfes | you gig and amble, and] and you lispe, and nickname Gods creatures, and [Sidenote: you list you nickname] make your Wantonnesse, your[24] Ignorance.[25] Go [Footnote 1: 'inoculate'--_bud_, in the horticultural use.] [Footnote 2: _trunk_ or _stem_ of the family tree.] [Footnote 3: Emphasis on _relish_--'keep something of the old flavour of the stock.'] [Footnote 4: He tries her now with denying his love--perhaps moved in part by a feeling, taught by his mother's, of how imperfect it was.] [Footnote 5: tolerably.] [Footnote 6: He turns from baiting woman in her to condemn himself. Is it not the case with every noble nature, that the knowledge of wrong in another arouses in it the consciousness of its own faults and sins, of its own evil possibilities? Hurled from the heights of ideal humanity, Hamlet not only recognizes in himself every evil tendency of his race, but almost feels himself individually guilty of every transgression. 'God, God, forgive us all!' exclaims the doctor who has just witnessed the misery of Lady Macbeth, unveiling her guilt. This whole speech of Hamlet is profoundly sane--looking therefore altogether insane to the shallow mind, on which the impression of its insanity is deepened by its coming from him so freely. The common nature disappointed rails at humanity; Hamlet, his earthly ideal destroyed, would tear his individual human self to pieces.] [Footnote 7: This we may suppose uttered with an expression as startling to Ophelia as impenetrable.] [Footnote 8: He is disgusted with himself, with his own nature and consciousness--] [Footnote 9: --and this reacts on his kind.] [Footnote 10: 'all' _not in Q._] [Footnote 11: Here, perhaps, he grows suspicious--asks himself why he is allowed this prolonged _tête à tête_.] [Footnote 12: I am willing to believe she thinks so.] [Footnote 13: Whether he trusts Ophelia or not, he does not take her statement for correct, and says this in the hope that Polonius is not too far off to hear it. The speech is for him, not for Ophelia, and will seem to her to come only from his madness.] [Footnote 14: _Exit_.] [Footnote 15: (_re-entering_)] [Footnote 16: 'So many are bad, that your virtue will not be believed in.'] [Footnote 17: 'Go' _not in Q._] [Footnote 18: _Exit, and re-enter._] [Footnote 19: _Cornuti._] [Footnote 20: _Exit._] [Footnote 21: 'O' _not in Q._] [Footnote 22: (_re-entering_)] [Footnote 23: I suspect _pratlings_ to be a corruption, not of the printed _paintings_, but of some word substituted for it by the Poet, perhaps _prancings_, and _pace_ to be correct.] [Footnote 24: 'your' _not in Q._] [Footnote 25: As the present type to him of womankind, he assails her with such charges of lightness as are commonly brought against women. He does not go farther: she is not his mother, and he hopes she is innocent. But he cannot make her speak!] [Page 128] too, Ile no more on't, it hath made me mad. I say, we will haue no more Marriages.[1] Those that are [Sidenote: no mo marriage,] married already,[2] all but one shall liue, the rest shall keep as they are. To a Nunnery, go. _Exit Hamlet_. [Sidenote: _Exit_] [3]_Ophe._ O what a Noble minde is heere o're-throwne? The Courtiers, Soldiers, Schollers: Eye, tongue, sword, Th'expectansie and Rose[4] of the faire State, [Sidenote: Th' expectation,] The glasse of Fashion,[5] and the mould of Forme,[6] Th'obseru'd of all Obseruers, quite, quite downe. Haue I of Ladies most deiect and wretched, [Sidenote: And I of] That suck'd the Honie of his Musicke Vowes: [Sidenote: musickt] Now see that Noble, and most Soueraigne Reason, [Sidenote: see what] Like sweet Bels iangled out of tune, and harsh,[7] [Sidenote: out of time] That vnmatch'd Forme and Feature of blowne youth,[8] [Sidenote: and stature of] Blasted with extasie.[9] Oh woe is me, T'haue scene what I haue scene: see what I see.[10] [Sidenote: _Exit_.] _Enter King, and Polonius_. _King_. Loue? His affections do not that way tend, Nor what he spake, though it lack'd Forme a little, [Sidenote: Not] Was not like Madnesse.[11] There's something in his soule? O're which his Melancholly sits on brood, And I do doubt the hatch, and the disclose[12] Will be some danger,[11] which to preuent [Sidenote: which for to] I haue in quicke determination [Sidenote: 138, 180] Thus set it downe. He shall with speed to England For the demand of our neglected Tribute: Haply the Seas and Countries different [Footnote 1: 'The thing must be put a stop to! the world must cease! it is not fit to go on.'] [Footnote 2: 'already--(_aside_) all but one--shall live.'] [Footnote 3: _1st Q_. _Ofe._ Great God of heauen, what a quicke change is this? The Courtier, Scholler, Souldier, all in him, All dasht and splinterd thence, O woe is me, To a seene what I haue seene, see what I see. _Exit_. To his cruel words Ophelia is impenetrable--from the conviction that not he but his madness speaks. The moment he leaves her, she breaks out in such phrase as a young girl would hardly have used had she known that the king and her father were listening. I grant, however, the speech may be taken as a soliloquy audible to the spectators only, who to the persons of a play are _but_ the spiritual presences.] [Footnote 4: 'The hope and flower'--The _rose_ is not unfrequently used in English literature as the type of perfection.] [Footnote 5: 'he by whom Fashion dressed herself'--_he who set the fashion_. His great and small virtues taken together, Hamlet makes us think of Sir Philip Sidney--ten years older than Shakspere, and dead sixteen years before _Hamlet_ was written.] [Footnote 6: 'he after whose ways, or modes of behaviour, men shaped theirs'--therefore the mould in which their forms were cast;--_the object of universal imitation_.] [Footnote 7: I do not know whether this means--the peal rung without regard to tune or time--or--the single bell so handled that the tongue checks and jars the vibration. In some country places, I understand, they go about ringing a set of hand-bells.] [Footnote 8: youth in full blossom.] [Footnote 9: madness 177.] [Footnote 10: 'to see now such a change from what I saw then.'] [Footnote 11: The king's conscience makes him keen. He is, all through, doubtful of the madness.] [Footnote 12: --of the fact- or fancy-egg on which his melancholy sits brooding] [Page 130] With variable Obiects, shall expell This something setled matter[1] in his heart Whereon his Braines still beating, puts him thus From[2] fashion of himselfe. What thinke you on't? _Pol_. It shall do well. But yet do I beleeue The Origin and Commencement of this greefe [Sidenote: his greefe,] Sprung from neglected loue.[3] How now _Ophelia_? You neede not tell vs, what Lord _Hamlet_ saide, We heard it all.[4] My Lord, do as you please, But if you hold it fit after the Play, Let his Queene Mother all alone intreat him To shew his Greefes: let her be round with him, [Sidenote: griefe,] And Ile be plac'd so, please you in the eare Of all their Conference. If she finde him not,[5] To England send him: Or confine him where Your wisedome best shall thinke. _King_. It shall be so: Madnesse in great Ones, must not vnwatch'd go.[6] [Sidenote: unmatched] _Exeunt_. _Enter Hamlet, and two or three of the Players_. [Sidenote: _and three_] _Ham_.[7] Speake the Speech I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you trippingly[8] on the Tongue: But if you mouth it, as many of your Players do, [Sidenote: of our Players] I had as liue[9] the Town-Cryer had spoke my [Sidenote: cryer spoke] Lines:[10] Nor do not saw the Ayre too much your [Sidenote: much with] hand thus, but vse all gently; for in the verie Torrent, Tempest, and (as I may say) the Whirlewinde [Sidenote: say, whirlwind] of Passion, you must acquire and beget a [Sidenote: of your] Temperance that may giue it Smoothnesse.[11] O it offends mee to the Soule, to see a robustious Perywig-pated [Sidenote: to heare a] Fellow, teare a Passion to tatters, to [Sidenote: totters,] verie ragges, to split the eares of the Groundlings:[12] [Sidenote: spleet] who (for the most part) are capeable[13] of nothing, but inexplicable dumbe shewes,[14] and noise:[15] I could haue such a Fellow whipt for o're-doing [Sidenote: would] [Footnote 1: 'something of settled matter'--_idée fixe_.] [Footnote 2: '_away from_ his own true likeness'; 'makes him so unlike himself.'] [Footnote 3: Polonius is crestfallen, but positive.] [Footnote 4: This supports the notion of Ophelia's ignorance of the espial. Polonius thinks she is about to disclose what has passed, and _informs_ her of its needlessness. But it _might_ well enough be taken as only an assurance of the success of their listening--that they had heard without difficulty.] [Footnote 5: 'If she do not find him out': a comparable phrase, common at the time, was, _Take me with you_, meaning, _Let me understand you_. Polonius, for his daughter's sake, and his own in her, begs for him another chance.] [Footnote 6: 'in the insignificant, madness may roam the country, but in the great it must be watched.' The _unmatcht_ of the _Quarto_ might bear the meaning of _countermatched_.] [Footnote 7: I should suggest this exhortation to the Players introduced with the express purpose of showing how absolutely sane Hamlet was, could I believe that Shakspere saw the least danger of Hamlet's pretence being mistaken for reality.] [Footnote 8: He would have neither blundering nor emphasis such as might rouse too soon the king's suspicion, or turn it into certainty.] [Footnote 9: 'liue'--_lief_] [Footnote 10: 1st Q.:-- I'de rather heare a towne bull bellow, Then such a fellow speake my lines. _Lines_ is a player-word still.] [Footnote 11: --smoothness such as belongs to the domain of Art, and will both save from absurdity, and allow the relations with surroundings to manifest themselves;--harmoniousness, which is the possibility of co-existence.] [Footnote 12: those on the ground--that is, in the pit; there was no gallery then.] [Footnote 13: _receptive_.] [Footnote 14: --gestures extravagant and unintelligible as those of a dumb show that could not by the beholder be interpreted; gestures incorrespondent to the words. A _dumb show_ was a stage-action without words.] [Footnote 15: Speech that is little but rant, and scarce related to the sense, is hardly better than a noise; it might, for the purposes of art, as well be a sound inarticulate.] [Page 132] Termagant[1]: it out-Herod's Herod[2] Pray you auoid it. _Player._ I warrant your Honor. _Ham._ 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 [Sidenote: ore-steppe] modestie of Nature; for any thing so ouer-done, [Sidenote ore-doone] is fro[3] 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 [Sidenote: her feature;] Feature, Scorne[4] her owne Image, and the verie Age and Bodie of the Time, his forme and pressure.[5] Now, this ouer-done, or come tardie off,[6] though it make the vnskilfull laugh, cannot but make the [Sidenote: it makes] Iudicious greeue; The censure of the which One,[7] [Sidenote: of which one] must in your allowance[8] o're-way a whole Theater of Others. Oh, there bee Players that I haue scene Play, and heard others praise, and that highly [Sidenote: praysd,] (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, [Sidenote: Pagan, nor man, haue] that I haue thought some of Natures Iouerney-men had made men, and not made them well, they imitated Humanity so abhominably.[9] [Sidenote: 126] _Play._ I hope we haue reform'd that indifferently[10] with vs, Sir. _Ham._ O reforme it altogether. And let those that play your Clownes, speake no more then is set downe for them.[12] 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:[12] that's Villanous, and shewes a most pittifull Ambition in the Fool that vses it.[13] Go make you readie. _Exit Players_ [Footnote 1: 'An imaginary God of the Mahometans, represented as a most violent character in the old Miracle-plays and Moralities.'--_Sh. Lex._] [Footnote 2: 'represented as a swaggering tyrant in the old dramatic performances.'--_Sh. Lex._] [Footnote 3: _away from_: inconsistent with.] [Footnote 4: --that which is deserving of scorn.] [Footnote 5: _impression_, as on wax. Some would persuade us that Shakspere's own plays do not do this; but such critics take the _accidents_ or circumstances of a time for the _body_ of it--the clothes for the person. _Human_ nature is 'Nature,' however _dressed_. There should be a comma after 'Age.'] [Footnote 6: 'laggingly represented'--A word belonging to _time_ is substituted for a word belonging to _space_:--'this over-done, or inadequately effected'; 'this over-done, or under-done.'] [Footnote 7: 'and the judgment of such a one.' '_the which_' seems equivalent to _and--such_.] [Footnote 8: 'must, you will grant.'] [Footnote 9: Shakspere may here be playing with a false derivation, as I was myself when the true was pointed out to me--fancying _abominable_ derived from _ab_ and _homo_. If so, then he means by the phrase: 'they imitated humanity so from the nature of man, so _inhumanly_.'] [Footnote 10: tolerably.] [Footnote 11: 'Sir' _not in Q._] [Footnote 12: Shakspere must have himself suffered from such clowns: Coleridge thinks some of their _gag_ has crept into his print.] [Footnote 13: Here follow in the _1st Q._ several specimens of such a clown's foolish jests and behaviour.] [Page 134] _Enter Polonius, Rosincrance, and Guildensterne_.[1] [Sidenote: _Guyldensterne, & Rosencraus_.] How now my Lord, Will the King heare this peece of Worke? _Pol_. And the Queene too, and that presently.[2] _Ham_. Bid the Players make hast. _Exit Polonius_.[3] Will you two helpe to hasten them?[4] _Both_. We will my Lord. _Exeunt_. [Sidenote: _Ros_. I my Lord. _Exeunt they two_.] _Enter Horatio_[5] _Ham_. What hoa, _Horatio_? [Sidenote: What howe,] _Hora_. Heere sweet Lord, at your Seruice. [Sidenote: 26] _Ham_.[7] _Horatio_, thou art eene as iust a man As ere my Conversation coap'd withall. _Hora_. O my deere Lord.[6] _Ham_.[7] Nay do not thinke I flatter: For what aduancement may I hope from thee,[8] That no Reuennew hast, but thy good spirits To feed and cloath thee. Why shold the poor be flatter'd? No, let the Candied[9] tongue, like absurd pompe, [Sidenote: licke] And crooke the pregnant Hindges of the knee,[10] Where thrift may follow faining? Dost thou heare, [Sidenote: fauning;] Since my deere Soule was Mistris of my choyse;[11] [Sidenote: her choice,] And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for her selfe. For thou hast bene [Sidenote: S'hath seald] [Sidenote: 272] As one in suffering all, that suffers nothing. A man that Fortunes buffets, and Rewards Hath 'tane with equall Thankes. And blest are those, [Sidenote: Hast] Whose Blood and Iudgement are so well co-mingled, [Sidenote: comedled,[12]] [Sidenote: 26] That they are not a Pipe for Fortunes finger, To sound what stop she please.[13] Giue me that man, That is not Passions Slaue,[14] and I will weare him In my hearts Core: I, in my Heart of heart,[15] As I do thee. Something too much of this.[16] [Footnote 1: _In Q. at end of speech._] [Footnote 2: He humours Hamlet as if he were a child.] [Footnote 3: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 4: He has sent for Horatio, and is expecting him.] [Footnote 5: _In Q. after next speech._] [Footnote 6: --repudiating the praise.] [Footnote 7: To know a man, there is scarce a readier way than to hear him talk of his friend--why he loves, admires, chooses him. The Poet here gives us a wide window into Hamlet. So genuine is his respect for _being_, so indifferent is he to _having_, that he does not shrink, in argument for his own truth, from reminding his friend to his face that, being a poor man, nothing is to be gained from him--nay, from telling him that it is through his poverty he has learned to admire him, as a man of courage, temper, contentment, and independence, with nothing but his good spirits for an income--a man whose manhood is dominant both over his senses and over his fortune--a true Stoic. He describes an ideal man, then clasps the ideal to his bosom as his own, in the person of his friend. Only a great man could so worship another, choosing him for such qualities; and hereby Shakspere shows us his Hamlet--a brave, noble, wise, pure man, beset by circumstances the most adverse conceivable. That Hamlet had not misapprehended Horatio becomes evident in the last scene of all. 272.] [Footnote 8: The mother of flattery is self-advantage.] [Footnote 9: _sugared_. _1st Q._: Let flattery sit on those time-pleasing tongs; To glose with them that loues to heare their praise; And not with such as thou _Horatio_. There is a play to night, &c.] [Footnote 10: A pregnant figure and phrase, requiring thought.] [Footnote 11: 'since my real self asserted its dominion, and began to rule my choice,' making it pure, and withdrawing it from the tyranny of impulse and liking.] [Footnote 12: The old word _medle_ is synonymous with _mingle._] [Footnote 13: To Hamlet, the lordship of man over himself, despite of circumstance, is a truth, and therefore a duty.] [Footnote 14: The man who has chosen his friend thus, is hardly himself one to act without sufficing reason, or take vengeance without certain proof of guilt.] [Footnote 15: He justifies the phrase, repeating it.] [Footnote 16: --apologetic for having praised him to his face.] [Page 136] There is a Play to night before the King, One Scoene of it comes neere the Circumstance Which I haue told thee, of my Fathers death. I prythee, when thou see'st that Acte a-foot,[1] Euen with the verie Comment of my[2] Soule [Sidenote: thy[2] soule] Obserue mine Vnkle: If his occulted guilt, [Sidenote: my Vncle,] Do not it selfe vnkennell in one speech, [Sidenote: 58] It is a damned Ghost that we haue seene:[3] And my Imaginations are as foule As Vulcans Stythe.[4] Giue him needfull note, [Sidenote: stithy; | heedfull] For I mine eyes will riuet to his Face: And after we will both our iudgements ioyne,[5] To censure of his seeming.[6] [Sidenote: in censure] _Hora._ Well my Lord. If he steale ought the whil'st this Play is Playing. [Sidenote: if a] And scape detecting, I will pay the Theft.[1] [Sidenote: detected,] _Enter King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrance, Guildensterne, and other Lords attendant with his Guard carrying Torches. Danish March. Sound a Flourish._ [Sidenote: _Enter Trumpets and Kettle Drummes, King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia._] _Ham._ They are comming to the Play: I must [Sidenote: 60, 156, 178] be idle.[7] Get you a place. _King._ How fares our Cosin _Hamlet_? _Ham._ Excellent Ifaith, of the Camelions dish: [Sidenote: 154] I eate the Ayre promise-cramm'd,[8] you cannot feed Capons so.[9] _King._ I haue nothing with this answer _Hamlet_, these words are not mine.[10] _Ham._ No, nor mine. Now[11] my Lord, you plaid once i'th'Vniuersity, you say? _Polon._ That I did my Lord, and was accounted [Sidenote: did I] a good Actor. [Footnote 1: Here follows in _1st Q._ Marke thou the King, doe but obserue his lookes, For I mine eies will riuet to his face: [Sidenote: 112] And if he doe not bleach, and change at that, It is a damned ghost that we haue seene. _Horatio_, haue a care, obserue him well. _Hor_. My lord, mine eies shall still be on his face, And not the smallest alteration That shall appeare in him, but I shall note it.] [Footnote 2: I take 'my' to be right: 'watch my uncle with the comment--the discriminating judgment, that is--of _my_ soul, more intent than thine.'] [Footnote 3: He has then, ere this, taken Horatio into his confidence--so far at least as the Ghost's communication concerning the murder.] [Footnote 4: a dissyllable: _stithy_, _anvil_; Scotch, _studdy_. Hamlet's doubt is here very evident: he hopes he may find it a false ghost: what good man, what good son would not? He has clear cause and reason--it is his duty to delay. That the cause and reason and duty are not invariably clear to Hamlet himself--not clear in every mood, is another thing. Wavering conviction, doubt of evidence, the corollaries of assurance, the oppression of misery, a sense of the worthlessness of the world's whole economy--each demanding delay, might yet well, all together, affect the man's feeling as mere causes of rather than reasons for hesitation. The conscientiousness of Hamlet stands out the clearer that, throughout, his dislike to his uncle, predisposing him to believe any ill of him, is more than evident. By his incompetent or prejudiced judges, Hamlet's accusations and justifications of himself are equally placed to the _discredit_ of his account. They seem to think a man could never accuse himself except he were in the wrong; therefore if ever he excuses himself, he is the more certainly in the wrong: whatever point may tell on the other side, it is to be disregarded.] [Footnote 5: 'bring our two judgments together for comparison.'] [Footnote 6: 'in order to judge of the significance of his looks and behaviour.'] [Footnote 7: Does he mean _foolish_, that is, _lunatic_? or _insouciant_, and _unpreoccupied_?] [Footnote 8: The king asks Hamlet how he _fares_--that is, how he gets on; Hamlet pretends to think he has asked him about his diet. His talk has at once become wild; ere the king enters he has donned his cloak of madness. Here he confesses to ambition--will favour any notion concerning himself rather than give ground for suspecting the real state of his mind and feeling. In the _1st Q._ 'the Camelions dish' almost appears to mean the play, not the king's promises.] [Footnote 9: In some places they push food down the throats of the poultry they want to fatten, which is technically, I believe, called _cramming_ them.] [Footnote 10: 'You have not taken me with you; I have not laid hold of your meaning; I have nothing by your answer.' 'Your words have not become my property; they have not given themselves to me in their meaning.'] [Footnote 11: _Point thus_: 'No, nor mine now.--My Lord,' &c. '--not mine, now I have uttered them, for so I have given them away.' Or does he mean to disclaim their purport?] [Page 138] _Ham._ And[1] what did you enact? _Pol._ I did enact _Iulius Caesar_, I was kill'd i'th'Capitol: _Brutus_ kill'd me. _Ham._ It was a bruite part of him, to kill so Capitall a Calfe there.[2] Be the Players ready? _Rosin._ I my Lord, they stay vpon your patience. _Qu._ Come hither my good _Hamlet_, sit by me. [Sidenote: my deere] _Ham._ No good Mother, here's Mettle more attractiue.[3] _Pol._ Oh ho, do you marke that?[4] _Ham._ Ladie, shall I lye in your Lap? _Ophe._ No my Lord. _Ham._ I meane, my Head vpon your Lap?[5] _Ophe._ I my Lord.[6] _Ham._ Do you thinke I meant Country[7] matters? _Ophe._ I thinke nothing, my Lord. _Ham._ That's a faire thought to ly between Maids legs. _Ophe._ What is my Lord? _Ham._ Nothing. _Ophe._ You are merrie, my Lord? _Ham._ Who I? _Ophe._ I my Lord.[8] _Ham._ Oh God, your onely Iigge-maker[9]: what should a man do, but be merrie. For looke you how cheerefully my Mother lookes, and my Father dyed within's two Houres. [Sidenote: 65] _Ophe._ Nay, 'tis twice two moneths, my Lord.[10] _Ham._ So long? Nay then let the Diuel weare [Sidenote: 32] blacke, for Ile haue a suite of Sables.[11] Oh Heauens! dye two moneths ago, and not forgotten yet?[12] Then there's hope, a great mans Memorie, may out-liue his life halfe a yeare: But byrlady [Sidenote: ber Lady a] he must builde Churches then: or else shall he [Sidenote: shall a] [Footnote 1: 'And ' _not in Q._] [Footnote 2: Emphasis on _there_. 'There' is not in _1st Q._ Hamlet means it was a desecration of the Capitol.] [Footnote 3: He cannot be familiar with his mother, so avoids her--will not sit by her, cannot, indeed, bear to be near her. But he loves and hopes in Ophelia still.] [Footnote 4: '--Did I not tell you so?'] [Footnote 5: This speech and the next are not in the _Q._, but are shadowed in the _1st Q._] [Footnote 6: _--consenting_.] [Footnote 7: In _1st Quarto_, 'contrary.' Hamlet hints, probing her character--hoping her unable to understand. It is the festering soreness of his feeling concerning his mother, making him doubt with the haunting agony of a loathed possibility, that prompts, urges, forces from him his ugly speeches--nowise to be justified, only to be largely excused in his sickening consciousness of his mother's presence. Such pain as Hamlet's, the ferment of subverted love and reverence, may lightly bear the blame of hideous manners, seeing, they spring from no wantonness, but from the writhing of tortured and helpless Purity. Good manners may be as impossible as out of place in the presence of shameless evil.] [Footnote 8: Ophelia bears with him for his own and his madness' sake, and is less uneasy because of the presence of his mother. To account _satisfactorily_ for Hamlet's speeches to her, is not easy. The freer custom of the age, freer to an extent hardly credible in this, will not _satisfy_ the lovers of Hamlet, although it must have _some_ weight. The necessity for talking madly, because he is in the presence of his uncle, and perhaps, to that end, for uttering whatever comes to him, without pause for choice, might give us another hair's-weight. Also he may be supposed confident that Ophelia would not understand him, while his uncle would naturally set such worse than improprieties down to wildest madness. But I suspect that here as before (123), Shakepere would show Hamlet's soul full of bitterest, passionate loathing; his mother has compelled him to think of horrors and women together, so turning their preciousness into a disgust; and this feeling, his assumed madhess allows him to indulge and partly relieve by utterance. Could he have provoked Ophelia to rebuke him with the severity he courted, such rebuke would have been joy to him. Perhaps yet a small addition of weight to the scale of his excuse may be found in his excitement about his play, and the necessity for keeping down that excitement. Suggestion is easier than judgment.] [Footnote 9: 'here's for the jig-maker! he's the right man!' Or perhaps he is claiming the part as his own: 'I am your only jig-maker!'] [Footnote 10: This needs not be taken for the exact time. The statement notwithstanding suggests something like two months between the first and second acts, for in the first, Hamlet says his father has not been dead two months. 24. We are not bound to take it for more than a rough approximation; Ophelia would make the best of things for the queen, who is very kind to her.] [Footnote 11: the fur of the sable.] [Footnote 12: _1st Q._ nay then there's some Likelyhood, a gentlemans death may outliue memorie, But by my faith &c.] [Page 140] suffer not thinking on, with the Hoby-horsse, whose Epitaph is, For o, For o, the Hoby-horse is forgot. _Hoboyes play. The dumbe shew enters._ [Sidenote: _The Trumpets sounds. Dumbe show followes._] _Enter a King and Queene, very louingly; the Queene [Sidenote: _and a Queene, the queen_] embracing him. She kneeles, and makes shew of [Sidenote: _embracing him, and he her, he takes her up, and_] Protestation vnto him. He takes her vp, and declines his head vpon her neck. Layes him downe [Sidenote: _necke, he lyes_] vpon a Banke of Flowers. She seeing him a-sleepe, leaues him. Anon comes in a Fellow, [Sidenote: _anon come in an other man_,] takes off his Crowne, kisses it, and powres poyson [Sidenote: _it, pours_] in the Kings eares, and Exits. The Queene returnes, [Sidenote: _the sleepers eares, and leaues him:_] findes the King dead, and makes passionate [Sidenote: dead, makes] Action. The Poysoner, with some two or [Sidenote: _some three or foure come in againe, seeme to condole_] three Mutes comes in againe, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away: The [Sidenote: _with her, the_] Poysoner Wooes the Queene with Gifts, she [Sidenote: 54] seemes loath and vnwilling awhile, but in the end, [Sidenote: _seemes harsh awhile_,] accepts his loue.[1] _Exeunt[2]_ [Sidenote: _accepts loue._] _Ophe._ What meanes this, my Lord? _Ham._ Marry this is Miching _Malicho_[3] that [Sidenote: this munching _Mallico_] meanes Mischeefe. _Ophe._ Belike this shew imports the Argument of the Play? _Ham._ We shall know by these Fellowes: [Sidenote: this fellow, _Enter Prologue_] the Players cannot keepe counsell, they'l tell [Sidenote: keepe, they'le] all.[4] _Ophe._ Will they tell vs what this shew meant? [Sidenote: Will a tell] _Ham._ I, or any shew that you'l shew him. Bee [Sidenote: you will] not you asham'd to shew, hee'l not shame to tell you what it meanes. _Ophe._ You are naught,[5] you are naught, Ile marke the Play. [Footnote 1: The king, not the queen, is aimed at. Hamlet does not forget the injunction of the Ghost to spare his mother. 54. The king should be represented throughout as struggling not to betray himself.] [Footnote 2: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 3: _skulking mischief_: the latter word is Spanish, To _mich_ is to _play truant_. How tenderly her tender hands betweene In yvorie cage she did the micher bind. _The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia_, page 84. My _Reader_ tells me the word is still in use among printers, with the pronunciation _mike_, and the meaning _to skulk_ or _idle_.] [Footnote 4: --their part being speech, that of the others only dumb show.] [Footnote 5: _naughty_: persons who do not behave well are treated as if they were not--are made nought of--are set at nought; hence our word naughty. 'Be naught awhile' (_As You Like It_, i. 1)--'take yourself away;' 'be nobody;' 'put yourself in the corner.'] [Page 142] _Enter[1] Prologue._ _For vs, and for our Tragedie, Heere stooping to your Clemencie: We begge your hearing Patientlie._ _Ham._ Is this a Prologue, or the Poesie[2] of a [Sidenote: posie] Ring? _Ophe._ 'Tis[3] briefe my Lord. _Ham._ As Womans loue. [4] _Enter King and his Queene._ [Sidenote: _and Queene_] [Sidenote: 234] _King._ Full thirtie times[5] hath Phoebus Cart gon round, Neptunes salt Wash, and _Tellus_ Orbed ground: [Sidenote: orb'd the] And thirtie dozen Moones with borrowed sheene, About the World haue times twelue thirties beene, Since loue our hearts, and _Hymen_ did our hands Vnite comutuall, in most sacred Bands.[6] _Bap._ So many iournies may the Sunne and Moone [Sidenote: _Quee._] Make vs againe count o're, ere loue be done. But woe is me, you are so sicke of late, So farre from cheere, and from your forme state, [Sidenote: from our former state,] That I distrust you: yet though I distrust, Discomfort you (my Lord) it nothing must: [A] For womens Feare and Loue, holds quantitie, [Sidenote: And womens hold] In neither ought, or in extremity:[7] [Sidenote: Eyther none, in neither] Now what my loue is, proofe hath made you know, [Sidenote: my Lord is proofe] And as my Loue is siz'd, my Feare is so. [Sidenote: ciz'd,] [B] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- For women feare too much, euen as they loue,] [Footnote B: _Here in the Quarto_:-- Where loue is great, the litlest doubts are feare, Where little feares grow great, great loue growes there.] [Footnote 1: _Enter_ not in _Q._] [Footnote 2: Commonly _posy_: a little sentence engraved inside a ring--perhaps originally a tiny couplet, therefore _poesy_, _1st Q._, 'a poesie for a ring?'] [Footnote 3: Emphasis on ''Tis.'] [Footnote 4: Very little blank verse of any kind was written before Shakspere's; the usual form of dramatic verse was long, irregular, rimed lines: the Poet here uses the heroic couplet, which gives a resemblance to the older plays by its rimes, while also by its stately and monotonous movement the play-play is differenced from the play into which it is introduced, and caused to _look_ intrinsically like a play in relation to the rest of the play of which it is part. In other words, it stands off from the surrounding play, slightly elevated both by form and formality. 103.] [Footnote 5: _1st Q._ _Duke._ Full fortie yeares are past, their date is gone, Since happy time ioyn'd both our hearts as one: And now the blood that fill'd my youthfull veines, Ruunes weakely in their pipes, and all the straines Of musicke, which whilome pleasde mine eare, Is now a burthen that Age cannot beare: And therefore sweete Nature must pay his due, To heauen must I, and leaue the earth with you.] [Footnote 6: Here Hamlet gives the time his father and mother had been married, and Shakspere points at Hamlet's age. 234. The Poet takes pains to show his hero's years.] [Footnote 7: This line, whose form in the _Quarto_ is very careless, seems but a careless correction, leaving the sense as well as the construction obscure: 'Women's fear and love keep the scales level; in _neither_ is there ought, or in _both_ there is fulness;' or: 'there is no moderation in their fear and their love; either they have _none_ of either, or they have _excess_ of both.' Perhaps he tried to express both ideas at once. But compression is always in danger of confusion.] [Page 144] _King._ Faith I must leaue thee Loue, and shortly too: My operant Powers my Functions leaue to do: [Sidenote: their functions] And thou shall liue in this faire world behinde, Honour'd, belou'd, and haply, one as kinde. For Husband shalt thou---- _Bap._ Oh confound the rest: [Sidenote: _Quee._] Such Loue, must needs be Treason in my brest: In second Husband, let me be accurst, None wed the second, but who kill'd the first.[1] _Ham._ Wormwood, Wormwood. [Sidenote: _Ham_. That's wormwood[2]] _Bapt._ The instances[3] that second Marriage moue, Are base respects of Thrift,[4] but none of Loue. A second time, I kill my Husband dead, When second Husband kisses me in Bed. _King._ I do beleeue you. Think what now you speak: But what we do determine, oft we breake: Purpose is but the slaue to Memorie,[5] Of violent Birth, but poore validitie:[6] Which now like Fruite vnripe stickes on the Tree, [Sidenote: now the fruite] But fall vnshaken, when they mellow bee.[7] Most necessary[8] 'tis, that we forget To pay our selues, what to our selues is debt: What to our selues in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of other Greefe or Ioy, [Sidenote: eyther,] Their owne ennactors with themselues destroy: [Sidenote: ennactures] Where Ioy most Reuels, Greefe doth most lament; Greefe ioyes, Ioy greeues on slender accident.[9] [Sidenote: Greefe ioy ioy griefes] This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That euen our Loues should with our Fortunes change. For 'tis a question left vs yet to proue, Whether Loue lead Fortune, or else Fortune Loue. [Footnote 1: Is this to be supposed in the original play, or inserted by Hamlet, embodying an unuttered and yet more fearful doubt with regard to his mother?] [Footnote 2: This speech is on the margin in the _Quarto_, and the Queene's speech runs on without break.] [Footnote 3: the urgencies; the motives.] [Footnote 4: worldly advantage.] [Footnote 5: 'Purpose holds but while Memory holds.'] [Footnote 6: 'Purpose is born in haste, but is of poor strength to live.'] [Footnote 7: Here again there is carelessness of construction, as if the Poet had not thought it worth his while to correct this subsidiary portion of the drama. I do not see how to lay the blame on the printer.--'Purpose is a mere fruit, which holds on or falls only as it must. The element of persistency is not in it.'] [Footnote 8: unavoidable--coming of necessity.] [Footnote 9: 'Grief turns into joy, and joy into grief, on a slight chance.'] [Page 146] The great man downe, you marke his fauourites flies, [Sidenote: fauourite] The poore aduanc'd, makes Friends of Enemies: And hitherto doth Loue on Fortune tend, For who not needs, shall neuer lacke a Frend: And who in want a hollow Friend doth try, Directly seasons him his Enemie.[1] But orderly to end, where I begun, Our Willes and Fates do so contrary run, That our Deuices still are ouerthrowne, Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our owne.[2] [Sidenote: 246] So thinke thou wilt no second Husband wed. But die thy thoughts, when thy first Lord is dead. _Bap._ Nor Earth to giue me food, nor Heauen light, [Sidenote: _Quee._] Sport and repose locke from me day and night:[3] [A] Each opposite that blankes the face of ioy, Meet what I would haue well, and it destroy: Both heere, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,[4] If once a Widdow, euer I be Wife.[5] [Sidenote: once I be a | be a wife] _Ham._ If she should breake it now.[6] _King._ 'Tis deepely sworne: Sweet, leaue me heere a while, My spirits grow dull, and faine I would beguile The tedious day with sleepe. _Qu._ Sleepe rocke thy Braine, [Sidenote: Sleepes[7]] And neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine, _Exit_ [Sidenote: _Exeunt._] _Ham._ Madam, how like you this Play? _Qu._ The Lady protests to much me thinkes, [Sidenote: doth protest] _Ham._ Oh but shee'l keepe her word. [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:_-- To desperation turne my trust and hope,[8] And Anchors[9] cheere in prison be my scope] [Footnote 1: All that is wanted to make a real enemy of an unreal friend is the seasoning of a requested favour.] [Footnote 2: 'Our thoughts are ours, but what will come of them we cannot tell.'] [Footnote 3: 'May Day and Night lock from me sport and repose.'] [Footnote 4: 'May strife pursue me in the world and out of it.'] [Footnote 5: In all this, there is nothing to reflect on his mother beyond what everybody knew.] [Footnote 6: _This speech is in the margin of the Quarto._] [Footnote 7: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 8: 'May my trust and hope turn to despair.'] [Footnote 9: an anchoret's.] [Page 148] _King_. Haue you heard the Argument, is there no Offence in't?[1] _Ham_. No, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no Offence i'th'world.[2] _King_. What do you call the Play? _Ham._ The Mouse-trap: Marry how? Tropically:[3] 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 [Sidenote: of that?] wee that haue free soules, it touches vs not: let the gall'd iade winch: our withers are vnrung.[4] _Enter Lucianus._[5] This is one _Lucianus_ nephew to the King. _Ophe_. You are a good Chorus, my Lord. [Sidenote: are as good as a Chorus] _Ham_. I could interpret betweene you and your loue: if I could see the Puppets dallying.[6] _Ophe_. You are keene my Lord, you are keene. _Ham_. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge. [Sidenote: mine] _Ophe_. Still better and worse. _Ham_. So you mistake Husbands.[7] [Sidenote: mistake your] Begin Murderer. Pox, leaue thy damnable Faces, [Sidenote: murtherer, leave] and begin. Come, the croaking Rauen doth bellow for Reuenge.[8] _Lucian_. Thoughts blacke, hands apt, Drugges fit, and Time agreeing: Confederate season, else, no Creature seeing:[9] [Sidenote: Considerat] Thou mixture ranke, of Midnight Weeds collected, With Hecats Ban, thrice blasted, thrice infected, [Sidenote: invected] Thy naturall Magicke, and dire propertie, On wholsome life, vsurpe immediately. [Sidenote: vsurps] _Powres the poyson in his eares_.[10] _Ham_. He poysons him i'th Garden for's estate: [Sidenote: A poysons | for his] [Footnote 1: --said, perhaps, to Polonius. Is there a lapse here in the king's self-possession? or is this speech only an outcome of its completeness--a pretence of fearing the play may glance at the queen for marrying him?] [Footnote 2: 'It is but jest; don't be afraid: there is no reality in it'--as one might say to a child seeing a play.] [Footnote 3: Figuratively: from _trope_. In the _1st Q._ the passage stands thus: _Ham_. Mouse-trap: mary how trapically: this play is The image of a murder done in _guyana_,] [Footnote 4: Here Hamlet endangers himself to force the king to self-betrayal.] [Footnote 5: _In Q. after next line._] [Footnote 6: In a puppet-play, if she and her love were the puppets, he could supply the speeches.] [Footnote 7: Is this a misprint for 'so you _must take_ husbands'--for better and worse, namely? or is it a thrust at his mother--'So you mis-take husbands, going from the better to a worse'? In _1st Q._: 'So you must take your husband, begin.'] [Footnote 8: Probably a mocking parody or burlesque of some well-known exaggeration--such as not a few of Marlowe's lines.] [Footnote 9: 'none beholding save the accomplice hour:'.] [Footnote 10: _Not in Q._] [Page 150] His name's _Gonzago_: the Story is extant and writ [Sidenote: and written] in choyce Italian. You shall see anon how the [Sidenote: in very choice] Murtherer gets the loue of _Gonzago's_ wife. _Ophe_. The King rises.[1] _Ham_. What, frighted with false fire.[2] _Qu_. How fares my Lord? _Pol_. Giue o're the Play. _King_. Giue me some Light. Away.[3] _All_. Lights, Lights, Lights. _Exeunt_ [Sidenote: _Pol. | Exeunt all but Ham. & Horatio._] _Manet Hamlet & Horatio._ _Ham_.[4] Why let the strucken Deere go weepe, The Hart vngalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleepe; So runnes the world away. Would not this[5] Sir, and a Forrest of Feathers, if the rest of my Fortunes turne Turke with me; with two Prouinciall Roses[6] on my rac'd[7] Shooes, get me [Sidenote: with prouinciall | raz'd] a Fellowship[8] in a crie[9] of Players sir. [Sidenote: Players?] _Hor_. Halfe a share. _Ham_. A whole one I,[10] [11] For thou dost know: Oh Damon deere, This Realme dismantled was of Loue himselfe, And now reignes heere. A verie verie Paiocke.[12] _Hora_. You might haue Rim'd.[13] _Ham_. Oh good _Horatio_, Ile take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound. Did'st perceiue? _Hora_. Verie well my Lord. _Ham_. Vpon the talke of the poysoning? _Hora_. I did verie well note him. _Enter Rosincrance and Guildensterne_.[14] _Ham_. Oh, ha? Come some Musick.[15] Come the Recorders: [Sidenote: Ah ha,] [Footnote 1: --in ill suppressed agitation.] [Footnote 2: _This speech is not in the Quarto_.--Is the 'false fire' what we now call _stage-fire_?--'What! frighted at a mere play?'] [Footnote 3: The stage--the stage-stage, that is--alone is lighted. Does the king stagger out blindly, madly, shaking them from him? I think not--but as if he were taken suddenly ill.] [Footnote 4: --_singing_--that he may hide his agitation, restrain himself, and be regarded as careless-mad, until all are safely gone.] [Footnote 5: --his success with the play.] [Footnote 6: 'Roses of Provins,' we are told--probably artificial.] [Footnote 7: The meaning is very doubtful. But for the _raz'd_ of the _Quarto_, I should suggest _lac'd_. Could it mean _cut low_?] [Footnote 8: _a share_, as immediately below.] [Footnote 9: A _cry_ of hounds is a pack. So in _King Lear_, act v. sc. 3, 'packs and sects of great ones.'] [Footnote 10: _I_ for _ay_--that is, _yes_!--He insists on a whole share.] [Footnote 11: Again he takes refuge in singing.] [Footnote 12: The lines are properly measured in the _Quarto_: For thou doost know oh Damon deere This Realme dismantled was Of _Ioue_ himselfe, and now raignes heere A very very paiock. By _Jove_, he of course intends _his father_. 170. What 'Paiocke' means, whether _pagan_, or _peacock_, or _bajocco_, matters nothing, since it is intended for nonsense.] [Footnote 13: To rime with _was_, Horatio naturally expected _ass_ to follow as the end of the last line: in the wanton humour of his excitement, Hamlet disappointed him.] [Footnote 14: _In Q. after next speech_.] [Footnote 15: He hears Rosincrance and Guildensterne coming, and changes his behaviour--calling for music to end the play with. Either he wants, under its cover, to finish his talk with Horatio in what is for the moment the safest place, or he would mask himself before his two false friends. Since the departure of the king--I would suggest--he has borne himself with evident apprehension, every now and then glancing about him, as fearful of what may follow his uncle's recognition of the intent of the play. Three times he has burst out singing. Or might not his whole carriage, with the call for music, be the outcome of a grimly merry satisfaction at the success of his scheme?] [Page 152] For if the King like not the Comedie, Why then belike he likes it not perdie.[1] Come some Musicke. _Guild._ Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. _Ham._ Sir, a whole History. _Guild._ The King, sir. _Ham._ I sir, what of him? _Guild._ Is in his retyrement, maruellous distemper'd. _Ham._ With drinke Sir? _Guild._ No my Lord, rather with choller.[2] [Sidenote: Lord, with] _Ham._ Your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer, to signifie this to his Doctor: for me to [Sidenote: the Doctor,] put him to his Purgation, would perhaps plundge him into farre more Choller.[2] [Sidenote: into more] _Guild._ Good my Lord put your discourse into some frame,[3] and start not so wildely from my [Sidenote: stare] affayre. _Ham._ I am tame Sir, pronounce. _Guild._ The Queene your Mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. _Ham._ You are welcome.[4] _Guild._ 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. [Sidenote: of busines.] _Ham._ Sir, I cannot. _Guild._ What, my Lord? _Ham._ Make you a wholsome answere: my wits diseas'd. But sir, such answers as I can make, you [Sidenote: answere] shal command: or rather you say, my Mother: [Sidenote: rather as you] therfore no more but to the matter. My Mother you say. [Footnote 1: These two lines he may be supposed to sing.] [Footnote 2: Choler means bile, and thence anger. Hamlet in his answer plays on the two meanings:--'to give him the kind of medicine I think fit for him, would perhaps much increase his displeasure.'] [Footnote 3: some logical consistency.] [Footnote 4: _--with an exaggeration of courtesy_.] [Page 154] _Rosin._ Then thus she sayes: your behauior hath stroke her into amazement, and admiration.[1] _Ham._ Oh wonderfull Sonne, that can so astonish [Sidenote: stonish] a Mother. But is there no sequell at the heeles of this Mothers admiration? [Sidenote: admiration, impart.] _Rosin._ She desires to speake with you in her Closset, ere you go to bed. _Ham._ We shall obey, were she ten times our Mother. Haue you any further Trade with vs? _Rosin._ My Lord, you once did loue me. _Ham._ So I do still, by these pickers and [Sidenote: And doe still] stealers.[2] _Rosin._ Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do freely barre the doore of your [Sidenote: surely barre the door vpon your] owne Libertie, if you deny your greefes to your your Friend. _Ham._ Sir I lacke Aduancement. _Rosin._ How can that be, when you haue the [Sidenote: 136] voyce of the King himselfe, for your Succession in Denmarke? [3] _Ham._ I, but while the grasse growes,[4] the [Sidenote: I sir,] Prouerbe is something musty. _Enter one with a Recorder._[5] O the Recorder. Let me see, to withdraw with, [Sidenote: ô the Recorders, let mee see one, to] you,[6] why do you go about to recouer the winde of mee,[7] as if you would driue me into a toyle?[8] _Guild._ O my Lord, if my Dutie be too bold, my loue is too vnmannerly.[9] _Ham._ I do not well vnderstand that.[10] Will you, play vpon this Pipe? _Guild._ My Lord, I cannot. _Ham._ I pray you. _Guild._ Beleeue me, I cannot. _Ham._ I do beseech you. [Footnote 1: wonder, astonishment.] [Footnote 2: He swears an oath that will not hold, being by the hand of a thief. In the Catechism: 'Keep my hands from picking and stealing.'] [Footnote 3: Here in Quarto, _Enter the Players with Recorders._] [Footnote 4: '... the colt starves.'] [Footnote 5: _Not in Q._ The stage-direction of the _Folio_ seems doubtful. Hamlet has called for the orchestra: we may either suppose one to precede the others, or that the rest are already scattered; but the _Quarto_ direction and reading seem better.] [Footnote 6: _--taking Guildensterne aside_.] [Footnote 7: 'to get to windward of me.'] [Footnote 8: 'Why do you seek to get the advantage of me, as if you would drive me to betray myself?'--Hunters, by sending on the wind their scent to the game, drive it into their toils.] [Footnote 9: Guildensterne tries euphuism, but hardly succeeds. He intends to plead that any fault in his approach must be laid to the charge of his love. _Duty_ here means _homage_--so used still by the common people.] [Footnote 10: --said with a smile of gentle contempt.] [Page 156] _Guild_. I know no touch of it, my Lord. _Ham_. Tis as easie as lying: gouerne these [Sidenote: It is] Ventiges with your finger and thumbe, giue it [Sidenote: fingers, & the vmber, giue] breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most [Sidenote: most eloquent] excellent Musicke. Looke you, these are the stoppes. _Guild_. But these cannot I command to any vtterance of hermony, I haue not the skill. _Ham_. 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 [Sidenote: note to my compasse] Compasse: and there is much Musicke, excellent Voice, in this little Organe, yet cannot you make [Sidenote: it speak, s'hloud do you think I] 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[1] me, you cannot [Sidenote: you fret me not,] [Sidenote: 184] play vpon me. God blesse you Sir.[2] _Enter Polonius_. _Polon_. My Lord; the Queene would speak with you, and presently. _Ham_. Do you see that Clowd? that's almost in [Sidenote: yonder clowd] shape like a Camell. [Sidenote: shape of a] _Polon_. By'th'Misse, and it's like a Camell [Sidenote: masse and tis,] indeed. _Ham_. Me thinkes it is like a Weazell. _Polon_. It is back'd like a Weazell. _Ham_. Or like a Whale?[3] _Polon_. Verie like a Whale.[4] _Ham_. Then will I come to my Mother, by and by: [Sidenote: I will] [Sidenote: 60, 136, 178] They foole me to the top of my bent.[5] I will come by and by. [Footnote 1: --with allusion to the _frets_ or _stop-marks_ of a stringed instrument.] [Footnote 2: --_to Polonius_.] [Footnote 3: There is nothing insanely arbitrary in these suggestions of likeness; a cloud might very well be like every one of the three; the camel has a hump, the weasel humps himself, and the whale is a hump.] [Footnote 4: He humours him in everything, as he would a madman.] [Footnote 5: Hamlet's cleverness in simulating madness is dwelt upon in the old story. See '_Hystorie of Hamblet, prince of Denmarke_.'] [Page 158] _Polon_.[1] I will say so. _Exit_.[1] _Ham_.[1] By and by, is easily said. Leaue me Friends: 'Tis now the verie witching time of night, When Churchyards yawne, and Hell it selfe breaths out [Sidenote: brakes[2]] Contagion to this world.[3] Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter businesse as the day [Sidenote: such busines as the bitter day] Would quake to looke on.[4] Soft now, to my Mother: Oh Heart, loose not thy Nature;[5] let not euer The Soule of _Nero_[6] enter this firme bosome: Let me be cruell, not vnnaturall. [Sidenote: 172] I will speake Daggers[7] to her, but vse none: [Sidenote: dagger] My Tongue and Soule in this be Hypocrites.[8] How in my words someuer she be shent,[9] To giue them Seales,[10] neuer my Soule consent.[4] [Sidenote: _Exit._] _Enter King, Rosincrance, and Guildensterne_. _King_. I like him not, nor stands it safe with vs, To let his madnesse range.[11] Therefore prepare you, [Sidenote: 167] I your Commission will forthwith dispatch,[12] [Sidenote: 180] And he to England shall along with you: The termes of our estate, may not endure[13] Hazard so dangerous as doth hourely grow [Sidenote: so neer's as] Out of his Lunacies. [Sidenote: his browes.] _Guild_. We will our selues prouide: Most holie and Religious feare it is[14] To keepe those many many bodies safe That liue and feede vpon your Maiestie.[15] _Rosin_. The single And peculiar[16] life is bound With all the strength and Armour of the minde, [Footnote 1: The _Quarto_, not having _Polon., Exit, or Ham._, and arranging differently, reads thus:-- They foole me to the top of my bent, I will come by and by, Leaue me friends. I will, say so. By and by is easily said, Tis now the very &c.] [Footnote 2: _belches_.] [Footnote 3: --thinking of what the Ghost had told him, perhaps: it was the time when awful secrets wander about the world. Compare _Macbeth_, act ii. sc. 1; also act iii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 4: The assurance of his uncle's guilt, gained through the effect of the play upon him, and the corroboration of his mother's guilt by this partial confirmation of the Ghost's assertion, have once more stirred in Hamlet the fierceness of vengeance. But here afresh comes out the balanced nature of the man--say rather, the supremacy in him of reason and will. His dear soul, having once become mistress of his choice, remains mistress for ever. He _could_ drink hot blood, he _could_ do bitter business, but he will carry himself as a son, and the son of his father, _ought_ to carry himself towards a guilty mother--_mother_ although guilty.] [Footnote 5: Thus he girds himself for the harrowing interview. Aware of the danger he is in of forgetting his duty to his mother, he strengthens himself in filial righteousness, dreading to what word or deed a burst of indignation might drive him. One of his troubles now is the way he feels towards his mother.] [Footnote 6: --who killed his mother.] [Footnote 7: His words should be as daggers.] [Footnote 8: _Pretenders_.] [Footnote 9: _reproached_ or _rebuked_--though oftener _scolded_.] [Footnote 10: 'to seal them with actions'--Actions are the seals to words, and make them irrevocable.] [Footnote 11: _walk at liberty_.] [Footnote 12: _get ready_.] [Footnote 13: He had, it would appear, taken them into his confidence in the business; they knew what was to be in their commission, and were thorough traitors to Hamlet.] [Footnote 14: --holy and religious precaution for the sake of the many depending on him.] [Footnote 15: Is there not unconscious irony of their own parasitism here intended?] [Footnote 16: _private individual_.] [Page 160] To keepe it selfe from noyance:[1] but much more, That Spirit, vpon whose spirit depends and rests [Sidenote: whose weale depends] The lives of many, the cease of Maiestie [Sidenote: cesse] Dies not alone;[2] but like a Gulfe doth draw What's neere it, with it. It is a massie wheele [Sidenote: with it, or it is] Fixt on the Somnet of the highest Mount, To whose huge Spoakes, ten thousand lesser things [Sidenote: hough spokes] Are mortiz'd and adioyn'd: which when it falles, Each small annexment, pettie consequence Attends the boystrous Ruine. Neuer alone [Sidenote: raine,] Did the King sighe, but with a generall grone. [Sidenote: but a[3]] _King._[4] Arme you,[5] I pray you to this speedie Voyage; [Sidenote: viage,] For we will Fetters put vpon this feare,[6] [Sidenote: put about this] Which now goes too free-footed. _Both._ We will haste vs. _Exeunt Gent_ _Enter Polonius._ Pol. My Lord, he's going to his Mothers Closset: Behinde the Arras Ile conuey my selfe To heare the Processe. Ile warrant shee'l tax him home, And as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meete that some more audience then a Mother, Since Nature makes them partiall, should o're-heare The speech of vantage.[7] Fare you well my Liege, Ile call vpon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know. [Sidenote: Exit.] _King._ Thankes deere my Lord. Oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen, It hath the primall eldest curse vpon't, A Brothers murther.[8] Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharpe as will: My stronger guilt,[9] defeats my strong intent, [Footnote 1: The philosophy of which self is the centre. The speeches of both justify the king in proceeding to extremes against Hamlet.] [Footnote 2: The same as to say: 'The passing, ceasing, or ending of majesty dies not--is not finished or accomplished, without that of others;' 'the dying ends or ceases not,' &c.] [Footnote 3: The _but_ of the _Quarto_ is better, only the line halts. It is the preposition, meaning _without_.] [Footnote 4: _heedless of their flattery_. It is hardly applicable enough to interest him.] [Footnote 5: 'Provide yourselves.'] [Footnote 6: fear active; cause of fear; thing to be afraid of; the noun of the verb _fear_, to _frighten_: Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear! _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v. sc. i.] [Footnote 7: Schmidt (_Sh. Lex._) says _of vantage_ means _to boot_. I do not think he is right. Perhaps Polonius means 'from a position of advantage.' Or perhaps 'The speech of vantage' is to be understood as implying that Hamlet, finding himself in a position of vantage, that is, alone with his mother, will probably utter himself with little restraint.] [Footnote 8: This is the first proof positive of his guilt accorded even to the spectator of the play: here Claudius confesses not merely guilt (118), but the very deed. Thoughtless critics are so ready to judge another as if he knew all they know, that it is desirable here to remind the student that only he, not Hamlet, hears this soliloquy. The falseness of half the judgments in the world comes from our not taking care and pains first to know accurately the actions, and then to understand the mental and moral condition, of those we judge.] [Footnote 9: --his present guilty indulgence--stronger than his strong intent to pray.] [Page 162] And like a man to double businesse bound,[1] I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both[2] neglect; what if this cursed hand Were thicker then it selfe with Brothers blood, Is there not Raine enough in the sweet Heauens To wash it white as Snow? Whereto serues mercy, But to confront the visage of Offence? And what's in Prayer, but this two-fold force, To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being downe? Then Ile looke vp, [Sidenote: pardon] My fault is past. But oh, what forme of Prayer Can serue my turne? Forgiue me my foule Murther: That cannot be, since I am still possest Of those effects for which I did the Murther.[3] My Crowne, mine owne Ambition, and my Queene: May one be pardon'd, and retaine th'offence? In the corrupted currants of this world, Offences gilded hand may shoue by Iustice [Sidenote: showe] And oft 'tis seene, the wicked prize it selfe Buyes out the Law; but 'tis not so aboue, There is no shuffling, there the Action lyes In his true Nature, and we our selues compell'd Euen to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To giue in euidence. What then? What rests? Try what Repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?[4] Oh wretched state! Oh bosome, blacke as death! Oh limed[5] soule, that strugling to be free, Art more ingag'd[6]: Helpe Angels, make assay:[7] Bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of Steele, Be soft as sinewes of the new-borne Babe, All may be well. [Footnote 1: Referring to his double guilt--the one crime past, the other in continuance. Here is the corresponding passage in the _1st Q._, with the adultery plainly confessed:-- _Enter the King._ _King_. O that this wet that falles vpon my face Would wash the crime cleere from my conscience! When I looke vp to heauen, I see my trespasse, The earth doth still crie out vpon my fact, Pay me the murder of a brother and a king, And the adulterous fault I haue committed: O these are sinnes that are vnpardonable: Why say thy sinnes were blacker then is ieat, Yet may contrition make them as white as snowe: I but still to perseuer in a sinne, It is an act gainst the vniuersall power, Most wretched man, stoope, bend thee to thy prayer, Aske grace of heauen to keepe thee from despaire.] [Footnote 2: both crimes.] [Footnote 3: He could repent of and pray forgiveness for the murder, if he could repent of the adultery and incest, and give up the queen. It is not the sins they have done, but the sins they will not leave, that damn men. 'This is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.' The murder deeply troubled him; the adultery not so much; the incest and usurpation mainly as interfering with the forgiveness of the murder.] [Footnote 4: Even hatred of crime committed is not repentance: repentance is the turning away from wrong doing: 'Cease to do evil; learn to do well.'] [Footnote 5: --caught and held by crime, as a bird by bird-lime.] [Footnote 6: entangled.] [Footnote 7: _said to his knees_. Point thus:--'Helpe Angels! Make assay--bow, stubborne knees!'] [Page 164] _Enter Hamlet_. _Ham_.[1] Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, [Sidenote: doe it, but now a is a praying,] And now Ile doo't, and so he goes to Heauen, [Sidenote: so a goes] And so am I reueng'd: that would be scann'd, [Sidenote: reuendge,] A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this same Villaine send [Sidenote: sole sonne] To heauen. Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge. [Sidenote: To heauen. Why, this is base and silly, not] He tooke my Father grossely, full of bread, [Sidenote: A tooke] [Sidenote: 54, 262] With all his Crimes broad blowne, as fresh as May, [Sidenote: as flush as] And how his Audit stands, who knowes, saue Heauen:[2] But in our circumstance and course of thought 'Tis heauie with him: and am I then reueng'd, To take him in the purging of his Soule, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Vp Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent[3] When he is drunke asleepe: or in his Rage, Or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some acte [Sidenote: At game a swearing,] That ha's no rellish of Saluation in't, Then trip him,[4] that his heeles may kicke at Heauen, And that his Soule may be as damn'd and blacke As Hell, whereto it goes.[5] My Mother stayes,[6] This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes.[7] _Exit_. _King_. My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go.[8] _Exit_. _Enter Queene and Polonius_. [Sidenote: _Enter Gertrard and_] _Pol_. He will come straight: [Sidenote: A will] Looke you lay home to him [Footnote 1: In the _1st Q._ this speech commences with, 'I so, come forth and worke thy last,' evidently addressed to his sword; afterwards, having changed his purpose, he says, 'no, get thee vp agen.'] [Footnote 2: This indicates doubt of the Ghost still. He is unwilling to believe in him.] [Footnote 3: _grasp_. This is the only instance I know of _hent_ as a noun. The verb _to hent, to lay hold of_, is not so rare. 'Wait till thou be aware of a grasp with a more horrid purpose in it.'] [Footnote 4: --still addressed to his sword.] [Footnote 5: Are we to take Hamlet's own presentment of his reasons as exhaustive? Doubtless to kill him at his prayers, whereupon, after the notions of the time, he would go to heaven, would be anything but justice--the murdered man in hell--the murderer in heaven! But it is easy to suppose Hamlet finding it impossible to slay a man on his knees--and that from behind: thus in the unseen Presence, he was in sanctuary, and the avenger might well seek reason or excuse for not _then_, not _there_ executing the decree.] [Footnote 6: 'waits for me.'] [Footnote 7: He seems now to have made up his mind, and to await only fit time and opportunity; but he is yet to receive confirmation strong as holy writ. This is the first chance Hamlet has had--within the play--of killing the king, and any imputation of faulty irresolution therein is simply silly. It shows the soundness of Hamlet's reason, and the steadiness of his will, that he refuses to be carried away by passion, or the temptation of opportunity. The sight of the man on his knees might well start fresh doubt of his guilt, or even wake the thought of sparing a repentant sinner. He knows also that in taking vengeance on her husband he could not avoid compromising his mother. Besides, a man like Hamlet could not fail to perceive how the killing of his uncle, and in such an attitude, would look to others. It may be judged, however, that the reason he gives to himself for not slaying the king, was only an excuse, that his soul revolted from the idea of assassination, and was calmed in a measure by the doubt whether a man could thus pray--in supposed privacy, we must remember--and be a murderer. Not even yet had he proof _positive_, absolute, conclusive: the king might well take offence at the play, even were he innocent; and in any case Hamlet would desire _presentable_ proof: he had positively none to show the people in justification of vengeance. As in excitement a man's moods may be opalescent in their changes, and as the most contrary feelings may coexist in varying degrees, all might be in a mind, which I have suggested as present in that of Hamlet. To have been capable of the kind of action most of his critics would demand of a man, Hamlet must have been the weakling they imagine him. When at length, after a righteous delay, partly willed, partly inevitable, he holds documents in the king's handwriting as proofs of his treachery--_proofs which can be shown_--giving him both right and power over the life of the traitor, then, and only then, is he in cool blood absolutely satisfied as to his duty--which conviction, working with opportunity, and that opportunity plainly the last, brings the end; the righteous deed is done, and done righteously, the doer blameless in the doing of it. The Poet is not careful of what is called poetic justice in his play, though therein is no failure; what he is careful of is personal rightness in the hero of it.] [Footnote 8: _1st Q_. _King_ My wordes fly vp, my sinnes remaine below. No King on earth is safe, if Gods his foe. _Exit King_. So he goes to make himself safe by more crime! His repentance is mainly fear.] [Page 166] Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath scree'nd, and stoode betweene Much heate, and him. Ile silence me e'ene heere: [Sidenote: euen heere,] Pray you be round[1] with him.[2] [Sidenote: _Enter Hamlet_.] _Ham. within_. Mother, mother, mother.[3] _Qu_. Ile warrant you, feare me not. [Sidenote: _Ger_. Ile wait you,] Withdraw, I heare him comming. _Enter Hamlet_.[4] _Ham_.[5] Now Mother, what's the matter? _Qu_. _Hamlet_, thou hast thy Father much offended. [Sidenote: _Ger_.] _Ham_. Mother, you haue my Father much offended. _Qu_. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. [Sidenote: _Ger_.] _Ham._ Go, go, you question with an idle tongue. [Sidenote: with a wicked tongue.] _Qu_. Why how now _Hamlet_?[6] [Sidenote: _Ger_.] _Ham_. Whats the matter now? _Qu_. Haue you forgot me?[7] [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham_. No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife, But would you were not so. You are my Mother.[8] [Sidenote: And would it were] _Qu_. Nay, then Ile set those to you that can speake.[9] [Sidenote: _Ger_.] _Ham_. Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you vp a glasse, Where you may see the inmost part of you? [Sidenote: the most part] _Qu_. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther [Sidenote: _Ger_.] me?[10] Helpe, helpe, hoa. [Sidenote: Helpe how.] _Pol_. What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe. [Sidenote: What how helpe.] _Ham_. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead.[11] [Footnote 1: _The Quarto has not_ 'with him.'] [Footnote 2: _He goes behind the arras._] [Footnote 3: _The Quarto has not this speech._] [Footnote 4: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 5: _1st Q._ _Ham_. Mother, mother, O are you here? How i'st with you mother? _Queene_ How i'st with you? _Ham_, I'le tell you, but first weele make all safe. Here, evidently, he bolts the doors.] [Footnote 6: _1st Q._ _Queene_ How now boy? _Ham_. How now mother! come here, sit downe, for you shall heare me speake.] [Footnote 7: --'that you speak to me in such fashion?'] [Footnote 8: _Point thus_: 'so: you'--'would you were not so, for you are _my_ mother.'--_with emphasis on_ 'my.' The whole is spoken sadly.] [Footnote 9: --'speak so that you must mind them.'] [Footnote 10: The apprehension comes from the combined action of her conscience and the notion of his madness.] [Footnote 11: There is no precipitancy here--only instant resolve and execution. It is another outcome and embodiment of Hamlet's rare faculty for action, showing his delay the more admirable. There is here neither time nor call for delay. Whoever the man behind the arras might be, he had, by spying upon him in the privacy of his mother's room, forfeited to Hamlet his right to live; he had heard what he had said to his mother, and his death was necessary; for, if he left the room, Hamlet's last chance of fulfilling his vow to the Ghost was gone: if the play had not sealed, what he had now spoken must seal his doom. But the decree had in fact already gone forth against his life. 158.] [Page 168] _Pol._ Oh I am slaine. [1]_Killes Polonius._[2] _Qu._ Oh me, what hast thou done? [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ Nay I know not, is it the King?[3] _Qu._ Oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this? [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ A bloody deed, almost as bad good Mother, [Sidenote: 56] As kill a King,[4] and marrie with his Brother. _Qu._ As kill a King? [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ I Lady, 'twas my word.[5] [Sidenote: it was] Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters,[3] take thy Fortune, [Sidenote: better,] Thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger, Leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuffe; If damned Custome haue not braz'd it so, That it is proofe and bulwarke against Sense. [Sidenote: it be] _Qu._ What haue I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, [Sidenote: _Ger._] In noise so rude against me?[6] _Ham._ Such an Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modestie,[7] Calls Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a blister there.[8] Makes marriage vowes [Sidenote: And sets a] As false as Dicers Oathes. Oh such a deed, As from the body of Contraction[9] pluckes The very soule, and sweete Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heauens face doth glow, [Sidenote: dooes] Yea this solidity and compound masse, [Sidenote: Ore this] With tristfull visage as against the doome, [Sidenote: with heated visage,] Is thought-sicke at the act.[10] [Sidenote: thought sick] _Qu._ Aye me; what act,[11] that roares so lowd,[12] and thunders in the Index.[13] [Footnote 1: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 2: --_through the arras_.] [Footnote 3: Hamlet takes him for, hopes it is the king, and thinks here to conclude: he is not praying now! and there is not a moment to be lost, for he has betrayed his presence and called for help. As often as immediate action is demanded of Hamlet, he is immediate with his response--never hesitates, never blunders. There is no blunder here: being where he was, the death of Polonius was necessary now to the death of the king. Hamlet's resolve is instant, and the act simultaneous with the resolve. The weak man is sure to be found wanting when immediate action is necessary; Hamlet never is. Doubtless those who blame him as dilatory, here blame him as precipitate, for they judge according to appearance and consequence. All his delay after this is plainly compelled, although I grant he was not sorry to have to await such _more presentable_ evidence as at last he procured, so long as he did not lose the final possibility of vengeance.] [Footnote 4: This is the sole reference in the interview to the murder. I take it for tentative, and that Hamlet is satisfied by his mother's utterance, carriage, and expression, that she is innocent of any knowledge of that crime. Neither does he allude to the adultery: there is enough in what she cannot deny, and that only which can be remedied needs be taken up; while to break with the king would open the door of repentance for all that had preceded.] [Footnote 5: He says nothing of the Ghost to his mother.] [Footnote 6: She still holds up and holds out.] [Footnote 7: 'makes Modesty itself suspected.'] [Footnote 8: 'makes Innocence ashamed of the love it cherishes.'] [Footnote 9: 'plucks the spirit out of all forms of contracting or agreeing.' We have lost the social and kept only the physical meaning of the noun.] [Footnote 10: I cannot help thinking the _Quarto_ reading of this passage the more intelligible, as well as much the more powerful. We may imagine a red aurora, by no means a very unusual phenomenon, over the expanse of the sky:-- Heaven's face doth glow (_blush_) O'er this solidity and compound mass, (_the earth, solid, material, composite, a corporeal mass in confrontment with the spirit-like etherial, simple, uncompounded heaven leaning over it_) With tristful (_or_ heated, _as the reader may choose_) visage: as against the doom, (_as in the presence, or in anticipation of the revealing judgment_) Is thought sick at the act. (_thought is sick at the act of the queen_) My difficulties as to the _Folio_ reading are--why the earth should be so described without immediate contrast with the sky; and--how the earth could be showing a tristful visage, and the sickness of its thought. I think, if the Poet indeed made the alterations and they are not mere blunders, he must have made them hurriedly, and without due attention. I would not forget, however, that there may be something present but too good for me to find, which would make the passage plain as it stands. Compare _As you like it_, act i. sc. 3. For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.] [Footnote 11: In Q. the rest of this speech is Hamlet's; his long speech begins here, taking up the queen's word.] [Footnote 12: She still stands out.] [Footnote 13: 'thunders in the very indication or mention of it.' But by 'the Index' may be intended the influx or table of contents of a book, at the beginning of it.] [Page 170] _Ham._ Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet presentment of two Brothers:[1] See what a grace was seated on his Brow, [Sidenote: on this] [Sidenote: 151] _Hyperions_ curies, the front of Ioue himselfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command [Sidenote: threaten and] A Station, like the Herald Mercurie New lighted on a heauen kissing hill: [Sidenote: on a heaue, a kissing] A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery God did seeme to set his Seale, To giue the world assurance of a man.[2] This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes. Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath. Haue you eyes? [Sidenote: wholsome brother,] Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore?[3] Ha? Haue you eyes? You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey-day[4] in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Judgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this? [A] What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde?[5] [Sidenote: hodman] [B] O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- sence sure youe haue Els could you not haue motion, but sure that sence Is appoplext, for madnesse would not erre Nor sence to extacie[6] was nere so thral'd But it reseru'd some quantity of choise[7] To serue in such[8] a difference,] [Footnote B: _Here in the Quarto_:-- Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. Eares without hands, or eyes, smelling sance[9] all, Or but a sickly part of one true sence Could not so mope:[10]] [Footnote 1: He points to the portraits of the two brothers, side by side on the wall.] [Footnote 2: See _Julius Caesar_, act v. sc. 5,--speech of _Antony_ at the end.] [Footnote 3: --perhaps an allusion as well to the complexion of Claudius, both moral and physical.] [Footnote 4: --perhaps allied to the German _heida_, and possibly the English _hoyden_ and _hoity-toity_. Or is it merely _high-day--noontide_?] [Footnote 5: 'played tricks with you while hooded in the game of _blind-man's-bluff_?' The omitted passage of the _Quarto_ enlarges the figure. _1st Q._ 'hob-man blinde.'] [Footnote 6: madness.] [Footnote 7: Attributing soul to sense, he calls its distinguishment _choice_.] [Footnote 8: --emphasis on _such_.] [Footnote 9: This spelling seems to show how the English word _sans_ should be pronounced.] [Footnote 10: --'be so dull.'] [Page 172] To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe, And melt in her owne fire. Proclaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe,[1] as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will. [Sidenote: And reason pardons will.] _Qu._ O Hamlet, speake no more.[2] [Sidenote: _Ger._] Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, [Sidenote: my very eyes into my soule,] And there I see such blacke and grained[3] spots, [Sidenote: greeued spots] As will not leaue their Tinct.[4] [Sidenote: will leaue there their] _Ham._ Nay, but to liue[5] In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, [Sidenote: inseemed] Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue [Sidenote: 34] Ouer the nasty Stye.[6] _Qu._ Oh speake to me, no more, [Sidenote: _Ger._] [Sidenote: 158] These words like Daggers enter in mine eares. [Sidenote: my] No more sweet _Hamlet_. _Ham._ A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe [Sidenote: part the kyth] Of your precedent Lord. A vice[7] of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket. _Qu._ No more.[8] [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Enter Ghost._[9] _Ham._ A King of shreds and patches. [Sidenote: 44] Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings[10] You heauenly Guards. What would you gracious figure? [Sidenote: your gracious] _Qu._ Alas he's mad.[11] [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by[12] Th'important acting of your dread command? Oh say.[13] [Footnote 1: --his mother's matronly age.] [Footnote 2: She gives way at last.] [Footnote 3: --spots whose blackness has sunk into the grain, or final particles of the substance.] [Footnote 4: --transition form of tint:--'will never give up their colour;' 'will never be cleansed.'] [Footnote 5: He persists.] [Footnote 6: --Claudius himself--his body no 'temple of the Holy Ghost,' but a pig-sty. 3.] [Footnote 7: The clown of the old Moral Play.] [Footnote 8: She seems neither surprised nor indignant at any point in the accusation: her consciousness of her own guiit has overwhelmed her.] [Footnote 9: The _1st Q._ has _Enter the ghost in his night gowne_. It was then from the first intended that he should not at this point appear in armour--in which, indeed, the epithet _gracious figure_ could hardly be applied to him, though it might well enough in one of the costumes in which Hamlet was accustomed to see him--as this dressing-gown of the _1st Q._ A ghost would appear in the costume in which he naturally imagined himself, and in his wife's room would not show himself clothed as when walking among the fortifications of the castle. But by the words lower down (174)-- My Father in his habite, as he liued, the Poet indicates, not his dressing-gown, but his usual habit, _i.e._ attire.] [Footnote 10: --almost the same invocation as when first he saw the apparition.] [Footnote 11: The queen cannot see the Ghost. Her conduct has built such a wall between her and her husband that I doubt whether, were she a ghost also, she could see him. Her heart had left him, so they are no more together in the sphere of mutual vision. Neither does the Ghost wish to show himself to her. As his presence is not corporeal, a ghost may be present to but one of a company.] [Footnote 12: 1. 'Who, lapsed (_fallen, guilty_), lets action slip in delay and suffering.' 2. 'Who, lapsed in (_fallen in, overwhelmed by_) delay and suffering, omits' &c. 3. 'lapsed in respect of time, and because of passion'--the meaning of the preposition _in_, common to both, reacted upon by the word it governs. 4. 'faulty both in delaying, and in yielding to suffering, when action is required.' 5. 'lapsed through having too much time and great suffering.' 6. 'allowing himself to be swept along by time and grief.' Surely there is not another writer whose words would so often admit of such multiform and varied interpretation--each form good, and true, and suitable to the context! He seems to see at once all the relations of a thing, and to try to convey them at once, in an utterance single as the thing itself. He would condense the infinite soul of the meaning into the trembling, overtaxed body of the phrase!] [Footnote 13: In the renewed presence of the Ghost, all its former influence and all the former conviction of its truth, return upon him. He knows also how his behaviour must appear to the Ghost, and sees himself as the Ghost sees him. Confronted with the gracious figure, how should he think of self-justification! So far from being able to explain things, he even forgets the doubt that had held him back--it has vanished from the noble presence! He is now in the world of belief; the world of doubt is nowhere!--Note the masterly opposition of moods.] [Page 174] _Ghost._ Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.[1] But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits;[2] [Sidenote: 30, 54] O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule,[3] [Sidenote: 198] Conceit[4] in weakest bodies, strongest workes. Speake to her _Hamlet_.[5] _Ham._ How is it with you Lady?[6] _Qu._ Alas, how is't with you? [Sidenote: _Ger._] That you bend your eye on vacancie, [Sidenote: you do bend] And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse. [Sidenote: with th'incorporall ayre] Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th'Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements,[7] Start vp, and stand an end.[8] Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke?[9] _Ham._ On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable.[10] Do not looke vpon me,[11] Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do,[12] [Sidenote: 111] Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood.[13] _Qu._ To who do you speake this? [Sidenote: _Ger._ To whom] _Ham._ Do you see nothing there? _Qu._ Nothing at all, yet all that is I see.[14] [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ Nor did you nothing heare? _Qu._ No, nothing but our selues. [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ Why look you there: looke how it steals away: [Sidenote: 173] My Father in his habite, as he liued, Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall. _Exit._ [Sidenote: _Exit Ghost._] [Sidenote: 114] _Qu._ This is the very coynage of your Braine, [Sidenote: _Ger._] [Footnote 1: The Ghost here judges, as alone is possible to him, from what he knows--from the fact that his brother Claudius has not yet made his appearance in the ghost-world. Not understanding Hamlet's difficulties, he mistakes Hamlet himself.] [Footnote 2: He mistakes also, through his tenderness, the condition of his wife--imagining, it would seem, that she feels his presence, though she cannot see him, or recognize the source of the influence which he supposes to be moving her conscience: she is only perturbed by Hamlet's behaviour.] [Footnote 3: --fighting within itself, as the sea in a storm may be said to fight. He is careful as ever over the wife he had loved and loves still; careful no less of the behaviour of the son to his mother. In the _1st Q._ we have:-- But I perceiue by thy distracted lookes, Thy mother's fearefull, and she stands amazde: Speake to her Hamlet, for her sex is weake, Comfort thy mother, Hamlet, thinke on me.] [Footnote 4: --not used here for bare _imagination_, but imagination with its concomitant feeling:--_conception_. 198.] [Footnote 5: His last word ere he vanishes utterly, concerns his queen; he is tender and gracious still to her who sent him to hell. This attitude of the Ghost towards his faithless wife, is one of the profoundest things in the play. All the time she is not thinking of him any more than seeing him--for 'is he not dead!'--is looking straight at where he stands, but is all unaware of him.] [Footnote 6: I understand him to speak this with a kind of lost, mechanical obedience. The description his mother gives of him makes it seem as if the Ghost were drawing his ghost out to himself, and turning his body thereby half dead.] [Footnote 7: 'as if there were life in excrements.' The nails and hair were 'excrements'--things _growing out_.] [Footnote 8: Note the form _an end_--not _on end_. 51, 71.] [Footnote 9: --all spoken coaxingly, as to one in a mad fit. She regards his perturbation as a sudden assault of his ever present malady. One who sees what others cannot see they are always ready to count mad.] [Footnote 10: able to _take_, that is, to _understand_.] [Footnote 11: --_to the Ghost_.] [Footnote 12: 'what is in my power to do.'] [Footnote 13: Note antithesis here: '_your piteous action_;' '_my stern effects_'--the things, that is, 'which I have to effect.' 'Lest your piteous show convert--change--my stern doing; then what I do will lack true colour; the result may be tears instead of blood; I shall weep instead of striking.'] [Footnote 14: It is one of the constantly recurring delusions of humanity that we see all there is.] [Page 176] [Sidenote: 114] This bodilesse Creation extasie[1] is very cunning in.[2] _Ham._ Extasie?[3] My Pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time, And makes as healthfull Musicke.[4] It is not madnesse That I haue vttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will re-word: which madnesse [Sidenote: And the] Would gamboll from. Mother, for loue of Grace, Lay not a flattering Vnction to your soule, [Sidenote: not that flattering] That not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes: [Sidenote: 182] It will but skin and filme the Vlcerous place, Whil'st ranke Corruption mining all within, [Sidenote: whiles] Infects vnseene, Confesse your selfe to Heauen, Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come, And do not spred the Compost or the Weedes, [Sidenote: compost on the] To make them ranke. Forgiue me this my Vertue, [Sidenote: ranker,] For in the fatnesse of this pursie[5] times, [Sidenote: these] Vertue it selfe, of Vice must pardon begge, Yea courb,[6] and woe, for leaue to do him good. [Sidenote: curbe and wooe] _Qu._ Oh Hamlet, [Sidenote: _Ger._] Thou hast cleft my heart in twaine. _Ham._ O throw away the worser part of it, And Liue the purer with the other halfe. [Sidenote: And leaue the] Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed, [Sidenote: my] Assume a Vertue, if you haue it not,[7][A] refraine to night [Sidenote: Assune | to refraine night,] And that shall lend a kinde of easinesse [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- [8]That monster custome, who all sence doth eate Of habits deuill,[9] is angell yet in this That to the vse of actions faire and good, He likewise giues a frock or Liuery That aptly is put on] [Footnote 1: madness 129.] [Footnote 2: Here is the correspondent speech in the _1st Q._ I give it because of the queen's denial of complicity in the murder. _Queene_ Alas, it is the weakenesse of thy braine. Which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: But as I haue a soule, I sweare by heauen, I neuer knew of this most horride murder: But Hamlet, this is onely fantasie, And for my loue forget these idle fits. _Ham_. Idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, It is not madnesse that possesseth Hamlet.] [Footnote 3: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 4: --_time_ being a great part of music. Shakspere more than once or twice employs _music_ as a symbol with reference to corporeal condition: see, for instance, _As you like it_, act i. sc. 2, 'But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking?' where the _broken music_ may be regarded as the antithesis of the _healthful music_ here.] [Footnote 5: _swoln, pampered_: an allusion to the _purse_ itself, whether intended or not, is suggested.] [Footnote 6: _bend, bow_.] [Footnote 7: To _assume_ is to take to one: by _assume a virtue_, Hamlet does not mean _pretend_--but the very opposite: _to pretend_ is _to hold forth, to show_; what he means is, 'Adopt a virtue'--that of _abstinence_--'and act upon it, order your behaviour by it, although you may not _feel_ it. Choose the virtue--take it, make it yours.'] [Footnote 8: This omitted passage is obscure with the special Shaksperean obscurity that comes of over-condensation. He omitted it, I think, because of its obscurity. Its general meaning is plain enough--that custom helps the man who tries to assume a virtue, as well as renders it more and more difficult for him who indulges in vice to leave it. I will paraphrase: 'That monster, Custom, who eats away all sense, the devil of habits, is angel yet in this, that, for the exercise of fair and good actions, he also provides a habit, a suitable frock or livery, that is easily put on.' The play with the two senses of the word _habit_ is more easily seen than set forth. To paraphrase more freely: 'That devil of habits, Custom, who eats away all sense of wrong-doing, has yet an angel-side to him, in that he gives a man a mental dress, a habit, helpful to the doing of the right thing.' The idea of hypocrisy does not come in at all. The advice of Hamlet is: 'Be virtuous in your actions, even if you cannot in your feelings; do not do the wrong thing you would like to do, and custom will render the abstinence easy.'] [Footnote 9: I suspect it should be '_Of habits evil_'--the antithesis to _angel_ being _monster_.] [Page 178] To the next abstinence. [A] Once more goodnight, And when you are desirous to be blest, Ile blessing begge of you.[1] For this same Lord, I do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it so,[2] To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their[3] Scourge and Minister. I will bestow him,[4] and will answer well The death I gaue him:[5] so againe, good night. I must be cruell, onely to be kinde;[6] Thus bad begins,[7] and worse remaines behinde.[8] [Sidenote: This bad] [B] _Qu_. What shall I do? [Sidenote: _Ger_.] _Ham_. Not this by no meanes that I bid you do: Let the blunt King tempt you againe to bed, [Sidenote: the blowt King] Pinch Wanton on your cheeke, call you his Mouse, And let him for a paire of reechie[9] kisses, Or padling in your necke with his damn'd Fingers, Make you to rauell all this matter out, [Sidenote: rouell] [Sidenote: 60, 136, 156] That I essentially am not in madnesse. But made in craft.[10] 'Twere good you let him know, [Sidenote: mad] For who that's but a Queene, faire, sober, wise, Would from a Paddocke,[11] from a Bat, a Gibbe,[12] Such deere concernings hide, Who would do so, No in despight of Sense and Secrecie, Vnpegge the Basket on the houses top: Let the Birds flye, and like the famous Ape To try Conclusions[13] in the Basket, creepe And breake your owne necke downe.[14] _Qu_. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, [Sidenote: _Ger_.] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto;_-- the next more easie:[15] For vse almost can change the stamp of nature, And either[16] the deuill, or throwe him out With wonderous potency:] [Footnote B: _Here in the Quarto:_-- One word more good Lady.[17]] [Footnote 1: In bidding his mother good night, he would naturally, after the custom of the time, have sought her blessing: it would be a farce now: when she seeks the blessing of God, he will beg hers; now, a plain _good night_ must serve.] [Footnote 2: Note the curious inverted use of _pleased_. It is here a transitive, not an impersonal verb. The construction of the sentence is, 'pleased it so, _in order to_ punish us, that I must' &c.] [Footnote 3: The noun to which _their_ is the pronoun is _heaven_--as if he had written _the gods_.] [Footnote 4: 'take him to a place fit for him to lie in.'] [Footnote 5: 'hold my face to it, and justify it.'] [Footnote 6: --omitting or refusing to embrace her.] [Footnote 7: --looking at Polonius.] [Footnote 8: Does this mean for himself to do, or for Polonius to endure?] [Footnote 9: reeky, smoky, fumy.] [Footnote 10: Hamlet considers his madness the same that he so deliberately assumed. But his idea of himself goes for nothing where the experts conclude him mad! His absolute clarity where he has no occasion to act madness, goes for as little, for 'all madmen have their sane moments'!] [Footnote 11: _a toad_; in Scotland, _a frog_.] [Footnote 12: an old cat.] [Footnote 13: _Experiments_, Steevens says: is it not rather _results_?] [Footnote 14: I fancy the story, which so far as I know has not been traced, goes on to say that the basket was emptied from the house-top to send the pigeons flying, and so the ape got his neck broken. The phrase 'breake your owne necke _downe_' seems strange: it could hardly have been written _neck-bone_!] [Footnote 15: This passage would fall in better with the preceding with which it is vitally one--for it would more evenly continue its form--if the preceding _devil_ were, as I propose above, changed to _evil_. But, precious as is every word in them, both passages are well omitted.] [Footnote 16: Plainly there is a word left out, if not lost here. There is no authority for the supplied _master_. I am inclined to propose a pause and a gesture, with perhaps an _inarticulation_.] [Footnote 17: --interrogatively perhaps, Hamlet noting her about to speak; but I would prefer it thus: 'One word more:--good lady--' Here he pauses so long that she speaks. Or we _might_ read it thus: _Qu._ One word more. _Ham._ Good lady? _Qu._ What shall I do?] [Page 180] And breath of life: I haue no life to breath What thou hast saide to me.[1] [Sidenote: 128, 158] _Ham._ I must to England, you know that?[2] _Qu._ Alacke I had forgot: Tis so concluded on. [Sidenote: _Ger._] _Ham._ [A] This man shall set me packing:[3] Ile lugge the Guts into the Neighbor roome,[4] Mother goodnight. Indeede this Counsellor [Sidenote: night indeed, this] Is now most still, most secret, and most graue, [Sidenote: 84] Who was in life, a foolish prating Knaue. [Sidenote: a most foolish] Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.[5] Good night Mother. _Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius._[6] [Sidenote: _Exit._] [7] _Enter King._ [Sidenote: Enter King, and Queene, with Rosencraus and Guyldensterne.] _King._ There's matters in these sighes. These profound heaues You must translate; Tis fit we vnderstand them. Where is your Sonne?[8] _Qu._ [B] Ah my good Lord, what haue I seene to night? [Sidenote: _Ger._ | Ah mine owne Lord,] _King._ What _Gertrude_? How do's _Hamlet_? _Qu._ Mad as the Seas, and winde, when both contend [Sidenote: _Ger._ | sea and] Which is the Mightier, in his lawlesse fit[9] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- [10]Ther's letters seald, and my two Schoolefellowes, Whom I will trust as I will Adders fang'd, They beare the mandat, they must sweep my way And marshall me to knauery[11]: let it worke, For tis the sport to haue the enginer Hoist[12] with his owne petar,[13] an't shall goe hard But I will delue one yard belowe their mines, And blowe them at the Moone: ô tis most sweete When in one line two crafts directly meete,] [Footnote B: _Here in the Quarto_:-- Bestow this place on vs a little while.[14]] [Footnote 1: _1st Q._ O mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, Forbeare the adulterous bed to night, And win your selfe by little as you may, In time it may be you wil lothe him quite: And mother, but assist mee in reuenge, And in his death your infamy shall die. _Queene. Hamlet_, I vow by that maiesty, That knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, I will conceale, consent, and doe my best, What stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise.] [Footnote 2: The king had spoken of it both before and after the play: Horatio might have heard of it and told Hamlet.] [Footnote 3: 'My banishment will be laid to this deed of mine.'] [Footnote 4: --to rid his mother of it.] [Footnote 5: It may cross him, as he says this, dragging the body out by one end of it, and toward the end of its history, that he is himself drawing toward an end along with Polonius.] [Footnote 6: --_and weeping_. 182. See _note_ 5, 183.] [Footnote 7: Here, according to the editors, comes 'Act IV.' For this there is no authority, and the point of division seems to me very objectionable. The scene remains the same, as noted from Capell in _Cam. Sh._, and the entrance of the king follows immediately on the exit of Hamlet. He finds his wife greatly perturbed; she has not had time to compose herself. From the beginning of Act II., on to where I would place the end of Act III., there is continuity.] [Footnote 8: I would have this speech uttered with pauses and growing urgency, mingled at length with displeasure.] [Footnote 9: She is faithful to her son, declaring him mad, and attributing the death of 'the unseen' Polonius to his madness.] [Footnote 10: This passage, like the rest, I hold to be omitted by Shakspere himself. It represents Hamlet as divining the plot with whose execution his false friends were entrusted. The Poet had at first intended Hamlet to go on board the vessel with a design formed upon this for the out-witting of his companions, and to work out that design. Afterwards, however, he alters his plan, and represents his escape as more plainly providential: probably he did not see how to manage it by any scheme of Hamlet so well as by the attack of a pirate; possibly he wished to write the passage (246) in which Hamlet, so consistently with his character, attributes his return to the divine shaping of the end rough-hewn by himself. He had designs--'dear plots'--but they were other than fell out--a rough-hewing that was shaped to a different end. The discomfiture of his enemies was not such as he had designed: it was brought about by no previous plot, but through a discovery. At the same time his deliverance was not effected by the fingering of the packet, but by the attack of the pirate: even the re-writing of the commission did nothing towards his deliverance, resulted only in the punishment of his traitorous companions. In revising the Quarto, the Poet sees that the passage before us, in which is expressed the strongest suspicion of his companions, with a determination to outwit and punish them, is inconsistent with the representation Hamlet gives afterwards of a restlessness and suspicion newly come upon him, which he attributes to the Divinity. Neither was it likely he would say so much to his mother while so little sure of her as to warn her, on the ground of danger to herself, against revealing his sanity to the king. As to this, however, the portion omitted might, I grant, be regarded as an _aside_.] [Footnote 11: --to be done _to_ him.] [Footnote 12: _Hoised_, from verb _hoise_--still used in Scotland.] [Footnote 13: a kind of explosive shell, which was fixed to the object meant to be destroyed. Note once more Hamlet's delight in action.] [Footnote 14: --_said to Ros. and Guild._: in plain speech, 'Leave us a little while.'] [Page 182] Behinde the Arras, hearing something stirre, He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat, [Sidenote: Whyps out his Rapier, cryes a] And in his brainish apprehension killes [Sidenote: in this] The vnseene good old man. _King._ Oh heauy deed: It had bin so with vs[1] had we beene there: His Liberty is full of threats to all,[2] To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one. Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered? It will be laide to vs, whose prouidence Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, This mad yong man.[2] But so much was our loue, We would not vnderstand what was most fit, But like the Owner of a foule disease, [Sidenote: 176] To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede [Sidenote: let it] Euen on the pith of life. Where is he gone? _Qu._ To draw apart the body he hath kild, [Sidenote: Ger.] O're whom his very madnesse[3] like some Oare Among a Minerall of Mettels base [Sidenote: 181] Shewes it selfe pure.[4] He weepes for what is done.[5] [Sidenote: pure, a weeepes] _King:_ Oh _Gertrude_, come away: The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch, But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed, We must with all our Maiesty and Skill [Sidenote: 200] Both countenance, and excuse.[6] _Enter Ros. & Guild_.[7] Ho _Guildenstern_: Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: _Hamlet_ in madnesse hath Polonius slaine, And from his Mother Clossets hath he drag'd him. [Sidenote: closet | dreg'd] Go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body Into the Chappell. I pray you hast in this. _Exit Gent_[8] Come _Gertrude_, wee'l call vp our wisest friends, To let them know both what we meane to do, [Sidenote: And let] [Footnote 1: the royal plural.] [Footnote 2: He knows the thrust was meant for him. But he would not have it so understood; he too lays it to his madness, though he too knows better.] [Footnote 3: 'he, although mad'; 'his nature, in spite of his madness.'] [Footnote 4: by his weeping, in the midst of much to give a different impression.] [Footnote 5: We have no reason to think the queen inventing here: what could she gain by it? the point indeed was rather against Hamlet, as showing it was not Polonius he had thought to kill. He was more than ever annoyed with the contemptible old man, who had by his meddlesomeness brought his death to his door; but he was very sorry nevertheless over Ophelia's father: those rough words in his last speech are spoken with the tears running down his face. We have seen the strange, almost discordant mingling in him of horror and humour, after the first appearance of the Ghost, 58, 60: something of the same may be supposed when he finds he has killed Polonius: in the highstrung nervous condition that must have followed such a talk with his mother, it would be nowise strange that he should weep heartily even in the midst of contemptuous anger. Or perhaps a sudden breakdown from attempted show of indifference, would not be amiss in the representation.] [Footnote 6: 'both countenance with all our majesty, and excuse with all our skill.'] [Footnote 7: In the _Quarto_ a line back.] [Footnote 8: _Not in Q._] [Page 184] And what's vntimely[1] done. [A] Oh come away, [Sidenote: doone,] My soule is full of discord and dismay. _Exeunt._ _Enter Hamlet._ [Sidenote: _Hamlet, Rosencrans, and others._] _Ham._ Safely stowed.[2] [Sidenote: stowed, but soft, what noyse,] _Gentlemen within._ _Hamlet_. Lord _Hamlet_? _Ham._ What noise? Who cals on _Hamlet_? Oh heere they come. _Enter Ros. and Guildensterne._[4] _Ro._ What haue you done my Lord with the dead body? _Ham._ Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis Kinne.[5] [Sidenote: Compound it] _Rosin._ Tell vs where 'tis, that we may take it thence, And beare it to the Chappell. _Ham._ Do not beleeue it.[6] _Rosin._ Beleeue what? [Sidenote: 156] _Ham._ 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.[7] _Rosin._ Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord? _Ham._ 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,[8] first [Sidenote: like an apple in] 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. _Rosin._ I vnderstand you not my Lord. [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- Whose whisper ore the worlds dyameter,[9] [Sidenote: 206] As leuell as the Cannon to his blanck,[10] Transports his poysned shot, may miffe[11] our Name, And hit the woundlesse ayre.] [Footnote 1: unhappily.] [Footnote 2: He has hid the body--to make the whole look the work of a mad fit.] [Footnote 3: This line is not in the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 4: _Not in Q. See margin above._] [Footnote 5: He has put it in a place which, little visited, is very dusty.] [Footnote 6: He is mad to them--sane only to his mother and Horatio.] [Footnote 7: _euphuistic_: 'asked a question by a sponge, what answer should a prince make?'] [Footnote 8: _1st Q._: For hee doth keep you as an Ape doth nuttes, In the corner of his Iaw, first mouthes you, Then swallowes you:] [Footnote 9: Here most modern editors insert, '_so, haply, slander_'. But, although I think the Poet left out this obscure passage merely from dissatisfaction with it, I believe it renders a worthy sense as it stands. The antecedent to _whose_ is _friends_: _cannon_ is nominative to _transports_; and the only difficulty is the epithet _poysned_ applied to _shot_, which seems transposed from the idea of an _unfriendly_ whisper. Perhaps Shakspere wrote _poysed shot_. But taking this as it stands, the passage might be paraphrased thus: 'Whose (favourable) whisper over the world's diameter (_from one side of the world to the other_), as level (_as truly aimed_) as the cannon (of an evil whisper) transports its poisoned shot to his blank (_the white centre of the target_), may shoot past our name (so keeping us clear), and hit only the invulnerable air.' ('_the intrenchant air_': _Macbeth_, act v. sc. 8). This interpretation rests on the idea of over-condensation with its tendency to seeming confusion--the only fault I know in the Poet--a grand fault, peculiarly his own, born of the beating of his wings against the impossible. It is much as if, able to think two thoughts at once, he would compel his phrase to utter them at once.] [Footnote 10: for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; _The Winter's Tale_, act ii. sc. 3. My life stands in the level of your dreams, _Ibid_, act iii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 11: two _ff_ for two long _ss_.] [Page 186] _Ham._ I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleepes in a foolish eare. _Rosin._ My Lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the King. _Ham._ The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body.[1] The King, is a thing---- _Guild._ A thing my Lord? _Ham._ Of nothing[2]: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all after.[3] _Exeunt_[4] _Enter King._ [Sidenote: _King, and two or three._] _King._ I have sent to seeke him, and to find the bodie: How dangerous is it that this man goes loose:[5] Yet must not we put the strong Law on him: [Sidenote: 212] Hee's loved of the distracted multitude,[6] Who like not in their iudgement, but their eyes: And where 'tis so, th'Offenders scourge is weigh'd But neerer the offence: to beare all smooth, and euen, [Sidenote: neuer the] This sodaine sending him away, must seeme [Sidenote: 120] Deliberate pause,[7] diseases desperate growne, By desperate appliance are releeved, Or not at all. _Enter Rosincrane._ [Sidenote: _Rosencraus and all the rest._] How now? What hath befalne? _Rosin._ Where the dead body is bestow'd my Lord, We cannot get from him. _King._ But where is he?[8] _Rosin._ Without my Lord, guarded[9] to know your pleasure. _King._ Bring him before us. _Rosin._ Hoa, Guildensterne? Bring in my Lord. [Sidenote: _Ros._ How, bring in the Lord. _They enter._] _Enter Hamlet and Guildensterne_[10] _King._ Now _Hamlet_, where's _Polonius?_ [Footnote 1: 'The body is in the king's house, therefore with the king; but the king knows not where, therefore the king is not with the body.'] [Footnote 2: 'A thing of nothing' seems to have been a common phrase.] [Footnote 3: The _Quarto_ has not 'hide Fox, and all after.'] [Footnote 4: Hamlet darts out, with the others after him, as in a hunt. Possibly there was a game called _Hide fox, and all after_.] [Footnote 5: He is a hypocrite even to himself.] [Footnote 6: This had all along helped to Hamlet's safety.] [Footnote 7: 'must be made to look the result of deliberate reflection.' Claudius fears the people may imagine Hamlet treacherously used, driven to self-defence, and hurried out of sight to be disposed of.] [Footnote 8: Emphasis on _he_; the point of importance with the king, is _where he is_, not where the body is.] [Footnote 9: Henceforward he is guarded, or at least closely watched, according to the _Folio_--left much to himself according to the _Quarto_. 192.] [Footnote 10: _Not in Quarto._] [Page 188] _Ham._ At Supper. _King._ At Supper? Where? _Ham._ Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, [Sidenote: where a is] a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. [Sidenote: of politique wormes[1]] Your worm is your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat vs, and we fat our selfe [Sidenote: ourselves] for Magots. Your fat King, and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes, but to one [Sidenote: two dishes] Table that's the end. [A] _King._ What dost thou meane by this?[2] _Ham._ Nothing but to shew you how a King may go a Progresse[3] through the guts of a Begger.[4] _King._ Where is _Polonius_. _Ham._ 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 [Sidenote: but if indeed you find him not within this] this moneth, you shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby. _King._ Go seeke him there. _Ham._ He will stay till ye come. [Sidenote: A will stay till you] _K._ _Hamlet_, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety [Sidenote: this deede for thine especiall] Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue For that which thou hast done,[5] must send thee hence With fierie Quicknesse.[6] Therefore prepare thy selfe, The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe,[7] Th'Associates tend,[8] and euery thing at bent [Sidenote: is bent] For England. [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:_-- _King_ Alas, alas.[9] _Ham._ A man may fish with the worme that hath eate of a King, and eate of the fish that hath fedde of that worme.] [Footnote 1: --such as Rosincrance and Guildensterne!] [Footnote 2: I suspect this and the following speech ought by the printers to have been omitted also: without the preceding two speeches of the Quarto they are not accounted for.] [Footnote 3: a royal progress.] [Footnote 4: Hamlet's philosophy deals much now with the worthlessness of all human distinctions and affairs.] [Footnote 5: 'and we care for your safety as much as we grieve for the death of Polonius.'] [Footnote 6: 'With fierie Quicknesse.' _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 7: fair--ready to help.] [Footnote 8: attend, wait.] [Footnote 9: pretending despair over his madness.] [Page 190] _Ham._ For England? _King._ I _Hamlet_. _Ham._ Good. _King._ So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. _Ham._ I see a Cherube that see's him: but [Sidenote: sees them,] come, for England. Farewell deere Mother. _King._ Thy louing Father _Hamlet_. _Hamlet._ My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man and wife is one flesh, and so [Sidenote: flesh, so my] my mother.[1] Come, for England. _Exit_ [Sidenote: 195] _King._ Follow him at foote,[2] Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, He haue him hence to night. Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on[3] th'Affaire pray you make hast. And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought, As my great power thereof may giue thee sense, Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red[4] After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe Payes homage to vs[5]; thou maist not coldly set[6] Our Soueraigne Processe,[7] which imports at full By Letters conjuring to that effect [Sidenote: congruing] The present death of _Hamlet_. Do it England, For like the Hecticke[8] in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, How ere my happes,[9] my ioyes were ne're begun.[10] [Sidenote: ioyes will nere begin.] _Exit_[11] [Sidenote: 274] [12]_Enter Fortinbras with an Armie._ [Sidenote: with his Army ouer the stage.] _For._ Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, _Fortinbras_ [Sidenote: 78] Claimes the conueyance[13] of a promis'd March [Sidenote: Craues the] Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous:[14] [Footnote 1: He will not touch the hand of his father's murderer.] [Footnote 2: 'at his heels.'] [Footnote 3: 'belongs to.'] [Footnote 4: 'as my great power may give thee feeling of its value, seeing the scar of my vengeance has hardly yet had time to heal.'] [Footnote 5: 'and thy fear uncompelled by our presence, pays homage to us.'] [Footnote 6: 'set down to cool'; 'set in the cold.'] [Footnote 7: _mandate_: 'Where's Fulvia's process?' _Ant. and Cl._, act i. sc. 1. _Shakespeare Lexicon_.] [Footnote 8: _hectic fever--habitual_ or constant fever.] [Footnote 9: 'whatever my fortunes.'] [Footnote 10: The original, the _Quarto_ reading--'_my ioyes will nere begin_' seems to me in itself better, and the cause of the change to be as follows. In the _Quarto_ the next scene stands as in our modern editions, ending with the rime, ô from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth. _Exit_. This was the act-pause, the natural end of act iii. But when the author struck out all but the commencement of the scene, leaving only the three little speeches of Fortinbras and his captain, then plainly the act-pause must fall at the end of the preceding scene. He therefore altered the end of the last verse to make it rime with the foregoing, in accordance with his frequent way of using a rime before an important pause. It perplexes us to think how on his way to the vessel, Hamlet could fall in with the Norwegian captain. This may have been one of Shakspere's reasons for striking the whole scene out--but he had other and more pregnant reasons.] [Footnote 11: Here is now the proper close of the _Third Act_.] [Footnote 12: _Commencement of the Fourth Act._ Between the third and the fourth passes the time Hamlet is away; for the latter, in which he returns, and whose scenes are _contiguous_, needs no more than one day.] [Footnote 13: 'claims a convoy in fulfilment of the king's promise to allow him to march over his kingdom.' The meaning is made plainer by the correspondent passage in the _1st Quarto_: Tell him that _Fortenbrasse_ nephew to old _Norway_, Craues a free passe and conduct ouer his land, According to the Articles agreed on:] [Footnote 14: 'where to rejoin us.'] [Page 192] If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye,[1] And let[2] him know so. _Cap._ I will doo't, my Lord. _For._ Go safely[3] on. _Exit._ [Sidenote: softly] [A] [4] _Enter Queene and Horatio_. [Sidenote: _Enter Horatio, Gertrard, and a Gentleman_.] _Qu._ I will not speake with her. _Hor._[5] She is importunate, indeed distract, her [Sidenote: _Gent_.] moode will needs be pittied. _Qu_. What would she haue? _Hor_. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares [Sidenote: _Gent_.] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- _Enter Hamlet, Rosencraus, &c._ _Ham_. Good sir whose powers are these? _Cap_. They are of _Norway_ sir. _Ham_. How purposd sir I pray you? _Cap_. Against some part of _Poland_. _Ham_. Who commaunds them sir? _Cap_. The Nephew to old _Norway, Fortenbrasse_. _Ham_. Goes it against the maine of _Poland_ sir, Or for some frontire? _Cap_. Truly to speake, and with no addition,[6] We goe to gaine a little patch of ground[7] That hath in it no profit but the name To pay fiue duckets, fiue I would not farme it; Nor will it yeeld to _Norway_ or the _Pole_ A rancker rate, should it be sold in fee. _Ham_. Why then the Pollacke neuer will defend it. _Cap_. Yes, it is already garisond. _Ham_. Two thousand soules, and twenty thousand duckets Will not debate the question of this straw This is th'Impostume of much wealth and peace, That inward breakes, and showes no cause without Why the man dies.[8] I humbly thanke you sir. _Cap_. God buy you sir. _Ros_. Wil't please you goe my Lord? [Sidenote: 187, 195] _Ham_. Ile be with you straight, goe a little before.[9] [10]How all occasions[11] doe informe against me, [Continued on next text page.]] [Footnote 1: 'we shall pay our respects, waiting upon his person.'] [Footnote 2: 'let,' _imperative mood_.] [Footnote 3: 'with proper precaution,' _said to his attendant officers._] [Footnote 4: This was originally intended, I repeat, for the commencement of the act. But when the greater part of the foregoing scene was omitted, and the third act made to end with the scene before that, then the small part left of the all-but-cancelled scene must open the fourth act.] [Footnote 5: Hamlet absent, we find his friend looking after Ophelia. Gertrude seems less friendly towards her.] [Footnote 6: exaggeration.] [Footnote 7: --probably a small outlying island or coast-fortress, _not far off_, else why should Norway care about it at all? If the word _frontier_ has the meaning, as the _Shakespeare Lexicon_ says, of 'an outwork in fortification,' its use two lines back would, taken figuratively, tend to support this.] [Footnote 8: The meaning may be as in the following paraphrase: 'This quarrelling about nothing is (the breaking of) the abscess caused by wealth and peace--which breaking inward (in general corruption), would show no outward sore in sign of why death came.' Or it might be _forced_ thus:-- This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace. That (which) inward breaks, and shows no cause without-- Why, the man dies! But it may mean:--'The war is an imposthume, which will break within, and cause much affliction to the people that make the war.' On the other hand, Hamlet seems to regard it as a process for, almost a sign of health.] [Footnote 9: Note his freedom.] [Footnote 10: _See_ 'examples grosse as earth' _below_.] [Footnote 11: While every word that Shakspere wrote we may well take pains to grasp thoroughly, my endeavour to cast light on this passage is made with the distinct understanding in my own mind that the author himself disapproved of and omitted it, and that good reason is not wanting why he should have done so. At the same time, if my student, for this book is for those who would have help and will take pains to the true understanding of the play, would yet retain the passage, I protest against the acceptance of Hamlet's judgment of himself, except as revealing the simplicity and humility of his nature and character. That as often as a vivid memory of either interview with the Ghost came back upon him, he should feel rebuked and ashamed, and vexed with himself, is, in the morally, intellectually, and emotionally troubled state of his mind, nowise the less natural that he had the best of reasons for the delay because of which he _here_ so unmercifully abuses himself. A man of self-satisfied temperament would never in similar circumstances have done so. But Hamlet was, by nature and education, far from such self-satisfaction; and there is in him besides such a strife and turmoil of opposing passions and feelings and apparent duties, as can but rarely rise in a human soul. With which he ought to side, his conscience is not sure--sides therefore now with one, now with another. At the same time it is by no means the long delay the critics imagine of which he is accusing himself--it is only that the thing _is not done_. In certain moods the action a man dislikes will _therefore_ look to him the more like a duty; and this helps to prevent Hamlet from knowing always how great a part conscience bears in the omission because of which he condemns and even contemns himself. The conscience does not naturally examine itself--is not necessarily self-conscious. In any soliloquy, a man must speak from his present mood: we who are not suffering, and who have many of his moods before us, ought to understand Hamlet better than he understands himself. To himself, sitting in judgment on himself, it would hardly appear a decent cause of, not to say reason for, a moment's delay in punishing his uncle, that he was so weighed down with misery because of his mother and Ophelia, that it seemed of no use to kill one villain out of the villainous world; it would seem but 'bestial oblivion'; and, although his reputation as a prince was deeply concerned, _any_ reflection on the consequences to himself would at times appear but a 'craven scruple'; while at times even the whispers of conscience might seem a 'thinking too precisely on the event.' A conscientious man of changeful mood wilt be very ready in either mood to condemn the other. The best and rightest men will sometimes accuse themselves in a manner that seems to those who know them best, unfounded, unreasonable, almost absurd. We must not, I say, take the hero's judgment of himself as the author's judgment of him. The two judgments, that of a man upon himself from within, and that of his beholder upon him from without, are not congeneric. They are different in origin and in kind, and cannot be adopted either of them into the source of the other without most serious and dangerous mistake. So adopted, each becomes another thing altogether. It is to me probable that, although it involves other unfitnesses, the Poet omitted the passage chiefly from coming to see the danger of its giving occasion, or at least support, to an altogether mistaken and unjust idea of his Hamlet.] [Page 194] There's trickes i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spurnes enuiously at Strawes,[1] speakes things in doubt,[2] That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing,[3] Yet the vnshaped vse of it[4] doth moue The hearers to Collection[5]; they ayme[6] at it, [Sidenote: they yawne at] And botch the words[7] vp fit to their owne thoughts [_Continuation of quote from Quarto from previous text page_:-- And spur my dull reuenge. [8]What is a man If his chiefe good and market of his time Be but to sleepe and feede, a beast, no more; Sure he that made vs with such large discourse[9] Looking before and after, gaue vs not That capabilitie and god-like reason To fust in vs vnvsd,[8] now whether it be [Sidenote: 52, 120] Bestiall obliuion,[10] or some crauen scruple Of thinking too precisely on th'euent,[11] A thought which quarterd hath but one part wisedom, And euer three parts coward, I doe not know Why yet I liue to say this thing's to doe, Sith I haue cause, and will, and strength, and meanes To doo't;[12] examples grosse as earth exhort me, Witnes this Army of such masse and charge, [Sidenote: 235] Led by a delicate and tender Prince, Whose spirit with diuine ambition puft, Makes mouthes at the invisible euent, [Sidenote: 120] Exposing what is mortall, and vnsure, To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,[13] Euen for an Egge-shell. Rightly to be great, Is not to stirre without great argument, But greatly to find quarrell in a straw When honour's at the stake, how stand I then That haue a father kild, a mother staind, Excytements of my reason, and my blood, And let all sleepe,[14] while to my shame I see The iminent death of twenty thousand men, That for a fantasie and tricke[15] of fame Goe to their graues like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,[16] Which is not tombe enough and continent[17] To hide the slaine,[18] ô from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.[19] _Exit._] [Footnote 1: trifles.] [Footnote 2: doubtfully.] [Footnote 3: 'there is nothing in her speech.'] [Footnote 4: 'the formless mode of it.'] [Footnote 5: 'to gathering things and putting them together.'] [Footnote 6: guess.] [Footnote 7: Ophelia's words.] [Footnote 8: I am in doubt whether this passage from 'What is a man' down to 'unused,' does not refer to the king, and whether Hamlet is not persuading himself that it can be no such objectionable thing to kill one hardly above a beast. At all events it is far more applicable to the king: it was not one of Hamlet's faults, in any case, to fail of using his reason. But he may just as well accuse himself of that too! At the same time the worst neglect of reason lies in not carrying out its conclusions, and if we cannot justify Hamlet in his delay, the passage is of good application to him. 'Bestiall oblivion' does seem to connect himself with the reflection; but how thoroughly is the thing intended by such a phrase alien from the character of Hamlet!] [Footnote 9: --the mental faculty of running hither and thither: 'We look before and after.' _Shelley: To a Skylark_.] [Footnote 10: --the forgetfulness of such a beast as he has just mentioned.] [Footnote 11: --the _consequences_. The scruples that come of thinking of the event, Hamlet certainly had: that they were _craven_ scruples, that his thinking was too precise, I deny to the face of the noble self-accuser. Is that a craven scruple which, seeing no good to result from the horrid deed, shrinks from its irretrievableness, and demands at least absolute assurance of guilt? or that 'a thinking too precisely on the event,' to desire, as the prince of his people, to leave an un wounded name behind him?] [Footnote 12: This passage is the strongest there is on the side of the ordinary misconception of the character of Hamlet. It comes from himself; and it is as ungenerous as it is common and unfair to use such a weapon against a man. Does any but St. Paul himself say he was the chief of sinners? Consider Hamlet's condition, tormented on all sides, within and without, and think whether this outbreak against himself be not as unfair as it is natural. Lest it should be accepted against him, Shakspere did well to leave it out. In bitter disappointment, both because of what is and what is not, both because of what he has done and what he has failed to do, having for the time lost all chance, with the last vision of the Ghost still haunting his eyes, his last reproachful words yet ringing in his ears, are we bound to take his judgment of himself because it is against himself? Are we _bound_ to take any man's judgment because it is against himself? I answer, 'No more than if it were for himself.' A good man's judgment, where he is at all perplexed, especially if his motive comes within his own question, is ready to be against himself, as a bad man's is sure to be for himself. Or because he is a philosopher, does it follow that throughout he understands himself? Were such a man in cool, untroubled conditions, we might feel compelled to take his judgment, but surely not here! A philosopher in such state as Hamlet's would understand the quality of his spiritual operations with no more certainty than another man. In his present mood, Hamlet forgets the cogency of the reasons that swayed him in the other; forgets that his uppermost feeling then was doubt, as horror, indignation, and conviction are uppermost now. Things were never so clear to Hamlet as to us. But how can he say he has strength and means--in the position in which he now finds himself? I am glad to be able to believe, let my defence of Hamlet against himself be right or wrong, that Shakspere intended the omission of the passage. I lay nothing on the great lack of logic throughout the speech, for that would not make it unfit for Hamlet in such mood, while it makes its omission from the play of less consequence to my general argument.] [Footnote 13: _threaten_. This supports my argument as to the great soliloquy--that it was death as the result of his slaying the king, or attempting to do so, not death by suicide, he was thinking of: he expected to die himself in the punishing of his uncle.] [Footnote 14: He had had no chance but that when the king was on his knees.] [Footnote 15: 'a fancy and illusion.'] [Footnote 16: 'which is too small for those engaged to find room to fight on it.'] [Footnote 17: 'continent,' _containing space_.] [Footnote 18: This soliloquy is antithetic to the other. Here is no thought of the 'something after death.'] [Footnote 19: If, with this speech in his mouth, Hamlet goes coolly on board the vessel, _not being compelled thereto_ (190, 192, 216), and possessing means to his vengeance, as here he says, and goes merely in order to hoist Rosincrance and Guildensterne with their own petard--that is, if we must keep the omitted passages, then the author exposes his hero to a more depreciatory judgment than any from which I would justify him, and a conception of his character entirely inconsistent with the rest of the play. He did not observe the risk at the time he wrote the passage, but discovering it afterwards, rectified the oversight--to the dissatisfaction of his critics, who have agreed in restoring what he cancelled.] [Page 196] Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld[1] them, Indeed would make one thinke there would[2] be thought, [Sidenote: there might[2] be] Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily. _Qu_. 'Twere good she were spoken with,[3] [Sidenote: _Hora_.] For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds.[4] Let her come in. [Sidenote: _Enter Ophelia_.] To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) [Sidenote: _Quee_. 'To my[5]] Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, [Sidenote: 'Each] So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, [Sidenote: 'So] It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.[6] [Sidenote: 'It] _Enter Ophelia distracted_.[7] _Ophe_. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark. _Qu_. How now _Ophelia_? [Sidenote: _shee sings_.] _Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one? By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone._ _Qu_. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song? _Ophe_. Say you? Nay pray you marke. _He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone._ [Sidenote: O ho.] _Enter King_. _Qu_. Nay but _Ophelia_. _Ophe_. Pray you marke. _White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow._ [Sidenote: _Enter King_.] _Qu_. Alas looke heere my Lord, [Sidenote: 246] _Ophe. Larded[8] with sweet flowers_: [Sidenote: Larded all with] _Which bewept to the graue did not go_, [Sidenote: ground | _Song_.] _With true-loue showres_, [Footnote 1: 'present them,'--her words, that is--giving significance or interpretation to them.] [Footnote 2: If this _would_, and not the _might_ of the _Quarto_, be the correct reading, it means that Ophelia would have something thought so and so.] [Footnote 3: --changing her mind on Horatio's representation. At first she would not speak with her.] [Footnote 4: 'minds that breed evil.'] [Footnote 5: --as a quotation.] [Footnote 6: Instance, the history of Macbeth.] [Footnote 7: _1st Q. Enter Ofelia playing on a Lute, and her haire downe singing._ Hamlet's apparent madness would seem to pass into real madness in Ophelia. King Lear's growing perturbation becomes insanity the moment he sees the pretended madman Edgar. The forms of Ophelia's madness show it was not her father's death that drove her mad, but his death by the hand of Hamlet, which, with Hamlet's banishment, destroyed all the hope the queen had been fostering in her of marrying him some day.] [Footnote 8: This expression is, as Dr. Johnson says, taken from cookery; but it is so used elsewhere by Shakspere that we cannot regard it here as a scintillation of Ophelia's insanity.] [Page 198] _King_. How do ye, pretty Lady? [Sidenote: you] _Ophe_. Well, God dil'd you.[1] They say the [Sidenote: good dild you,[1]] Owle was a Bakers daughter.[2] Lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your Table. [Sidenote: 174] _King_. Conceit[3] vpon her Father. _Ophe_. Pray you let's haue no words of this: [Sidenote: Pray lets] but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: [4] _To morrow is S. Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window to be your Valentine. Then vp he rose, and don'd[5] his clothes, and dupt[5] the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more._ _King_. Pretty _Ophelia._ _Ophe_. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an [Sidenote: Indeede without] end ont.[6] _By gis, and by S. Charity, Alacke, and fie for shame: Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, By Cocke they are too blame. Quoth she before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to Wed: So would I ha done by yonder Sunne_, [Sidenote: (He answers,) So would] _And thou hadst not come to my bed._ _King_. How long hath she bin this? [Sidenote: beene thus?] _Ophe_. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient, but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th'cold ground: My brother [Sidenote: they wouid lay] shall knowe of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight. _Exit_[7] [Footnote 1: _1st Q_. 'God yeeld you,' that is, _reward you_. Here we have a blunder for the contraction, 'God 'ild you'--perhaps a common blunder.] [Footnote 2: For the silly legend, see Douce's note in _Johnson and Steevens_.] [Footnote 3: imaginative brooding.] [Footnote 4: We dare no judgment on madness in life: we need not in art.] [Footnote 5: Preterites of _don_ and _dup_, contracted from _do on_ and _do up_.] [Footnote 6: --disclaiming false modesty.] [Footnote 7: _Not in Q_.] [Page 200] _King_. Follow her close, Giue her good watch I pray you: Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs All from her Fathers death. Oh _Gertrude, Gertrude_, [Sidenote: death, and now behold, ô _Gertrard, Gertrard_,] When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies,[1] [Sidenote: sorrowes come] But in Battaliaes. First, her Father slaine, [Sidenote: battalians:] Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied,[2] Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers [Sidenote: in thoughts] For[3] good _Polonius_ death; and we haue done but greenly [Sidenote: 182] In hugger mugger[4] to interre him. Poore _Ophelia_ Diuided from her selfe,[5] and her faire Iudgement, Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts. Last, and as much containing as all these, Her Brother is in secret come from France, Keepes on his wonder,[6] keepes himselfe in clouds, [Sidenote: Feeds on this[6]] And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare [Sidenote: care] With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death, Where in necessitie of matter Beggard, [Sidenote: Wherein necessity] Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne [Sidenote: person] In eare and eare.[7] O my deere _Gertrude_, this, Like to a murdering Peece[8] in many places, Giues me superfluous death. _A Noise within_. _Enter a Messenger_. _Qu_. Alacke, what noyse is this?[9] _King_. Where are my _Switzers_?[10] [Sidenote: _King_. Attend, where is my Swissers,] Let them guard the doore. What is the matter? _Mes_. Saue your selfe, my Lord. [Sidenote: 120] The Ocean (ouer-peering of his List[11]) Eates not the Flats with more impittious[12] haste [Footnote 1: --each alone, like scouts.] [Footnote 2: stirred up like pools--with similar result.] [Footnote 3: because of.] [Footnote 4: The king wished to avoid giving the people any pretext or cause for interfering: he dreaded whatever might lead to enquiry--to the queen of course pretending it was to avoid exposing Hamlet to the popular indignation. _Hugger mugger--secretly: Steevens and Malone._] [Footnote 5: The phrase has the same _visual_ root as _beside herself_--both signifying '_not at one_ with herself.'] [Footnote 6: If the _Quarto_ reading is right, 'this wonder' means the hurried and suspicious funeral of his father. But the _Folio_ reading is quite Shaksperean: 'He keeps on (as a garment) the wonder of the people at him'; _keeps his behaviour such that the people go on wondering about him_: the phrase is explained by the next clause. Compare: By being seldom seen, I could not stir But, like a comet, I was wondered at. _K. Henry IV. P. I_. act iii. sc. 1.] [Footnote 7: 'wherein Necessity, beggared of material, will not scruple to whisper invented accusations against us.'] [Footnote 8: --the name given to a certain small cannon--perhaps charged with various missiles, hence the better figuring the number and variety of 'sorrows' he has just recounted.] [Footnote 9: _This line not in Q._] [Footnote 10: Note that the king is well guarded, and Hamlet had to lay his account with great risk in the act of killing him.] [Footnote 11: _border, as of cloth_: the mounds thrown up to keep the sea out. The figure here specially fits a Dane.] [Footnote 12: I do not know whether this word means _pitiless_, or stands for _impetuous_. The _Quarto_ has one _t_.] [Page 202] Then young _Laertes_, in a Riotous head,[1] Ore-beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord, And as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne, The Ratifiers and props of euery word,[2] [Sidenote: 62] They cry choose we? _Laertes_ shall be King,[3] [Sidenote: The cry] Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, _Laertes_ shall be King, _Laertes_ King. _Qu_. How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry, [Sidenote: _A noise within_.] Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges.[4] _Noise within. Enter Laertes_[5]. [Sidenote: _Laertes with others_.] _King_. The doores are broke. _Laer_. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without. [Sidenote: this King? sirs stand] _All_. No, let's come in. _Laer_. I pray you giue me leaue.[6] _All_. We will, we will. _Laer_. I thanke you: Keepe the doore. Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father. _Qu_. Calmely good _Laertes_. _Laer_. That drop of blood, that calmes[7] [Sidenote: thats calme] Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother.[8] _Kin_. What is the cause _Laertes_, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like? Let him go _Gertrude_: Do not feare[9] our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King,[10] That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will.[11] Tell me _Laertes_, [Footnote 1: _Head_ is a rising or gathering of people--generally rebellious, I think.] [Footnote 2: Antiquity and Custom.] [Footnote 3: This refers to the election of Claudius--evidently not a popular election, but effected by intrigue with the aristocracy and the army: 'They cry, Let us choose: Laertes shall be king!' We may suppose the attempt of Claudius to have been favoured by the lingering influence of the old Norse custom of succession, by which not the son but the brother inherited. 16, _bis._] [Footnote 4: To hunt counter is to 'hunt the game by the heel or track.' The queen therefore accuses them of not using their scent or judgment, but following appearances.] [Footnote 5: Now at length re-appears Laertes, who has during the interim been ripening in Paris for villainy. He is wanted for the catastrophe, and requires but the last process of a few hours in the hell-oven of a king's instigation.] [Footnote 6: The customary and polite way of saying _leave me_: 'grant me your absence.' 85, 89.] [Footnote 7: grows calm.] [Footnote 8: In taking vengeance Hamlet must acknowledge his mother such as Laertes says inaction on his part would proclaim his mother. The actress should here let a shadow cross the queen's face: though too weak to break with the king, she has begun to repent.] [Footnote 9: fear _for_.] [Footnote 10: The consummate hypocrite claims the protection of the sacred hedge through which he had himself broken--or crept rather, like a snake, to kill. He can act innocence the better that his conscience is clear as to Polonius.] [Footnote 11: 'can only peep through the hedge to its desire--acts little of its will.'] [Page 204] Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go _Gertrude_. Speake man. _Laer_. Where's my Father? [Sidenote: is my] _King_. Dead. _Qu_. But not by him. _King_. Let him demand his fill. _Laer_. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with. To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell. Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father. _King_. Who shall stay you?[1] _Laer_. My Will, not all the world,[1] [Sidenote: worlds:] And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well, They shall go farre with little. _King_. Good _Laertes_: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, [Sidenote: Father, i'st writ] That Soop-stake[2] you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser.[3] _Laer_. None but his Enemies. _King_. Will you know them then. _La_. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes: And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician,[4] [Sidenote: life-rendring Pelican,] Repast them with my blood.[5] _King_. Why now you speake Like a good Childe,[6] and a true Gentleman. That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it,[7] [Sidenote: sencibly] [Footnote 1: 'Who shall _prevent_ you?' 'My own will only--not all the world,' or, 'Who will _support_ you?' 'My will. Not all the world shall prevent me,'-- so playing on the two meanings of the word _stay._ Or it _might_ mean: 'Not all the world shall stay my will.'] [Footnote 2: swoop-stake--_sweepstakes_.] [Footnote 3: 'and be loser as well as winner--' If the _Folio's_ is the right reading, then the sentence is unfinished, and should have a dash, not a period.] [Footnote 4: A curious misprint: may we not suspect a somewhat dull joker among the compositors?] [Footnote 6: 'a true son to your father.'] [Footnote 7: 'feel much grief for it.'] [Footnote 5: Laertes is a ranter--false everywhere. Plainly he is introduced as the foil from which Hamlet 'shall stick fiery off.' In this speech he shows his moral condition directly the opposite of Hamlet's: he has no principle but revenge. His conduct ought to be quite satisfactory to Hamlet's critics; there is action enough in it of the very kind they would have of Hamlet; and doubtless it would be satisfactory to them but for the treachery that follows. The one, dearly loving a father who deserves immeasurably better of him than Polonius of Laertes, will not for the sake of revenge disregard either conscience, justice, or grace; the other will not delay even to inquire into the facts of his father's fate, but will act at once on hearsay, rushing to a blind satisfaction that cannot even be called retaliation, caring for neither right nor wrong, cursing conscience and the will of God, and daring damnation. He slights assurance as to the hand by which his father fell, dismisses all reflection that might interfere with a stupid revenge. To make up one's mind at once, and act without ground, is weakness, not strength: this Laertes does--and is therefore just the man to be the villainous, not the innocent, tool of villainy. He who has sufficing ground and refuses to act is weak; but the ground that will satisfy the populace, of which the commonplace critic is the fair type, will not satisfy either the man of conscience or of wisdom. The mass of world-bepraised action owes its existence to the pressure of circumstance, not to the will and conscience of the man. Hamlet waits for light, even with his heart accusing him; Laertes rushes into the dark, dagger in hand, like a mad Malay: so he kill, he cares not whom. Such a man is easily tempted to the vilest treachery, for the light that is in him is darkness; he is not a true man; he is false in himself. This is what comes of his father's maxim: To thine own self be true; And it must follow, _as the night the day_ (!) Thou canst not then be false to any man. Like the aphorism 'Honesty is the best policy,' it reveals the difference between a fact and a truth. Both sayings are correct as facts, but as guides of conduct devilishly false, leading to dishonesty and treachery. To be true to the divine self in us, is indeed to be true to all; but it is only by being true to all, against the ever present and urging false self, that at length we shall see the divine self rise above the chaotic waters of our selfishness, and know it so as to be true to it. Of Laertes we must note also that it is not all for love of his father that he is ready to cast allegiance to hell, and kill the king: he has the voice of the people to succeed him.] [Page 206] [Sidenote: 184] It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce [Sidenote: peare'] As day do's to your eye.[1] _A noise within. [2]Let her come in._ _Enter Ophelia[3]_ _Laer_. How now? what noise is that?[4] [Sidenote: _Laer_. Let her come in. How now,] Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye. By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, [Sidenote: with weight] Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May, [Sidenote: turne] Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet _Ophelia_: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life?[5] [Sidenote: a poore mans] Nature is fine[6] in Loue, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues.[7] _Ophe. They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer._ [Sidenote: _Song_.] [Sidenote: bare-faste] _Hey non nony, nony, hey nony:[8] And on his graue raines many a teare_, [Sidenote: And in his graue rain'd] _Fare you well my Doue._ _Laer_. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge, it could not moue thus. _Ophe_. You must sing downe a-downe, and [Sidenote: sing a downe a downe, And] you call him[9] a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele[10] becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his masters daughter.[11] _Laer_. This nothings more then matter.[12] _Ophe_. There's Rosemary,[13] that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is [Sidenote: , pray you loue] Paconcies, that's for Thoughts. [Sidenote: Pancies[14]] _Laer_. A document[15] in madnesse, thoughts and remembrance fitted. _Ophe_. There's Fennell[16] for you, and Columbines[16]: ther's Rew[17] for you, and heere's some for [Footnote 1: 'pierce as _directly_ to your judgment.' But the simile of the _day_ seems to favour the reading of the _Q._--'peare,' for _appear_. In the word _level_ would then be indicated the _rising_ sun.] [Footnote 2: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 3: _1st Q. 'Enter Ofelia as before_.'] [Footnote 4: To render it credible that Laertes could entertain the vile proposal the king is about to make, it is needful that all possible influences should be represented as combining to swell the commotion of his spirit, and overwhelm what poor judgment and yet poorer conscience he had. Altogether unprepared, he learns Ophelia's pitiful condition by the sudden sight of the harrowing change in her--and not till after that hears who killed his father and brought madness on his sister.] [Footnote 5: _1st Q._ I'st possible a yong maides life, Should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe?] [Footnote 6: delicate, exquisite.] [Footnote 7: 'where 'tis fine': I suggest that the _it_ here may be impersonal: 'where _things_, where _all_ is fine,' that is, 'in a fine soul'; then the meaning would be, 'Nature is fine always in love, and where the soul also is fine, she sends from it' &c. But the _where_ may be equal, perhaps, to _whereas_. I can hardly think the phrase means merely '_and where it is in love_.' It might intend--'and where Love is fine, it sends' &c. The 'precious instance of itself,' that is, 'something that is a part and specimen of itself,' is here the 'young maid's wits': they are sent after the 'old man's life.'--These three lines are not in the Quarto. It is not disputed that they are from Shakspere's hand: if the insertion of these be his, why should the omission of others not be his also?] [Footnote 8: _This line is not in Q._] [Footnote 9: '_if_ you call him': I think this is not a part of the song, but is spoken of her father.] [Footnote 10: _the burden of the song_: Steevens.] [Footnote 11: The subject of the ballad.] [Footnote 12: 'more than sense'--in incitation to revenge.] [Footnote 13: --an evergreen, and carried at funerals: _Johnson_. For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour ail the winter long: Grace and remembrance be to you both. _The Winter's Tale_, act iv. sc. 3.] [Footnote 14: _penseés_.] [Footnote 15: _a teaching, a lesson_--the fitting of thoughts and remembrance, namely--which he applies to his intent of revenge. Or may it not rather be meant that the putting of these two flowers together was a happy hit of her madness, presenting the fantastic emblem of a document or writing--the very idea of which is the keeping of thoughts in remembrance?] [Footnote 16: --said to mean _flattery_ and _thanklessness_--perhaps given to the king.] [Footnote 17: _Repentance_--given to the queen. Another name of the plant was _Herb-Grace_, as below, in allusion, doubtless, to its common name--_rue_ or _repentance_ being both the gift of God, and an act of grace.] [Page 208] me. Wee may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: [Sidenote: herbe of Grace a Sondaies, you may weare] Oh you must weare your Rew with a difference.[1] There's a Daysie,[2] I would giue you some Violets,[3] but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; [Sidenote: say a made] _For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy._ _Laer_. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe: [Sidenote: afflictions,] She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse. [Sidenote:_Song._] _Ophe. And will he not come againe_, [Sidenote: will a not] _And will he not come againe_: [Sidenote: will a not] _No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow_, [Sidenote: beard was as] _All[4] Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy[5] on his Soule._ [Sidenote: God a mercy on] And of all Christian Soules, I pray God.[6] [Sidenote: Christians soules,] God buy ye.[7] _Exeunt Ophelia_[8] [Sidenote: you.] _Laer_. Do you see this, you Gods? [Sidenote: Doe you this ô God.] _King. Laertes_, I must common[9] with your greefe, [Sidenote: commune] Or you deny me right: go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will, And they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me; If by direct or by Colaterall hand They finde vs touch'd,[10] we will our Kingdome giue, Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours To you in satisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to vs,[11] And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule To giue it due content. _Laer_. Let this be so:[12] His meanes of death,[13] his obscure buriall; [Sidenote: funerall,] No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones,[14] [Footnote 1: --perhaps the heraldic term. The Poet, not Ophelia, intends the special fitness of the speech. Ophelia means only that the rue of the matron must differ from the rue of the girl.] [Footnote 2: 'the dissembling daisy': _Greene_--quoted by _Henley_.] [Footnote 3: --standing for _faithfulness: Malone_, from an old song.] [Footnote 4: '_All' not in Q._] [Footnote 5: Wherever else Shakspere uses the word, it is in the sense of _grand merci--great thanks (Skeat's Etym. Dict.)_; here it is surely a corruption, whether Ophelia's or the printer's, of the _Quarto_ reading, '_God a mercy_' which, spoken quickly, sounds very near _gramercy_. The _1st Quarto_ also has 'God a mercy.'] [Footnote 6: 'I pray God.' _not in Q._] [Footnote 7: 'God b' wi' ye': _good bye._] [Footnote 8: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 9: 'I must have a share in your grief.' The word does mean _commune_, but here is more pregnant, as evidenced in the next phrase, 'Or you deny me right:'--'do not give me justice.'] [Footnote 10: 'touched with the guilt of the deed, either as having done it with our own hand, or caused it to be done by the hand of one at our side.'] [Footnote 11: We may paraphrase thus: 'Be pleased to grant us a loan of your patience,' that is, _be patient for a while at our request_, 'and we will work along with your soul to gain for it (your soul) just satisfaction.'] [Footnote 12: He consents--but immediately _re-sums_ the grounds of his wrathful suspicion.] [Footnote 13: --the way in which he met his death.] [Footnote 14: --customary honours to the noble dead. _A trophy_ was an arrangement of the armour and arms of the dead in a set decoration. The origin of the word _hatchment_ shows its intent: it is a corruption of _achievement_.] [Page 210] No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation,[1] Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth, That I must call in question.[2] [Sidenote: call't in] _King_. So you shall: And where th'offence is, let the great Axe fall. I pray you go with me.[3] _Exeunt_ _Enter Horatio, with an Attendant_. [Sidenote: _Horatio and others_.] _Hora_. What are they that would speake with me? _Ser_. Saylors sir, they say they haue Letters [_Gent_. Sea-faring men sir,] for you. _Hor_. Let them come in,[4] I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord _Hamlet_. _Enter Saylor_. [Sidenote: _Saylers_.] _Say_. God blesse you Sir. _Hor_. Let him blesse thee too. _Say_. Hee shall Sir, and't[5] please him. There's [Sidenote: A shall sir and please] a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th'Ambassadours [Sidenote: it came frõ th' Embassador] that was bound for England, if your name be _Horatio_, as I am let to know[6] it is. _Reads the Letter_[7] Horatio, _When thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this_, [Sidenote: _Hor. Horatio_ when] _giue these Fellowes some meanes to the King: They haue Letters for him. Ere we were two dayes[8] old at Sea, a Pyrate of very Warlicke appointment gaue vs Chace. Finding our selues too slow of Saile, we put on a compelled Valour. In the Grapple, I boarded_ [Sidenote: valour, and in the] _them: On the instant they got cleare of our Shippe, so I alone became their Prisoner.[9] They haue dealt with mee, like Theeues of Mercy, but they knew what they did. I am to doe a good turne for them. Let_ [Sidenote: a turne] _the King have the Letters I haue sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest flye_ [Sidenote: much speede as] _death[10] I haue words to speake in your eare, will_ [Sidenote: in thine eare] [Footnote 1: 'formal ostentation'--show or publication of honour according to form or rule.] [Footnote 2: 'so that I must call in question'--institute inquiry; or '--_that_ (these things) I must call in question.'] [Footnote 3: Note such a half line frequently after the not uncommon closing couplet--as if to take off the formality of the couplet, and lead back, through the more speech-like, to greater verisimilitude.] [Footnote 4: Here the servant goes, and the rest of the speech Horatio speaks _solus_. He had expected to hear from Hamlet.] [Footnote 5: 'and it please'--_if it please_. _An_ for _if_ is merely _and_.] [Footnote 6: 'I am told.'] [Footnote 7: _Not in Q_.] [Footnote 8: This gives an approximate clue to the time between the second and third acts: it needs not have been a week.] [Footnote 9: Note once more the unfailing readiness of Hamlet where there was no question as to the fitness of the action seemingly required. This is the man who by too much thinking, forsooth, has rendered himself incapable of action!--so far ahead of the foremost behind him, that, when the pirate, not liking such close quarters, 'on the instant got clear,' he is the only one on her deck! There was no question here as to what ought to be done: the pirate grappled them; he boarded her. Thereafter, with his prompt faculty for dealing with men, he soon comes to an understanding with his captors, and they agree, upon some certain condition, to put him on shore. He writes in unusual spirits; for he has now gained full, presentable, and indisputable proof of the treachery which before he scarcely doubted, but could not demonstrate. The present instance of it has to do with himself, not his father, but in itself would justify the slaying of his uncle, whose plausible way had possibly perplexed him so that he could not thoroughly believe him the villain he was: bad as he must be, could he actually have killed his own brother, and _such_ a brother? A better man than Laertes might have acted more promptly than Hamlet, and so happened to _do_ right; but he would not have _been_ right, for the proof was _not_ sufficient.] [Footnote 10: The value Hamlet sets on his discovery, evident in his joyous urgency to share it with his friend, is explicable only on the ground of the relief it is to his mind to be now at length quite certain of his duty.] [Page 212] _make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the Matter.[1] These good Fellowes will bring_ [Sidenote: the bord of] _thee where I am. Rosincrance and Guildensterne, hold their course for England. Of them I haue much to tell thee, Farewell. He that thou knowest thine._ [Sidenote: _So that thou knowest thine Hamlet._] Hamlet. Come, I will giue you way for these your Letters, [Sidenote: _Hor_. Come I will you way] And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. _Exit_. [Sidenote: _Exeunt._] _Enter King and Laertes._[2] _King_. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And you must put me in your heart for Friend, Sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare,[3] That he which hath your Noble Father slaine, Pursued my life.[4] _Laer_. It well appeares. But tell me, Why you proceeded not against these feates,[5] [Sidenote: proceede] So crimefull, and so Capitall in Nature,[6] [Sidenote: criminall] As by your Safety, Wisedome, all things else, [Sidenote: safetie, greatnes, wisdome,] You mainly[7] were stirr'd vp? _King_. O for two speciall Reasons, Which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed,[8] And yet to me they are strong. The Queen his Mother, [Sidenote: But yet | tha'r strong] Liues almost by his lookes: and for my selfe, My Vertue or my Plague, be it either which,[9] She's so coniunctiue to my life and soule; [Sidenote: she is so concliue] That as the Starre moues not but in his Sphere,[10] I could not but by her. The other Motiue, Why to a publike count I might not go, [Sidenote: 186] Is the great loue the generall gender[11] beare him, Who dipping all his Faults in their affection, [Footnote 1: Note here also Hamlet's feeling of the importance of what has passed since he parted with his friend. 'The bullet of my words, though it will strike thee dumb, is much too small for the bore of the reality (the facts) whence it will issue.'] [Footnote 2: While we have been present at the interview between Horatio and the sailors, the king has been persuading Laertes.] [Footnote 3: an ear of judgment.] [Footnote 4: 'thought then to have killed me.'] [Footnote 5: _faits_, deeds.] [Footnote 6: 'deeds so deserving of death, not merely in the eye of the law, but in their own nature.'] [Footnote 7: powerfully.] [Footnote 8: 'unsinewed.'] [Footnote 9: 'either-which.'] [Footnote 10: 'moves not but in the moving of his sphere,'--The stars were popularly supposed to be fixed in a solid crystalline sphere, and moved in its motion only. The queen, Claudius implies, is his sphere; he could not move but by her.] [Footnote 11: Here used in the sense of the Fr. _'genre'--sort_. It is not the only instance of the word so used by Shakspere. The king would rouse in Laertes jealousy of Hamlet.] [Page 214] Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone, [Sidenote: Worke like] Conuert his Gyues to Graces.[1] So that my Arrowes Too slightly timbred for so loud a Winde, [Sidenote: for so loued Arm'd[2]] Would haue reuerted to my Bow againe, And not where I had arm'd them.[2] [Sidenote: But not | have aym'd them.] _Laer_. And so haue I a Noble Father lost, A Sister driuen into desperate tearmes,[3] Who was (if praises may go backe againe) [Sidenote: whose worth, if] Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age For her perfections. But my reuenge will come. _King_. Breake not your sleepes for that, You must not thinke That we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull, That we can let our Beard be shooke with danger,[4] And thinke it pastime. You shortly shall heare more,[5] I lou'd your Father, and we loue our Selfe, And that I hope will teach you to imagine----[6] _Enter a Messenger_. [Sidenote: _with letters._] How now? What Newes? _Mes._ Letters my Lord from _Hamlet_.[7] This to [Sidenote: _Messen_. These to] your Maiesty: this to the Queene. _King_. From _Hamlet_? Who brought them? _Mes_. Saylors my Lord they say, I saw them not: They were giuen me by _Claudio_, he recciu'd them.[8] [Sidenote: them Of him that brought them.] _King. Laertes_ you shall heare them:[9] Leaue vs. _Exit Messenger_[10] _High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your Kingdome. To morrow shall I begge leaue to see your Kingly Eyes[11] When I shall (first asking your Pardon thereunto) recount th'Occasions_ [Sidenote: the occasion of my suddaine returne.] _of my sodaine, and more strange returne._[12] Hamlet.[13] What should this meane? Are all the rest come backe? [Sidenote: _King_. What] [Footnote 1: 'would convert his fetters--if I imprisoned him--to graces, commending him yet more to their regard.'] [Footnote 2: _arm'd_ is certainly the right, and a true Shaksperean word:--it was no fault in the aim, but in the force of the flight--no matter of the eye, but of the arm, which could not give momentum enough to such slightly timbered arrows. The fault in the construction of the last line, I need not remark upon. I think there is a hint of this the genuine meaning even in the blundered and partly unintelligible reading of the _Quarto_. If we leave out 'for so loued,' we have this: 'So that my arrows, too slightly timbered, would have reverted armed to my bow again, but not (_would not have gone_) where I have aimed them,'--implying that his arrows would have turned their armed heads against himself. What the king says here is true, but far from _the_ truth: he feared driving Hamlet, and giving him at the same time opportunity, to speak in his own defence and render his reasons.] [Footnote 3: _extremes_? or _conditions_?] [Footnote 4: 'With many a tempest hadde his berd ben schake.'--_Chaucer_, of the Schipman, in _The Prologue_ to _The Canterbury Tales_.] [Footnote 5: --hear of Hamlet's death in England, he means. At this point in the _1st Q._ comes a scene between Horatio and the queen, in which he informs her of a letter he had just received from Hamlet, Whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, And subtle treason that the king had plotted, Being crossed by the contention of the windes, He found the Packet &c. Horatio does not mention the pirates, but speaks of Hamlet 'being set ashore,' and of _Gilderstone_ and _Rossencraft_ going on to their fate. The queen assures Horatio that she is but temporizing with the king, and shows herself anxious for the success of her son's design against his life. The Poet's intent was not yet clear to himself.] [Footnote 6: Here his crow cracks.] [Footnote 7: _From_ 'How now' _to_ 'Hamlet' is _not in Q._] [Footnote 8: Horatio has given the sailors' letters to Claudio, he to another.] [Footnote 9: He wants to show him that he has nothing behind--that he is open with him: he will read without having pre-read.] [Footnote 10: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 11: He makes this request for an interview with the intent of killing him. The king takes care he does not have it.] [Footnote 12: '_more strange than sudden_.'] [Footnote 13: _Not in Q._] [Page 216] Or is it some abuse?[1] Or no such thing?[2] [Sidenote: abuse, and no[2]] _Laer_. Know you the hand?[3] _Kin_. 'Tis _Hamlets_ Character, naked and in a Postscript here he sayes alone:[4] Can you aduise [Sidenote: deuise me?] me?[5] _Laer_. I'm lost in it my Lord; but let him come, [Sidenote: I am] It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart, That I shall liue and tell him to his teeth; [Sidenote: That I liue and] Thus diddest thou. [Sidenote: didst] _Kin_. If it be so _Laertes_, as how should it be so:[6] How otherwise will you be rul'd by me? _Laer_. If so[7] you'l not o'rerule me to a peace. [Sidenote: I my Lord, so you will not] _Kin_. To thine owne peace: if he be now return'd, [Sidenote: 195] As checking[8] at his Voyage, and that he meanes [Sidenote: As the King[8] at his] No more to vndertake it; I will worke him To an exployt now ripe in my Deuice, [Sidenote: deuise,] Vnder the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no winde of blame shall breath, [Sidenote: 221] But euen his Mother shall vncharge the practice,[9] And call it accident: [A] Some two Monthes hence[10] [Sidenote: two months since] Here was a Gentleman of _Normandy_, I'ue seene my selfe, and seru'd against the French, [Sidenote: I haue] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- _Laer_. My Lord I will be rul'd, The rather if you could deuise it so That I might be the organ. _King_. It falls right, You haue beene talkt of since your trauaile[11] much, And that in _Hamlets_ hearing, for a qualitie Wherein they say you shine, your summe of parts[12] Did not together plucke such enuie from him As did that one, and that in my regard Of the vnworthiest siedge.[13] _Laer_. What part is that my Lord? _King_. A very ribaud[14] in the cap of youth, Yet needfull to, for youth no lesse becomes[15] The light and carelesse liuery that it weares Then setled age, his sables, and his weedes[16] Importing health[17] and grauenes;] [Footnote 1: 'some trick played on me?' Compare _K. Lear_, act v. sc. 7: 'I am mightily abused.'] [Footnote 2: I incline to the _Q._ reading here: 'or is it some trick, and no reality in it?'] [Footnote 3: --following the king's suggestion.] [Footnote 4: _Point thus_: 'Tis _Hamlets_ Character. 'Naked'!--And, in a Postscript here, he sayes 'alone'! Can &c. '_Alone_'--to allay suspicion of his having brought assistance with him.] [Footnote 5: Fine flattery--preparing the way for the instigation he is about to commence.] [Footnote 6: _Point thus_: '--as how should it be so? how otherwise?--will' &c. The king cannot tell what to think--either how it can be, or how it might be otherwise--for here is Hamlet's own hand!] [Footnote 7: provided.] [Footnote 8: A hawk was said _to check_ when it forsook its proper game for some other bird that crossed its flight. The blunder in the _Quarto_ is odd, plainly from manuscript copy, and is not likely to have been set right by any but the author.] [Footnote 9: 'shall not give the _practice'--artifice, cunning attempt, chicane_, or _trick_--but a word not necessarily offensive--'the name it deserves, but call it _accident_:' 221.] [Footnote 10: 'Some' _not in Q.--Hence_ may be either _backwards_ or _forwards_; now it is used only _forwards_.] [Footnote 11: travels.] [Footnote 12: 'all your excellencies together.'] [Footnote 13: seat, place, grade, position, merit.] [Footnote 14: 'A very riband'--a mere trifling accomplishment: the _u_ of the text can but be a misprint for _n_.] [Footnote 15: _youth_ obj., _livery_ nom. to _becomes_.] [Footnote 16: 'than his furs and his robes become settled age.'] [Footnote 17: Warburton thinks the word ought to be _wealth_, but I doubt it; _health_, in its sense of wholeness, general soundness, in affairs as well as person, I should prefer.] [Page 218] And they ran[1] well on Horsebacke; but this Gallant [Sidenote: they can well[1]] Had witchcraft in't[2]; he grew into his Seat, [Sidenote: vnto his] And to such wondrous doing brought his Horse, As had he beene encorps't and demy-Natur'd With the braue Beast,[3] so farre he past my thought, [Sidenote: he topt me thought,[4]] That I in forgery[5] of shapes and trickes, Come short of what he did.[6] _Laer_. A Norman was't? _Kin_. A Norman. _Laer_. Vpon my life _Lamound_. [Sidenote: _Lamord_.] _Kin_. The very same. _Laer_. I know him well, he is the Brooch indeed, And Iemme of all our Nation, [Sidenote: all the Nation.] _Kin_. Hee mad confession of you, And gaue you such a Masterly report, For Art and exercise in your defence; And for your Rapier most especially, [Sidenote: especiall,] That he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed,[7] If one could match you [A] Sir. This report of his [Sidenote: ; sir this] [Sidenote: 120, 264] Did _Hamlet_ so envenom with his Enuy,[8] That he could nothing doe but wish and begge, Your sodaine comming ore to play with him;[9] [Sidenote: with you] Now out of this.[10] _Laer_. Why out of this, my Lord? [Sidenote: What out] _Kin. Laertes_ was your Father deare to you? Or are you like the painting[11] of a sorrow, A face without a heart? _Laer_. Why aske you this? _Kin_. Not that I thinke you did not loue your Father, But that I know Loue is begun by Time[12]: [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:--_ ; the Scrimures[13] of their nation He swore had neither motion, guard nor eye, If you opposd them;] [Footnote 1: I think the _can_ of the _Quarto_ is the true word.] [Footnote 2: --in his horsemanship.] [Footnote 3: There is no mistake in the order 'had he beene'; the transposition is equivalent to _if_: 'as if he had been unbodied with, and shared half the nature of the brave beast.' These two lines, from _As_ to _thought_, must be taken parenthetically; or else there must be supposed a dash after _Beast_, and a fresh start made. 'But he (as if Centaur-like he had been one piece with the horse) was no more moved than one with the going of his own legs:' 'it seemed, as he borrowed the horse's body, so he lent the horse his mind:'--Sir Philip Sidney. _Arcadia_, B. ii. p. 115.] [Footnote 4: '--surpassed, I thought.'] [Footnote 5: 'in invention of.'] [Footnote 6: Emphasis on _did_, as antithetic to _forgery_: 'my inventing came short of his doing.'] [Footnote 7: 'it would be a sight indeed to see you matched with an equal.' The king would strengthen Laertes' confidence in his proficiency.] [Footnote 8: 'made him so spiteful by stirring up his habitual envy.'] [Footnote 9: All invention.] [Footnote 10: Here should be a dash: the king pauses. He is approaching dangerous ground--is about to propose a thing abominable, and therefore to the influence of flattered vanity and roused emulation, would add the fiercest heat of stimulated love and hatred--to which end he proceeds to cast doubt on the quality of Laertes' love for his father.] [Footnote 11: the picture.] [Footnote 12: 'through habit.'] [Footnote 13: French _escrimeurs_: fencers.] [Page 220] And that I see in passages of proofe,[1] Time qualifies the sparke and fire of it:[2] [A] _Hamlet_ comes backe: what would you vndertake, To show your selfe your Fathers sonne indeed, [Sidenote: selfe indeede your fathers sonne] More then in words? _Laer_. To cut his throat i'th'Church.[3] _Kin_. No place indeed should murder Sancturize; Reuenge should haue no bounds: but good _Laertes_ Will you doe this, keepe close within your Chamber, _Hamlet_ return'd, shall know you are come home: Wee'l put on those shall praise your excellence, And set a double varnish on the fame The Frenchman gaue you, bring you in fine together, And wager on your heads, he being remisse,[4] [Sidenote: ore your] [Sidenote: 218] Most generous, and free from all contriuing, Will not peruse[5] the Foiles? So that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A Sword vnbaited,[6] and in a passe of practice,[7] [Sidenote: pace of] Requit him for your Father. _Laer_. I will doo't, And for that purpose Ile annoint my Sword:[8] [Sidenote: for purpose,] I bought an Vnction of a Mountebanke So mortall, I but dipt a knife in it,[9] [Sidenote: mortall, that but dippe a] Where it drawes blood, no Cataplasme so rare, Collected from all Simples that haue Vertue [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- There liues within the very flame of loue A kind of weeke or snufe that will abate it,[10] And nothing is at a like goodnes still,[11] For goodnes growing to a plurisie,[12] Dies in his owne too much, that we would doe We should doe when we would: for this would change,[13] And hath abatements and delayes as many, As there are tongues, are hands, are accedents, And then this should is like a spend thrifts sigh, That hurts by easing;[14] but to the quick of th'vlcer,] [Footnote 1: 'passages of proofe,'--_trials_. 'I see when it is put to the test.'] [Footnote 2: 'time modifies it.'] [Footnote 3: Contrast him here with Hamlet.] [Footnote 4: careless.] [Footnote 5: _examine_--the word being of general application then.] [Footnote 6: _unblunted_. Some foils seem to have been made with a button that could be taken--probably _screwed_ off.] [Footnote 7: Whether _practice_ here means exercise or cunning, I cannot determine. Possibly the king uses the word as once before 216--to be taken as Laertes may please.] [Footnote 8: In the _1st Q._ this proposal also is made by the king.] [Footnote 9: 'So mortal, yes, a knife being but dipt in it,' or, 'So mortal, did I but dip a knife in it.'] [Footnote 10: To understand this figure, one must be familiar with the behaviour of the wick of a common lamp or tallow candle.] [Footnote 11: 'nothing keeps always at the same degree of goodness.'] [Footnote 12: A _plurisie_ is just a _too-muchness_, from _plus, pluris--a plethora_, not our word _pleurisy_, from [Greek: pleura]. See notes in _Johnson and Steevens_.] [Footnote 13: The sense here requires an _s_, and the space in the _Quarto_ between the _e_ and the comma gives the probability that a letter has dropt out.] [Footnote 14: Modern editors seem agreed to substitute the adjective _spendthrift_: our sole authority has _spendthrifts_, and by it I hold. The meaning seems this: 'the _would_ changes, the thing is not done, and then the _should_, the mere acknowledgment of duty, is like the sigh of a spendthrift, who regrets consequences but does not change his way: it eases his conscience for a moment, and so injures him.' There would at the same time be allusion to what was believed concerning sighs: Dr. Johnson says, 'It is a notion very prevalent, that _sighs_ impair the strength, and wear out the animal powers.'] [Page 222] Vnder the Moone, can saue the thing from death, That is but scratcht withall: Ile touch my point, With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,[1] It may be death. _Kin_. Let's further thinke of this, Weigh what conuenience[2] both of time and meanes May fit vs to our shape,[3] if this should faile; And that our drift looke through our bad performance, 'Twere better not assaid; therefore this Proiect Should haue a backe or second, that might hold, If this should blast in proofe:[4] Soft, let me see[5] [Sidenote: did blast] Wee'l make a solemne wager on your commings,[6] [Sidenote: cunnings[6]] I ha't: when in your motion you are hot and dry, [Sidenote: hate, when] As[7] make your bowts more violent to the end,[8] [Sidenote: to that end,] And that he cals for drinke; Ile haue prepar'd him [Sidenote: prefard him] [Sidenote: 268] A Challice for the nonce[9]; whereon but sipping, If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,[10] Our purpose may[11] hold there: how sweet Queene. [Sidenote: there: but stay, what noyse?] _Enter Queene_. _Queen_. One woe doth tread vpon anothers heele, So fast they'l follow[12]: your Sister's drown'd _Laertes_. [Sidenote: they follow;] _Laer_. Drown'd! O where?[13] _Queen_. There is a Willow[14] growes aslant a Brooke, [Sidenote: ascaunt the Brooke] That shewes his hore leaues in the glassie streame: [Sidenote: horry leaues] There with fantasticke Garlands did she come,[15] [Sidenote: Therewith | she make] Of Crow-flowers,[16] Nettles, Daysies, and long Purples, That liberall Shepheards giue a grosser name; But our cold Maids doe Dead Mens Fingers call them: [Sidenote: our cull-cold] There on the pendant[17] boughes, her Coronet weeds[18] Clambring to hang;[19] an enuious sliuer broke,[20] When downe the weedy Trophies,[19] and her selfe, [Sidenote: her weedy] [Footnote 1: 'that though I should gall him but slightly,' or, 'that if I gall him ever so slightly.'] [Footnote 2: proper arrangement.] [Footnote 3: 'fit us exactly, like a garment cut to our shape,' or perhaps 'shape' is used for _intent, purpose. Point thus_: 'shape. If this should faile, And' &c.] [Footnote 4: This seems to allude to the assay of a firearm, and to mean '_burst on the trial_.' Note 'assaid' two lines back.] [Footnote 5: There should be a pause here, and a longer pause after _commings_: the king is contriving. 'I ha't' should have a line to itself, with again a pause, but a shorter one.] [Footnote 6: _Veney, venue_, is a term of fencing: a bout, a thrust--from _venir, to come_--whence 'commings.' (259) But _cunnings_, meaning _skills_, may be the word.] [Footnote 7: 'As' is here equivalent to 'and so.'] [Footnote 8: --to the end of making Hamlet hot and dry.] [Footnote 9: for the special occasion.] [Footnote 10: thrust. _Twelfth Night_, act iii. sc. 4. 'he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion.' _Stocco_ in Italian is a long rapier; and _stoccata_ a thrust. _Rom. and Jul_., act iii. sc. 1. See _Shakespeare-Lexicon_.] [Footnote 11: 'may' does not here express _doubt_, but _intention_.] [Footnote 12: If this be the right reading, it means, 'so fast they insist on following.'] [Footnote 13: He speaks it as about to rush to her.] [Footnote 14: --the choice of Ophelia's fantastic madness, as being the tree of lamenting lovers.] [Footnote 15: --always busy with flowers.] [Footnote 16: Ranunculus: _Sh. Lex._] [Footnote 17: --specially descriptive of the willow.] [Footnote 18: her wild flowers made into a garland.] [Footnote 19: The intention would seem, that she imagined herself decorating a monument to her father. Hence her _Coronet weeds_ and the Poet's _weedy Trophies_.] [Footnote 20: _Sliver_, I suspect, called so after the fact, because _slivered_ or torn off. In _Macbeth_ we have: slips of yew Slivered in the moon's eclipse. But it may be that _sliver_ was used for a _twig_, such as could be torn off. _Slip_ and _sliver_ must be of the same root.] [Page 224] Fell in the weeping Brooke, her cloathes spred wide, And Mermaid-like, a while they bore her vp, Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,[1] [Sidenote: old laudes,[1]] As one incapable of[2] her owne distresse, Or like a creature Natiue, and indued[3] Vnto that Element: but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heauy with her drinke, [Sidenote: theyr drinke] Pul'd the poore wretch from her melodious buy,[4] [Sidenote: melodious lay] To muddy death.[5] _Laer_. Alas then, is she drown'd? [Sidenote: she is] _Queen_. Drown'd, drown'd. _Laer_. Too much of water hast thou poore _Ophelia_, And therefore I forbid my teares: but yet It is our tricke,[6] Nature her custome holds, Let shame say what it will; when these are gone The woman will be out:[7] Adue my Lord, I haue a speech of fire, that faine would blaze, [Sidenote: speech a fire] But that this folly doubts[8] it. _Exit._ [Sidenote: drownes it.[8]] _Kin_. Let's follow, _Gertrude_: How much I had to doe to calme his rage? Now feare I this will giue it start againe; Therefore let's follow. _Exeunt_.[9] [10]_Enter two Clownes._ _Clown_. Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, [Sidenote: buriall, when she wilfully] that wilfully seekes her owne saluation?[11] _Other_. I tell thee she is, and therefore make her [Sidenote: is, therefore] Graue straight,[12] the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall. _Clo_. How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in her owne defence? _Other_. Why 'tis found so.[13] _Clo_. It must be _Se offendendo_,[14] it cannot bee else: [Sidenote: be so offended, it] [Footnote 1: They were not lauds she was in the habit of singing, to judge by the snatches given.] [Footnote 2: not able to take in, not understanding, not conscious of.] [Footnote 3: clothed, endowed, fitted for. See _Sh. Lex._] [Footnote 4: _Could_ the word be for _buoy_--'her clothes spread wide,' on which she floated singing--therefore her melodious buoy or float?] [Footnote 5: How could the queen know all this, when there was no one near enough to rescue her? Does not the Poet intend the mode of her death given here for an invention of the queen, to hide the girl's suicide, and by circumstance beguile the sorrow-rage of Laertes?] [Footnote 6: 'I cannot help it.'] [Footnote 7: 'when these few tears are spent, all the woman will be out of me: I shall be a man again.'] [Footnote 8: _douts_: 'this foolish water of tears puts it out.' _See Q. reading._] [Footnote 9: Here ends the Fourth Act, between which and the Fifth may intervene a day or two.] [Footnote 10: Act V. This act _requires_ only part of a day; the funeral and the catastrophe might be on the same.] [Footnote 11: Has this a confused connection with the fancy that salvation is getting to heaven?] [Footnote 12: Whether this means _straightway_, or _not crooked_, I cannot tell.] [Footnote 13: 'the coroner has settled it.'] [Footnote 14: The Clown's blunder for _defendendo_.] [Page 226] 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; [Sidenote: it is to act, to doe, to performe, or all: she] argall[1] she drown'd her selfe wittingly. _Other_. Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer. [Sidenote: good man deluer.] _Clown_. 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 and drowne him; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life. _Other_. But is this law? _Clo_. I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law. _Other_. Will you ha the truth on't: if this had [Sidenote: truth an't] not beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried out of[2] Christian Buriall. [Sidenote: out a] _Clo_. 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[3] Christian. Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen, but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they hold vp _Adams_ Profession. _Other_. Was he a Gentleman? _Clo_. He was the first that euer bore Armes. [Sidenote: A was] [4]_Other_. Why he had none. _Clo_. What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou vnderstand the Scripture? the Scripture sayes _Adam_ dig'd; could hee digge without Armes?[4] Ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe---- _Other_. Go too. _Clo_. What is he that builds stronger then either the Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter? _Other_. The Gallowes-maker; for that Frame outliues a thousand Tenants. [Sidenote: that outliues] [Footnote 1: _ergo_, therefore.] [Footnote 2: _without_. The pleasure the speeches of the Clown give us, lies partly in the undercurrent of sense, so disguised by stupidity in the utterance; and partly in the wit which mainly succeeds in its end by the failure of its means.] [Footnote 3: _equal_, that is _fellow_ Christian.] [Footnote 4: _From 'Other' to_ 'Armes' _not in Quarto._] [Page 228] _Clo_. 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. _Other_. Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter? _Clo_. I, tell me that, and vnyoake.[1] _Other_. Marry, now I can tell. _Clo_. Too't. _Other_. Masse, I cannot tell. _Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off._[2] _Clo_. 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 [Sidenote: houses hee makes] till Doomesday: go, get thee to _Yaughan_,[3] fetch [Sidenote: thee in, and fetch mee a soope of] me a stoupe of Liquor. _Sings._[4] _In youth when I did loue, did loue_, [Sidenote: _Song._] _me thought it was very sweete: To contract O the time for a my behoue, O me thought there was nothing meete[5]_ [Sidenote: there a was nothing a meet.] [Sidenote: _Enter Hamlet & Horatio_] _Ham_. Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, [Sidenote: busines? a sings in graue-making.] that he sings at Graue-making?[6] _Hor_. Custome hath made it in him a property[7] of easinesse. _Ham_. 'Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath the daintier sense. _Clowne sings._[8] _But Age with his stealing steps_ [Sidenote _Clow. Song._] _hath caught me in his clutch_: [Sidenote: hath clawed me] [Footnote 1: 'unyoke your team'--as having earned his rest.] [Footnote 2: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 3: Whether this is the name of a place, or the name of an innkeeper, or is merely an inexplicable corruption--some take it for a stage-direction to yawn--I cannot tell. See _Q._ reading. It is said to have been discovered that a foreigner named Johan sold ale next door to the Globe.] [Footnote 4: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 5: A song ascribed to Lord Vaux is in this and the following stanzas made nonsense of.] [Footnote 6: Note Hamlet's mood throughout what follows. He has entered the shadow of death.] [Footnote 7: _Property_ is what specially belongs to the individual; here it is his _peculiar work_, or _personal calling_: 'custom has made it with him an easy duty.'] [Footnote 8: _Not in Quarto._] [Page 230] _And hath shipped me intill the Land_, [Sidenote: into] _as if I had neuer beene such_. _Ham_. That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, [Sidenote: the] as if it were _Caines_ Iaw-bone, that did the first [Sidenote: twere] murther: It might be the Pate of a Polititian which [Sidenote: murder, this might] this Asse o're Offices: one that could circumuent [Sidenote: asse now ore-reaches; one that would] God, might it not? _Hor_. It might, my Lord. _Ham_. Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? [Sidenote: thou sweet lord?] this might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such a ones Horse, when he meant to begge [Sidenote: when a went to] it; might it not?[1] _Hor_. I, my Lord. _Ham_. Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes,[2] Chaplesse,[3] and knockt about the Mazard[4] [Sidenote: Choples | the massene with] with a Sextons Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if [Sidenote: and we had] wee had the tricke to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at Loggets[5] with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't. [Sidenote: them] _Clowne sings._[6] _A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade_, [Sidenote: _Clow. Song._] _for and a shrowding-Sheete: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete_. _Ham_. There's another: why might not that bee the Scull of of a Lawyer? where be his [Sidenote: skull of a] Quiddits[7] now? his Quillets[7]? his Cases? his [Sidenote: quiddities] Tenures, and his Tricks? why doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about the Sconce[8] [Sidenote: this madde knaue] 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 [Footnote 1: To feel the full force of this, we must call up the expression on the face of 'such a one' as he begged the horse--probably imitated by Hamlet--and contrast it with the look on the face of the skull.] [Footnote 2: 'now the property of my Lady Worm.'] [Footnote 3: the lower jaw gone.] [Footnote 4: _the upper jaw_, I think--not _the head_.] [Footnote 5: a game in which pins of wood, called loggats, nearly two feet long, were half thrown, half slid, towards a bowl. _Blount_: Johnson and Steevens.] [Footnote 6: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 7: a lawyer's quirks and quibbles. See _Johnson and Steevens_. _1st Q._ now where is your Quirkes and quillets now,] [Footnote 8: Humorous, or slang word for _the head_. 'A fort--a head-piece--the head': _Webster's Dict_.] [Page 232] Vouchers, his Recoueries: [1] Is this the fine[2] of his Fines, and the recouery[3] of his Recoueries,[1] to haue his fine[4] Pate full of fine[4] Dirt? will his Vouchers [Sidenote: will vouchers] vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double [Sidenote: purchases & doubles then] ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will hardly lye in this Boxe[5]; and must the Inheritor [Sidenote: scarcely iye; | th'] himselfe haue no more?[6] ha? _Hor_. Not a iot more, my Lord. _Ham_. Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes? _Hor_. I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too. [Sidenote: Calues-skinnes to] _Ham_. They are Sheepe and Calues that seek [Sidenote: which seek] out assurance in that. I will speake to this fellow: whose Graue's this Sir? [Sidenote: this sirra?] _Clo_. Mine Sir: [Sidenote: _Clow_. Mine sir, or a pit] _O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete._[7] _Ham_. I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't. _Clo_. You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not [Sidenote: tis] yours: for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it [Sidenote: in't, yet] is mine. _Ham_. Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis [Sidenote: it is] thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest. _Clo_. Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me to you.[8] _Ham_. What man dost thou digge it for? _Clo_. For no man Sir. _Ham_. What woman then? _Clo_. For none neither. _Ham_. Who is to be buried in't? _Clo_. One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule, shee's dead. [Footnote 1: _From_ 'Is' _to_ 'Recoueries' _not in Q._] [Footnote 2: the end.] [Footnote 3: the property regained by his Recoveries.] [Footnote 4: third and fourth meanings of the word _fine_.] [Footnote 5: the skull.] [Footnote 6: 'must the heir have no more either?' _1st Q_. and must The honor (_owner?_) lie there?] [Footnote 7: _This line not in Q._] [Footnote 8: He _gives_ the lie.] [Page 234] _Ham_. How absolute[1] the knaue is? wee must [Sidenote: 256] speake by the Carde,[2] or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord _Horatio_, these three yeares[3] I haue [Sidenote: this three] taken note of it, the Age is growne so picked,[4] [Sidenote: tooke] that the toe of the Pesant comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe.[5] How [Sidenote: the heele of the] long hast thou been a Graue-maker? [Sidenote: been Graue-maker?] _Clo_. Of all the dayes i'th'yeare, I came too't [Sidenote: Of the dayes] that day[6] that our last King _Hamlet_ o'recame [Sidenote: ouercame] _Fortinbras_. _Ham_. How long is that since? _Clo_. Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell [Sidenote: 143] that: It was the very day,[6] that young _Hamlet_ was [Sidenote: was that very] borne,[8] hee that was mad, and sent into England, [Sidenote: that is mad] _Ham_. I marry, why was he sent into England? _Clo_. Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer [Sidenote: a was mad: a shall] his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great [Sidenote: if a do | tis] matter there. _Ham_. Why? _Clo_. 'Twill not be scene in him, there the men [Sidenote: him there, there] are as mad as he. _Ham_. How came he mad? _Clo_. Very strangely they say. _Ham_. How strangely?[7] _Clo_. Faith e'ene with loosing his wits. _Ham_. Vpon what ground? _Clo_. Why heere in Denmarke[8]: I haue bin sixeteene [Sidenote: Sexten] [Sidenote: 142-3] heere, man and Boy thirty yeares.[9] _Ham_. How long will a man lie 'ith' earth ere he rot? _Clo_. Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as [Sidenote: Fayth if a be not | a die] we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will [Sidenote: corses, that will] scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some [Sidenote: a will] eight yeare, or nine yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare. [Footnote 1: 'How the knave insists on precision!'] [Footnote 2: chart: _Skeat's Etym. Dict._] [Footnote 3: Can this indicate any point in the history of English society?] [Footnote 4: so fastidious; so given to _picking_ and choosing; so choice.] [Footnote 5: The word is to be found in any dictionary, but is not generally understood. Lord Byron, a very inaccurate writer, takes it to mean _heel_: Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, Tread on each others' kibes: _Childe Harold, Canto 1. St. 67._ It means a _chilblain_.] [Footnote 6: Then Fortinbras _could_ have been but a few months younger than Hamlet, and may have been older. Hamlet then, in the Quarto passage, could not by _tender_ mean _young_.] [Footnote 7: 'In what way strangely?'--_in what strange way_? Or the _How_ may be _how much_, in retort to the _very_; but the intent would be the same--a request for further information.] [Footnote 8: Hamlet has asked on what ground or provocation, that is, from what cause, Hamlet lost his wits; the sexton chooses to take the word _ground_ materially.] [Footnote 9: The Poet makes him say how long he had been sexton--but how naturally and informally--by a stupid joke!--in order a second time, and more certainly, to tell us Hamlet's age: he must have held it a point necessary to the understanding of Hamlet. Note Hamlet's question immediately following. It looks as if he had first said to himself: 'Yes--I have been thirty years above ground!' and _then_ said to the sexton, 'How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?' We might enquire even too curiously as to the connecting links.] [Page 236] _Ham_. Why he, more then another? _Clo_. Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And [Sidenote: a will] your water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in [Sidenote: now hath iyen you i'th earth 23. yeeres.] the earth three and twenty years. _Ham_. Whose was it? _Clo_. A whoreson mad Fellowes it was; Whose doe you thinke it was? _Ham_. Nay, I know not. _Clo_. 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_ [Sidenote: once; this same skull sir, was sir _Yoricks_] Scull, the Kings Iester. _Ham_. This? _Clo_. E'ene that. _Ham_. Let me see. Alas poore _Yorick_, I knew [Sidenote: _Ham_. Alas poore] him _Horatio_, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a [Sidenote: bore] thousand times: And how abhorred[1] my Imagination [Sidenote: and now how | in my] is, my gorge rises at it. Heere hung those [Sidenote: it is:] 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[2] now to mock your [Sidenote: not one] own Ieering? Quite chopfalne[3]? Now get you to [Sidenote: owne grinning,] my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an [Sidenote: Ladies table,] inch thicke, to this fauour[4] she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee _Horatio_ tell me one thing. _Hor_. What's that my Lord? _Ham_. Dost thou thinke _Alexander_ lookt o'this [Sidenote: a this] fashion i'th' earth? _Hor_. E'ene so. _Ham_. And smelt so? Puh. [Footnote 1: If this be the true reading, _abhorred_ must mean _horrified_; but I incline to the _Quarto_.] [Footnote 2: 'Not one jibe, not one flash of merriment now?'] [Footnote 3: --chop indeed quite fallen off!] [Footnote 4: _to this look_--that of the skull.] [Page 238] _Hor_. E'ene so, my Lord. _Ham_. To what base vses we may returne _Horatio_. Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of _Alexander_, till he[1] find it stopping a [Sidenote: a find] bunghole. _Hor_. 'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider [Sidenote: consider too curiously] so. _Ham_. No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether with modestie[2] enough, and likeliehood to lead it; as thus. _Alexander_ died: _Alexander_ was [Sidenote: lead it. _Alexander_] buried: _Alexander_ returneth into dust; the dust is [Sidenote: to] earth; of earth we make Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a Beere-barrell?[3] Imperiall _Caesar_, dead and turn'd to clay, [Sidenote: Imperious] Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away. Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw.[4] [Sidenote: waters flaw.] But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King. [Sidenote: , but soft awhile, here] _Enter King, Queene, Laertes, and a Coffin_, [Sidenote: _Enter K. Q. Laertes and the corse._] _with Lords attendant._ The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow, [Sidenote: this they] And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken, The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand, Fore do it owne life; 'twas some Estate.[5] [Sidenote: twas of some[5]] Couch[6] we a while, and mark. _Laer_. What Cerimony else? _Ham_. That is _Laertes_, a very Noble youth:[7] Marke. _Laer_. What Cerimony else?[8] _Priest_. Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd, [Sidenote: _Doct_.] As we haue warrantis,[9] her death was doubtfull,[10] [Sidenote: warrantie,] And but that great Command, o're-swaies the order,[11] [Footnote 1: Imagination personified.] [Footnote 2: moderation.] [Footnote 3: 'Loam, Lome--grafting clay. Mortar made of Clay and Straw; also a sort of Plaister used by Chymists to stop up their Vessels.'--_Bailey's Dict._] [Footnote 4: a sudden puff or blast of wind. Hamlet here makes a solemn epigram. For the right understanding of the whole scene, the student must remember that Hamlet is philosophizing--following things out, curiously or otherwise--on the brink of a grave, concerning the tenant for which he has enquired--'what woman then?'--but received no answer.] [Footnote 5: 'the corpse was of some position.'] [Footnote 6: 'let us lie down'--behind a grave or stone.] [Footnote 7: Hamlet was quite in the dark as to Laertes' character; he had seen next to nothing of him.] [Footnote 8: The priest making no answer, Laertes repeats the question.] [Footnote 9: _warrantise_.] [Footnote 10: This casts discredit on the queen's story, 222. The priest believes she died by suicide, only calls her death doubtful to excuse their granting her so many of the rites of burial.] [Footnote 11: 'settled mode of proceeding.'--_Schmidt's Sh. Lex._--But is it not rather _the order_ of the church?] [Page 240] She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd, [Sidenote: vnsanctified been lodged] Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier, [Sidenote: prayers,] Shardes,[1] Flints, and Peebles, should be throwne on her: Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites, [Sidenote: virgin Crants,[2]] Her Maiden strewments,[3] and the bringing home Of Bell and Buriall.[4] _Laer_. Must there no more be done? _Priest_. No more be done:[5] [Sidenote: _Doct._] We should prophane the seruice of the dead, To sing sage[6] _Requiem_, and such rest to her [Sidenote: sing a Requiem] As to peace-parted Soules. _Laer_. Lay her i'th' earth, And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh, May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest) A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be, When thou liest howling? _Ham_. What, the faire _Ophelia_?[7] _Queene_. Sweets, to the sweet farewell.[8] [Sidenote: 118] I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my _Hamlets_ wife: I thought thy Bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid) And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue. [Sidenote: not haue] _Laer_. Oh terrible woer,[9] [Sidenote: O treble woe] Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head [Sidenote: times double on] Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenioussence Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while, Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes: _Leaps in the graue._[10] Now pile your dust, vpon the quicke, and dead, Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made, To o're top old _Pelion_, or the skyish head [Sidenote: To'retop] Of blew _Olympus_.[11] _Ham_.[12] What is he, whose griefes [Sidenote: griefe] Beares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow [Footnote 1: 'Shardes' _not in Quarto._ It means _potsherds_.] [Footnote 2: chaplet--_German_ krantz, used even for virginity itself.] [Footnote 3: strewments with _white_ flowers. (?)] [Footnote 4: the burial service.] [Footnote 5: as an exclamation, I think.] [Footnote 6: Is the word _sage_ used as representing the unfitness of a requiem to her state of mind? or is it only from its kindred with _solemn_? It was because she was not 'peace-parted' that they could not sing _rest_ to her.] [Footnote 7: _Everything_ here depends on the actor.] [Footnote 8: I am not sure the queen is not _apostrophizing_ the flowers she is throwing into or upon the coffin: 'Sweets, be my farewell to the sweet.'] [Footnote 9: The Folio _may_ be right here:--'Oh terrible wooer!--May ten times treble thy misfortunes fall' &c.] [Footnote 10: This stage-direction is not in the _Quarto_. Here the _1st Quarto_ has:-- _Lear_. Forbeare the earth a while: sister farewell: _Leartes leapes into the graue._ Now powre your earth on _Olympus_ hie, And make a hill to o're top olde _Pellon_: _Hamlet leapes in after Leartes_ Whats he that coniures so? _Ham_. Beholde tis I, _Hamlet_ the Dane.] [Footnote 11: The whole speech is bravado--the frothy grief of a weak, excitable effusive nature.] [Footnote 12: He can remain apart no longer, and approaches the company.] [Page 242] Coniure the wandring Starres, and makes them stand [Sidenote: Coniues] Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, _Hamlet_ the Dane.[1] _Laer_. The deuill take thy soule.[2] _Ham_. Thou prai'st not well, I prythee take thy fingers from my throat;[3] Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash, [Sidenote: For though | spleenatiue rash,] Yet haue I something in me dangerous, [Sidenote: in me something] Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand. [Sidenote: wisedome feare; hold off they] _King_. Pluck them asunder. _Qu. Hamlet, Hamlet_. [Sidenote: _All_. Gentlemen.] _Gen_. Good my Lord be quiet. [Sidenote: _Hora_. Good] _Ham_. Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme, Vntill my eielids will no longer wag.[4] _Qu_. Oh my Sonne, what Theame? _Ham_. I lou'd _Ophelia_[5]; fortie thousand Brothers Could not (with all there quantitie of Loue) Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her?[6] _King_. Oh he is mad _Laertes_.[7] _Qu_. For loue of God forbeare him. _Ham_. Come show me what thou'lt doe. [Sidenote: _Ham_ S'wounds shew | th'owt fight, woo't fast, woo't teare] Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe? Woo't drinke vp _Esile_, eate a Crocodile?[6] Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine; [Sidenote: doost come] To outface me with leaping in her Graue? Be[8] buried quicke with her, and so will I. And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground Sindging his pate against the burning Zone, [Sidenote: 262] Make _Ossa_ like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth, Ile rant as well as thou.[9] [Footnote 1: This fine speech is yet spoken in the character of madman, which Hamlet puts on once more the moment he has to appear before the king. Its poetry and dignity belong to Hamlet's feeling; its extravagance to his assumed insanity. It must be remembered that death is a small affair to Hamlet beside his mother's life, and that the death of Ophelia may even be some consolation to him. In the _Folio_, a few lines back, Laertes leaps into the grave. There is no such direction in the _Q_. In neither is Hamlet said to leap into the grave; only the _1st Q._ so directs. It is a stage-business that must please the _common_ actor of Hamlet; but there is nothing in the text any more than in the margin of _Folio_ or _Quarto_ to justify it, and it would but for the horror of it be ludicrous. The coffin is supposed to be in the grave: must Laertes jump down upon it, followed by Hamlet, and the two fight and trample over the body? Yet I take the '_Leaps in the grave_' to be an action intended for Laertes by the Poet. His 'Hold off the earth a while,' does not necessarily imply that the body is already in the grave. He has before said, 'Lay her i'th' earth': then it was not in the grave. It is just about to be lowered, when, with that cry of 'Hold off the earth a while,' he jumps into the grave, and taking the corpse, on a bier at the side of it, in his arms, calls to the spectators to pile a mountain on them--in the wild speech that brings out Hamlet. The quiet dignity of Hamlet's speech does not comport with his jumping into the grave: Laertes comes out of the grave, and flies at Hamlet's throat. So, at least, I would have the thing acted. There is, however, nothing in the text to show that Laertes comes out of the grave, and if the manager insist on the traditional mode, I would suggest that the grave be represented much larger. In Mr. Jewitt's book on Grave-Mounds, I read of a 'female skeleton in a grave six feet deep, ten feet long, and eight feet wide.' Such a grave would give room for both beside the body, and dismiss the hideousness of the common representation.] [Footnote 2: --_springing out of the grave and flying at Hamlet_.] [Footnote 3: Note the temper, self-knowledge, self-government, and self-distrust of Hamlet.] [Footnote 4: The eyelids last of all become incapable of motion.] [Footnote 5: That he loved her is the only thing to explain the harshness of his behaviour to her. Had he not loved her and not been miserable about her, he would have been as polite to her as well bred people would have him.] [Footnote 6: The gallants of Shakspere's day would challenge each other to do more disagreeable things than any of these in honour of their mistresses. '_�sil._ s.m. Ancien nom du Vinaigre.' _Supplement to Academy Dict._, 1847.--'Eisile, _vinegar_': Bosworth's _Anglo-Saxon Dict_., from Somner's _Saxon Dict._, 1659.--'Eisel (_Saxon), vinegar; verjuice; any acid_': Johnson's _Dict_. _1st Q_. 'Wilt drinke vp vessels.' The word _up_ very likely implies the steady emptying of a vessel specified--at a draught, and not by degrees.] [Footnote 7: --pretending care over Hamlet.] [Footnote 8: Emphasis on _Be_, which I take for the _imperative mood_.] [Footnote 9: The moment it is uttered, he recognizes and confesses to the rant, ashamed of it even under the cover of his madness. It did not belong _altogether_ to the madness. Later he expresses to Horatio his regret in regard to this passage between him and Laertes, and afterwards apologizes to Laertes. 252, 262. Perhaps this is the speech in all the play of which it is most difficult to get into a sympathetic comprehension. The student must call to mind the elements at war in Hamlet's soul, and generating discords in his behaviour: to those comes now the shock of Ophelia's death; the last tie that bound him to life is gone--the one glimmer of hope left him for this world! The grave upon whose brink he has been bandying words with the sexton, is for _her_! Into such a consciousness comes the rant of Laertes. Only the forms of madness are free to him, while no form is too strong in which to repudiate indifference to Ophelia: for her sake, as well as to relieve his own heart, he casts the clear confession of his love into her grave. He is even jealous, over her dead body, of her brother's profession of love to her--as if any brother could love as he loved! This is foolish, no doubt, but human, and natural to a certain childishness in grief. 252. Add to this, that Hamlet--see later in his speeches to Osricke--had a lively inclination to answer a fool according to his folly (256), to outherod Herod if Herod would rave, out-euphuize Euphues himself if he would be ridiculous:--the digestion of all these things in the retort of meditation will result, I would fain think, in an understanding and artistic justification of even this speech of Hamlet: the more I consider it the truer it seems. If proof be necessary that real feeling is mingled in the madness of the utterance, it may be found in the fact that he is immediately ashamed of its extravagance.] [Page 244] _Kin_.[1] This is meere Madnesse: [Sidenote: _Quee_.[1]] And thus awhile the fit will worke on him: [Sidenote: And this] Anon as patient as the female Doue, When that her golden[2] Cuplet[3] are disclos'd[4]; [Sidenote: cuplets[3]] His silence will sit drooping.[5] _Ham_. Heare you Sir:[6] What is the reason that you vse me thus? I loud' you euer;[7] but it is no matter:[8] Let _Hercules_ himselfe doe what he may, The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.[9] _Exit._ [Sidenote: _Exit Hamlet and Horatio._] _Kin_. I pray you good Horatio wait vpon him, [Sidenote: pray thee good] Strengthen you patience in our last nights speech, [Sidenote: your] [Sidenote: 254] Wee'l put the matter to the present push:[10] Good _Gertrude_ set some watch ouer your Sonne, This Graue shall haue a liuing[11] Monument:[12] An houre of quiet shortly shall we see;[13] [Sidenote: quiet thirtie shall] Till then, in patience our proceeding be. _Exeunt._ [Footnote 1: I hardly know which to choose as the speaker of this speech. It would be a fine specimen of the king's hypocrisy; and perhaps indeed its poetry, lovely in itself, but at such a time sentimental, is fitter for him than the less guilty queen.] [Footnote 2: 'covered with a yellow down' _Heath_.] [Footnote 3: The singular is better: 'the pigeon lays no more than _two_ eggs.' _Steevens_. Only, _couplets_ might be used like _twins_.] [Footnote 4: --_hatched_, the sporting term of the time.] [Footnote 5: 'The pigeon never quits her nest for three days after her two young ones are hatched, except for a few moments to get food.' _Steevens_.] [Footnote 6: Laertes stands eyeing him with evil looks.] [Footnote 7: I suppose here a pause: he waits in vain some response from Laertes.] [Footnote 8: Here he retreats into his madness.] [Footnote 9: '--but I cannot compel you to hear reason. Do what he will, Hercules himself cannot keep the cat from mewing, or the dog from following his inclination!'--said in a half humorous, half contemptuous despair.] [Footnote 10: 'into immediate train'--_to Laertes_.] [Footnote 11: _life-like_, or _lasting_?] [Footnote 12: --_again to Laertes_.] [Footnote 13: --when Hamlet is dead.] [Page 246] _Enter Hamlet and Horatio._ _Ham._ So much for this Sir; now let me see the other,[1] [Sidenote: now shall you see] You doe remember all the Circumstance.[2] _Hor._ Remember it my Lord?[3] _Ham._ Sir, in my heart there was a kinde of fighting, That would not let me sleepe;[4] me thought I lay [Sidenote: my thought] Worse then the mutines in the Bilboes,[5] rashly, [Sidenote: bilbo] (And praise be rashnesse for it)[6] let vs know, [Sidenote: prayed] Our indiscretion sometimes serues vs well, [Sidenote: sometime] When our deare plots do paule,[7] and that should teach vs, [Sidenote: deepe | should learne us] [Sidenote: 146, 181] There's a Diuinity that shapes our ends,[8] Rough-hew them how we will.[9] _Hor._ That is most certaine. _Ham._ Vp from my Cabin My sea-gowne scarft about me in the darke, Grop'd I to finde out them;[10] had my desire, Finger'd their Packet[11], and in fine, withdrew To mine owne roome againe, making so bold, (My feares forgetting manners) to vnseale [Sidenote: to vnfold] Their grand Commission, where I found _Horatio_, Oh royall[12] knauery: An exact command, [Sidenote: A royall] [Sidenote: 196] Larded with many seuerall sorts of reason; [Sidenote: reasons,] Importing Denmarks health, and Englands too, With hoo, such Bugges[13] and Goblins in my life, [Sidenote: hoe] That on the superuize[14] no leasure bated,[15] No not to stay the grinding of the Axe, My head shoud be struck off. _Hor._ Ist possible? _Ham._ Here's the Commission, read it at more leysure: [Footnote 1: I would suggest that the one paper, which he has just shown, is a commission the king gave to himself; the other, which he is about to show, that given to Rosincrance and Guildensterne. He is setting forth his proof of the king's treachery.] [Footnote 2: --of the king's words and behaviour, possibly, in giving him his papers, Horatio having been present; or it might mean, 'Have you got the things I have just told you clear in your mind?'] [Footnote 3: '--as if I could forget a single particular of it!'] [Footnote 4: The _Shaping Divinity_ was moving him.] [Footnote 5: The fetters called _bilboes_ fasten a couple of mutinous sailors together by the legs.] [Footnote 6: Does he not here check himself and begin afresh--remembering that the praise belongs to the Divinity?] [Footnote 7: _pall_--from the root of _pale_--'come to nothing.' He had had his plots from which he hoped much; the king's commission had rendered them futile. But he seems to have grown doubtful of his plans before, probably through the doubt of his companions which led him to seek acquaintance with their commission, and he may mean that his 'dear plots' had begun to pall _upon him_. Anyhow the sudden 'indiscretion' of searching for and unsealing the ambassadors' commission served him as nothing else could have served him.] [Footnote 8: --even by our indiscretion. Emphasis on _shapes_.] [Footnote 9: Here is another sign of Hamlet's religion. 24, 125, 260. We start to work out an idea, but the result does not correspond with the idea: another has been at work along with us. We rough-hew--block out our marble, say for a Mercury; the result is an Apollo. Hamlet had rough-hewn his ends--he had begun plans to certain ends, but had he been allowed to go on shaping them alone, the result, even had he carried out his plans and shaped his ends to his mind, would have been failure. Another mallet and chisel were busy shaping them otherwise from the first, and carrying them out to a true success. For _success_ is not the success of plans, but the success of ends.] [Footnote 10: Emphasize _I_ and _them_, as the rhythm requires, and the phrase becomes picturesque.] [Footnote 11: 'got my fingers on their papers.'] [Footnote 12: Emphasize _royal_.] [Footnote 13: A _bug_ is any object causing terror.] [Footnote 14: immediately on the reading.] [Footnote 15: --no interval abated, taken off the immediacy of the order respite granted.] [Page 248] But wilt thou heare me how I did proceed? [Sidenote: heare now how] _Hor_. I beseech you. _Ham_. Being thus benetted round with Villaines,[1] Ere I could make a Prologue to my braines, [Sidenote: Or I could] They had begun the Play.[2] I sate me downe, Deuis'd a new Commission,[3] wrote it faire, I once did hold it as our Statists[4] doe, A basenesse to write faire; and laboured much How to forget that learning: but Sir now, It did me Yeomans[5] seruice: wilt thou know [Sidenote: yemans] The effects[6] of what I wrote? [Sidenote: Th'effect[6]] _Hor_. I, good my Lord. _Ham_. An earnest Coniuration from the King, As England was his faithfull Tributary, As loue betweene them, as the Palme should flourish, [Sidenote: them like the | might florish,] As Peace should still her wheaten Garland weare, And stand a Comma 'tweene their amities,[7] And many such like Assis[8] of great charge, [Sidenote: like, as sir of] That on the view and know of these Contents, [Sidenote: knowing] Without debatement further, more or lesse, He should the bearers put to sodaine death, [Sidenote: those bearers] Not shriuing time allowed. _Hor_. How was this seal'd? _Ham_. Why, euen in that was Heauen ordinate; [Sidenote: ordinant,] I had my fathers Signet in my Purse, Which was the Modell of that Danish Seale: Folded the Writ vp in forme of the other, [Sidenote: in the forme of th'] Subscrib'd it, gau't th'impression, plac't it safely, [Sidenote: Subscribe it,] The changeling neuer knowne: Now, the next day Was our Sea Fight, and what to this was sement, [Sidenote: was sequent] Thou know'st already.[9] _Hor_. So _Guildensterne_ and _Rosincrance_, go too't. [Footnote 1: --the nearest, Rosincrance and Guildensterne: Hamlet was quite satisfied of their villainy.] [Footnote 2: 'I had no need to think: the thing came to me at once.'] [Footnote 3: Note Hamlet's rapid practicality--not merely in devising, but in carrying out.] [Footnote 4: statesmen.] [Footnote 5: '_Yeomen of the guard of the king's body_ were anciently two hundred and fifty men, of the best rank under gentry, and of larger stature than ordinary; every one being required to be six feet high.'--_E. Chambers' Cyclopaedia_. Hence '_yeoman's_ service' must mean the very best of service.] [Footnote 6: Note our common phrase: 'I wrote to this effect.'] [Footnote 7: 'as he would have Peace stand between their friendships like a comma between two words.' Every point has in it a conjunctive, as well as a disjunctive element: the former seems the one regarded here--only that some amities require more than a comma to separate them. The _comma_ does not make much of a figure--is good enough for its position, however; if indeed the fact be not, that, instead of standing for _Peace_, it does not even stand for itself, but for some other word. I do not for my part think so.] [Footnote 8: Dr. Johnson says there is a quibble here with _asses_ as beasts of _charge_ or burden. It is probable enough, seeing, as Malone tells us, that in Warwickshire, as did Dr. Johnson himself, they pronounce _as_ hard. In Aberdeenshire the sound of the _s_ varies with the intent of the word: '_az_ he said'; '_ass_ strong _az_ a horse.'] [Footnote 9: To what purpose is this half-voyage to England made part of the play? The action--except, as not a few would have it, the very action be delay--is nowise furthered by it; Hamlet merely goes and returns. To answer this question, let us find the real ground for Hamlet's reflection, 'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends.' Observe, he is set at liberty without being in the least indebted to the finding of the commission--by the attack, namely, of the pirate; and this was not the shaping of his ends of which he was thinking when he made the reflection, for it had reference to the finding of the commission. What then was the ground of the reflection? And what justifies the whole passage in relation to the Poet's object, the character of Hamlet? This, it seems to me:-- Although Hamlet could not have had much doubt left with regard to his uncle's guilt, yet a man with a fine, delicate--what most men would think, because so much more exacting than theirs--fastidious conscience, might well desire some proof more positive yet, before he did a deed so repugnant to his nature, and carrying in it such a loud condemnation of his mother. And more: he might well wish to have something to _show_: a man's conviction is no proof, though it may work in others inclination to receive proof. Hamlet is sent to sea just to get such proof as will not only thoroughly satisfy himself, but be capable of being shown to others. He holds now in his hand--to lay before the people--the two contradictory commissions. By his voyage then he has gained both assurance of his duty, and provision against the consequence he mainly dreaded, that of leaving a wounded name behind him. 272. This is the shaping of his ends--so exactly to his needs, so different from his rough-hewn plans--which is the work of the Divinity. The man who desires to know his duty that he may _do_ it, who will not shirk it when he does know it, will have time allowed him and the thing made plain to him; his perplexity will even strengthen and purify his will. The weak man is he who, certain of what is required of him, fails to meet it: so never once fails Hamlet. Note, in all that follows, that a load seems taken off him: after a gracious tardiness to believe up to the point of action, he is at length satisfied. Hesitation belongs to the noble nature, to Hamlet; precipitation to the poor nature, to Laertes, the son of Polonius. Compare Brutus in _Julius Caesar_--a Hamlet in favourable circumstances, with Hamlet--a Brutus in the most unfavourable circumstances conceivable.] [Page 250] _Ham_. Why man, they did make loue to this imployment[1] They are not neere my Conscience; their debate [Sidenote: their defeat[2]] Doth by their owne insinuation[3] grow:[4] [Sidenote: Dooes] 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Betweene the passe, and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites.[5] _Hor_. Why, what a King is this?[6] _Ham_. Does it not, thinkst thee,[7] stand me now vpon[8] [Sidenote: not thinke thee[7] stand] [Sidenote: 120] He that hath kil'd my King,[9] and whor'd my Mother, [Sidenote: 62] Popt in betweene th'election and my hopes, [Footnote 1: _This verse not in Q._] [Footnote 2: destruction.] [Footnote 3: 'Their destruction they have enticed on themselves by their own behaviour;' or, 'they have _crept into_ their fate by their underhand dealings.' The _Sh. Lex._ explains _insinuation_ as _meddling_.] [Footnote 4: With the concern of Horatio for the fate of Rosincrance and Guildensterne, Hamlet shows no sympathy. It has been objected to his character that there is nothing in the play to show them privy to the contents of their commission; to this it would be answer enough, that Hamlet is satisfied of their worthlessness, and that their whole behaviour in the play shows them merest parasites; but, at the same time, we must note that, in changing the commission, he had no intention, could have had no thought, of letting them go to England without him: that was a pure shaping of their ends by the Divinity. Possibly his own 'dear plots' had in them the notion of getting help against his uncle from the king of England, in which case he would willingly of course have continued his journey; but whatever they may be supposed to have been, they were laid in connection with the voyage, not founded on the chance of its interruption. It is easy to imagine a man like him, averse to the shedding of blood, intending interference for their lives: as heir apparent, he would certainly have been listened to. The tone of his reply to Horatio is that of one who has been made the unintending cause of a deserved fate: the thing having fallen out so, the Divinity having so shaped their ends, there was nothing in their character, any more than in that of Polonius, to make him regret their death, or the part he had had in it.] [Footnote 5: The 'mighty opposites' here are the king and Hamlet.] [Footnote 6: Perhaps, as Hamlet talked, he has been parenthetically glancing at the real commission. Anyhow conviction is growing stronger in Horatio, whom, for the occasion, we may regard as a type of the public.] [Footnote 7: 'thinkst thee,' in the fashion of the Friends, or 'thinke thee' in the sense of 'bethink thee.'] [Footnote 8: 'Does it not rest now on me?--is it not now my duty?--is it not _incumbent on me_ (with _lie_ for _stand_)--"is't not perfect conscience"?'] [Footnote 9: Note '_my king_' not _my father_: he had to avenge a crime against the state, the country, himself as a subject--not merely a private wrong.] [Page 252] Throwne out his Angle for my proper life,[1] And with such coozenage;[2] is't not perfect conscience,[3] [Sidenote: conscience?] [Sidenote: 120] To quit him with this arme?[4] And is't not to be damn'd[5] To let this Canker of our nature come In further euill.[6] _Hor._ It must be shortly knowne to him from England What is the issue of the businesse there.[7] _Ham._ It will be short, [Sidenote: 262] The _interim's_ mine,[8] and a mans life's no more[9] Then to say one:[10] but I am very sorry good _Horatio_, [Sidenote: 245] That to _Laertes_ I forgot my selfe; For by the image of my Cause, I see [Sidenote: 262] The Portraiture of his;[11] Ile count his fauours:[12] [Footnote 1: Here is the charge at length in full against the king--of quality and proof sufficient now, not merely to justify, but to compel action against him.] [Footnote 2: He was such a _fine_ hypocrite that Hamlet, although he hated and distrusted him, was perplexed as to the possibility of his guilt. His good acting was almost too much for Hamlet himself. This is his 'coozenage.' After 'coozenage' should come a dash, bringing '--is't not perfect conscience' (_is it not absolutely righteous_) into closest sequence, almost apposition, with 'Does it not stand me now upon--'.] [Footnote 3: Here comes in the _Quarto, 'Enter a Courtier_.' All from this point to 'Peace, who comes heere?' included, is in addition to the _Quarto_ text--not in the _Q._, that is.] [Footnote 4: I would here refer my student to the soliloquy--with its _sea of troubles_, and _the taking of arms against it_. 123, n. 4.] [Footnote 5: These three questions: 'Does it not stand me now upon?'--'Is't not perfect conscience?'--'Is't not to be damned?' reveal the whole relation between the inner and outer, the unseen and the seen, the thinking and the acting Hamlet. 'Is not the thing right?--Is it not my duty?--Would not the neglect of it deserve damnation?' He is satisfied.] [Footnote 6: 'is it not a thing to be damned--to let &c.?' or, 'would it not be to be damned, (to be in a state of damnation, or, to bring damnation on oneself) to let this human cancer, the king, go on to further evil?'] [Footnote 7: '--so you have not much time.'] [Footnote 8: 'True, it will be short, but till then is mine, and will be long enough for me.' He is resolved.] [Footnote 9: Now that he is assured of what is right, the Shadow that waits him on the path to it, has no terror for him. He ceases to be anxious as to 'what dreams may come,' as to the 'something after death,' as to 'the undiscovered country,' the moment his conscience is satisfied. 120. It cannot now make a coward of him. It was never in regard to the past that Hamlet dreaded death, but in regard to the righteousness of the action which was about to occasion his death. Note that he expects death; at least he has long made up his mind to the great risk of it--the death referred to in the soliloquy--which, after all, was not that which did overtake him. There is nothing about suicide here, nor was there there.] [Footnote 10: 'a man's life must soon be over anyhow.'] [Footnote 11: The approach of death causes him to think of and regret even the small wrongs he has done; he laments his late behaviour to Laertes, and makes excuse for him: the similarity of their condition, each having lost a father by violence, ought, he says, to have taught him gentleness with him. The _1st Quarto_ is worth comparing here:-- _Enter Hamlet and Horatio_ _Ham_. Beleeue mee, it greeues mee much _Horatio_, That to _Leartes_ I forgot my selfe: For by my selfe me thinkes I feele his griefe, Though there's a difference in each others wrong.] [Footnote 12: 'I will not forget,' or, 'I will call to mind, what merits he has,' or 'what favours he has shown me.' But I suspect the word '_count_' ought to be _court_.--He does court his favour when next they meet--in lovely fashion. He has no suspicion of his enmity.] [Page 254] [Sidenote: 242, 262] But sure the brauery[1] of his griefe did put me Into a Towring passion.[2] _Hor._ Peace, who comes heere? _Enter young Osricke._[3] [Sidenote: _Enter a Courtier._] _Osr._ Your Lordship is right welcome back to [Sidenote: _Cour._] Denmarke. _Ham._ I humbly thank you Sir, dost know this [Sidenote: humble thank] waterflie?[4] _Hor._ No my good Lord. _Ham._ Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him[5]: he hath much Land, and fertile; let a Beast be Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall stand at the Kings Messe;[6] 'tis a Chowgh[7]; but as I saw spacious in the possession of dirt.[8] [Sidenote: as I say,] _Osr._ Sweet Lord, if your friendship[9] were at [Sidenote: _Cour._ | Lordshippe[?]] leysure, I should impart a thing to you from his Maiesty. _Ham._ I will receiue it with all diligence of [Sidenote: it sir with] spirit; put your Bonet to his right vse, 'tis for the [Sidenote: spirit, your] head. Osr. I thanke your Lordship, 'tis very hot[10] [Sidenote: Cour. | it is] _Ham._ No, beleeue mee 'tis very cold, the winde is Northerly. _Osr._ It is indifferent cold[11] my Lord indeed. [Sidenote: _Cour._] _Ham._ Mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot [Sidenote: But yet me | sully and hot, or my] for my Complexion.[12] _Osr._ Exceedingly, my Lord, it is very soultry, [Sidenote: _Cour._] as 'twere I cannot tell how: but my Lord,[13] his [Sidenote: how: my Lord] Maiesty bad me signifie to you, that he ha's laid a [Sidenote: that a had] [Sidenote: 244] great wager on your head: Sir, this is the matter.[14] _Ham._ I beseech you remember.[15] _Osr._ Nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good [Sidenote: Cour. Nay good my Lord for my ease] [Footnote 1: the great show; bravado.] [Footnote 2: --with which fell in well the forms of his pretended madness. But that the passion was real, this reaction of repentance shows. It was not the first time his pretence had given him liberty to ease his heart with wild words. Jealous of the boastfulness of Laertes' affection, he began at once--in keeping with his assumed character of madman, but not the less in harmony with his feelings--to outrave him.] [Footnote 3: One of the sort that would gather to such a king--of the same kind as Rosincrance and Guildensterne. In the _1st Q. 'Enter a Bragart Gentleman_.'] [Footnote 4: --_to Horatio_.] [Footnote 5: 'Thou art the more in a state of grace, for it is a vice to know him.'] [Footnote 6: 'his manger shall stand where the king is served.' Wealth is always received by Rank--Mammon nowhere better worshipped than in kings' courts.] [Footnote 7: '_a bird of the crow-family_'--as a figure, '_always applied to rich and avaricious people_.' A _chuff_ is a surly _clown_. In Scotch a _coof_ is 'a silly, dastardly fellow.'] [Footnote 8: land.] [Footnote 9: 'friendship' is better than 'Lordshippe,' as euphuistic.] [Footnote 10: 'I thanke your Lordship; (_puts on his hat_) 'tis very hot.'] [Footnote 11: 'rather cold.'] [Footnote 12: 'and hot--for _my_ temperament.'] [Footnote 13: Not able to go on, he plunges into his message.] [Footnote 14: --_takes off his hat_.] [Footnote 15: --making a sign to him again to put on his hat.] [Page 256] faith[1]: Sir, [A] you are not ignorant of what excellence _Laertes_ [B] is at his weapon.[2] [Sidenote: _Laertes_ is.[2]] _Ham_. What's his weapon?[3] _Osr_. Rapier and dagger. [Sidenote: _Cour._] _Ham_. That's two of his weapons: but well. _Osr_. The sir King ha's wag'd with him six [Sidenote: _Cour_. The King sir hath wagerd] Barbary Horses, against the which he impon'd[4] as I [Sidenote: hee has impaund] take it, sixe French Rapiers and Poniards, with [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- [5] here is newly com to Court _Laertes_, belieue me an absolute gentlemen, ful of most excellent differences,[6] of very soft society,[7] and great [Sidenote: 234] showing[8]: indeede to speake sellingly[9] of him, hee is the card or kalender[10] of gentry: for you shall find in him the continent of what part a Gentleman would see.[11] [Sidenote: 245] _Ham_.[12] Sir, his definement suffers no perdition[13] in you, though I know to deuide him inuentorially,[14] would dosie[15] th'arithmaticke of memory, and yet but yaw[16] neither in respect of his quick saile, but in the veritie of extolment, I take him to be a soule of great article,[17] & his infusion[18] of such dearth[19] and rarenesse, as to make true dixion of him, his semblable is his mirrour,[20] & who els would trace him, his vmbrage, nothing more.[21] _Cour_. Your Lordship speakes most infallibly of him.[22] _Ham_. The concernancy[23] sir, why doe we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath?[24] _Cour_. Sir.[25] _Hora_. Ist not possible to vnderstand in another tongue,[26] you will too't sir really.[27] _Ham_. What imports the nomination of this gentleman. _Cour_. Of _Laertes_.[28] _Hora_. His purse is empty already, all's golden words are spent. _Ham_. Of him sir.[29] _Cour_. I know you are not ignorant.[30] _Ham_. I would you did sir, yet in faith if you did, it would not much approoue me,[31] well sir. _Cour_.] [Footnote B: _Here in the Quarto_:-- _Ham_. I dare not confesse that, least I should compare with him in excellence, but to know a man wel, were to knowe himselfe.[32] _Cour_. I meane sir for this weapon, but in the imputation laide on him,[33] by them in his meed, hee's vnfellowed.[34]] [Footnote 1: 'in good faith, it is not for manners, but for my comfort I take it off.' Perhaps the hat was intended only to be carried, and would not really go on his head.] [Footnote 2: The _Quarto_ has not 'at his weapon,' which is inserted to take the place of the passage omitted, and connect the edges of the gap.] [Footnote 3: So far from having envied Laertes' reputation for fencing, as the king asserts, Hamlet seems not even to have known which was Laertes' weapon.] [Footnote 4: laid down--staked.] [Footnote 5: This and the following passages seem omitted for curtailment, and perhaps in part because they were less amusing when the fashion of euphuism had passed. The good of holding up the mirror to folly was gone when it was no more the 'form and pressure' of 'the very age and body of the time.'] [Footnote 6: of great variety of excellence.] [Footnote 7: gentle manners.] [Footnote 8: fine presence.] [Footnote 9: Is this a stupid attempt at wit on the part of Osricke--'to praise him as if you wanted to sell him'--stupid because it acknowledges exaggeration?] [Footnote 10: 'the chart or book of reference.' 234.] [Footnote 11: I think _part_ here should be plural; then the passage would paraphrase thus:--'you shall find in him the sum of what parts (_endowments_) a gentleman would wish to see.'] [Footnote 12: Hamlet answers the fool according to his folly, but outdoes him, to his discomfiture.] [Footnote 13: 'his description suffers no loss in your mouth.'] [Footnote 14: 'to analyze him into all and each of his qualities.'] [Footnote 15: dizzy.] [Footnote 16: 'and yet _would_ but yaw neither' _Yaw_, 'the movement by which a ship deviates from the line of her course towards the right or left in steering.' Falconer's _Marine Dictionary_. The meaning seems to be that the inventorial description could not overtake his merits, because it would _yaw_--keep turning out of the direct line of their quick sail. But Hamlet is set on using far-fetched and absurd forms and phrases to the non-plussing of Osricke, nor cares much to be _correct_.] [Footnote 17: I take this use of the word _article_ to be merely for the occasion; it uas never surely in _use_ for _substance_.] [Footnote 18: '--the infusion of his soul into his body,' 'his soul's embodiment.' The _Sh. Lex._ explains _infusion_ as 'endowments, qualities,' and it may be right.] [Footnote 19: scarcity.] [Footnote 20: '--it alone can show his likeness.'] [Footnote 21: 'whoever would follow in his footsteps--copy him--is only his shadow.'] [Footnote 22: Here a pause, I think.] [Footnote 23: 'To the matter in hand!'--recalling the attention of Osricke to the purport of his visit.] [Footnote 24: 'why do we presume to talk about him with our less refined breath?'] [Footnote 25: The Courtier is now thoroughly bewildered.] [Footnote 26: 'Can you only _speak_ in another tongue? Is it not possible to _understand_ in it as well?'] [Footnote 27: 'It is your own fault; you _will_ court your fate! you _will_ go and be made a fool of!'] [Footnote 28: He catches at the word he understands. The actor must here supply the meaning, with the baffled, disconcerted look of a fool who has failed in the attempt to seem knowing.] [Footnote 29:--answering the Courtier.] [Footnote 30: He pauses, looking for some out-of-the-way mode wherein to continue. Hamlet takes him up.] [Footnote 31: 'your witness to my knowledge would not be of much avail.'] [Footnote 32: Paraphrase: 'for merely to know a man well, implies that you yourself _know_.' To know a man well, you must know his knowledge: a man, to judge his neighbour, must be at least his equal.] [Footnote 33: faculty attributed to him.] [Footnote 34: _Point thus_: 'laide on him by them, in his meed hee's unfellowed.' 'in his merit he is peerless.'] [Page 258] their assignes,[1] as Girdle, Hangers or so[2]: three of [Sidenote: hanger and so.] the Carriages infaith are very deare to fancy,[3] very responsiue[4] to the hilts, most delicate carriages and of very liberall conceit.[5] _Ham_. What call you the Carriages?[6] [A] _Osr_. The Carriages Sir, are the hangers. [Sidenote: _Cour_. The carriage] _Ham_. The phrase would bee more Germaine[7] to the matter: If we could carry Cannon by our sides; [Sidenote: carry a cannon] I would it might be Hangers till then; but on sixe [Sidenote: it be | then, but on, six] Barbary Horses against sixe French Swords: their Assignes, and three liberall conceited Carriages,[8] that's the French but against the Danish; why is [Sidenote: French bet] this impon'd as you call it[9]? [Sidenote: this all you[9]] _Osr_. The King Sir, hath laid that in a dozen [Sidenote: _Cour_. | layd sir, that] passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed [Sidenote: your selfe and him,] you three hits;[10] He hath one twelue for mine,[11] [Sidenote: hath layd on twelue for nine,] and that would come to imediate tryall, if your [Sidenote: and it would] Lordship would vouchsafe the Answere.[12] _Ham_. How if I answere no?[13] _Osr_. I meane my Lord,[14] the opposition of your [Sidenote: _Cour_.] person in tryall. _Ham_. Sir, I will walke heere in the Hall; if it please his Maiestie, 'tis the breathing time of day [Sidenote: it is] with me[15]; 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 [Sidenote: him and I | I will] my shame, and the odde hits.[16] _Osr_. Shall I redeliuer you ee'n so?[17] [Sidenote: _Cour_. Shall I deliuer you so?] _Ham_. To this effect Sir, after what flourish your nature will. _Osr_. I commend my duty to your Lordship. [Sidenote: _Cour_.] _Ham_. Yours, yours [18]: hee does well to commend [Sidenote: _Ham_. Yours doo's well[18]] it himselfe, there are no tongues else for's tongue, [Sidenote: turne.] [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto_:-- _Hora_. I knew you must be edified by the margent[19] ere you had done.] [Footnote 1: accompaniments or belongings; things _assigned_ to them.] [Footnote 2: the thongs or chains attaching the sheath of a weapon to the girdle; what the weapon _hangs_ by. The '_or so_' seems to indicate that Osricke regrets having used the old-fashioned word, which he immediately changes for _carriages_.] [Footnote 3: imagination, taste, the artistic faculty.] [Footnote 4: 'corresponding to--going well with the hilts,'--in shape, ornament, and colour.] [Footnote 5: bold invention.] [Footnote 6: a new word, unknown to Hamlet;--court-slang, to which he prefers the old-fashioned, homely word.] [Footnote 7: related; 'akin to the matter.'] [Footnote 8: He uses Osricke's words--with a touch of derision, I should say.] [Footnote 9: I do not take the _Quarto_ reading for incorrect. Hamlet says: 'why is this all----you call it --? --?' as if he wanted to use the word (_imponed_) which Osricke had used, but did not remember it: he asks for it, saying '_you call it_' interrogatively.] [Footnote 10: _1st Q_ that yong Leartes in twelue venies 223 At Rapier and Dagger do not get three oddes of you,] [Footnote 11: In all printer's work errors are apt to come in clusters.] [Footnote 12: the response, or acceptance of the challenge.] [Footnote 13: Hamlet plays with the word, pretending to take it in its common meaning.] [Footnote 14: 'By _answer_, I mean, my lord, the opposition &c.'] [Footnote 15: 'my time for exercise:' he treats the proposal as the trifle it seems--a casual affair to be settled at once--hoping perhaps that the king will come with like carelessness.] [Footnote 16: the _three_.] [Footnote 17: To Osricke the answer seems too direct and unadorned for ears royal.] [Footnote 18: I cannot help here preferring the _Q_. If we take the _Folio_ reading, we must take it thus: 'Yours! yours!' spoken with contempt;--'as if _you_ knew anything of duty!'--for we see from what follows that he is playing with the word _duty_. Or we might read it, 'Yours commends yours,' with the same sense as the reading of the _Q._, which is, 'Yours,' that is, '_Your_ lordship--does well to commend his duty himself--there is no one else to do it.' This former shape is simpler; that of the _Folio_ is burdened with ellipsis--loaded with lack. And surely _turne_ is the true reading!--though we may take the other to mean, 'there are no tongues else on the side of his tongue.'] [Footnote 19: --as of the Bible, for a second interpretative word or phrase.] [Page 260] _Hor_. This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.[1] [Sidenote: 98] _Ham_. He did Compile[2] with his Dugge before [Sidenote: _Ham_. A did sir[2] with] hee suck't it: thus had he and mine more of the [Sidenote: a suckt has he | many more] same Beauy[3] that I know the drossie age dotes [Sidenote: same breede] on; only got the tune[4] of the time, and outward [Sidenote: and out of an habit of[5]] habite of encounter,[5] a kinde of yesty collection, [Sidenote: histy] which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and doe but blow [Sidenote: prophane and trennowed opinions] them to their tryalls: the Bubbles are out.[6] [Sidenote: their triall, the] [A] _Hor_. You will lose this wager, my Lord. [Sidenote: loose my Lord.] _Ham_. I doe not thinke so, since he went into France, I haue beene in continuall practice; I shall [Sidenote: 265] winne at the oddes:[7] but thou wouldest not thinke [Sidenote: ods; thou] how all heere about my heart:[8] but it is no matter[9] [Sidenote: how ill all's heere] _Hor_. Nay, good my Lord. _Ham_. It is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of gain-giuing[10] as would perhaps trouble a woman, [Sidenote: gamgiuing.] _Hor_. If your minde dislike any thing, obey.[11] [Sidenote: obay it.] I will forestall[12] their repaire hither, and say you are not fit. _Ham_. Not a whit, we defie Augury[13]; there's a [Sidenote: there is speciall] [Sidenote: 24, 125, 247] speciall Prouidence in the fall of a sparrow.[14] If [Footnote A: _Here in the Quarto:--_ _Enter a Lord_.[15] _Lord_. My Lord, his Maiestie commended him to you by young Ostricke,[16] who brings backe to him that you attend him in the hall, he sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with _Laertes_, or that you will take longer time?[17] _Ham_. I am constant to my purposes, they followe the Kings pleasure, if his fitnes speakes, mine is ready[18]: now or whensoeuer, prouided I be so able as now. _Lord_. The King, and Queene, and all are comming downe. _Ham_. In happy time.[19] _Lord_. The Queene desires you to vse some gentle entertainment[20] _Laertes_, before you fall to play. _Ham_. Shee well instructs me.] [Footnote 1: 'Well, he _is_ a young one!'] [Footnote 2: '_Com'ply_,' with accent on first syllable: _comply with_ means _pay compliments to, compliment_. See _Q._ reading: 'A did sir with':--_sir_ here is a verb--_sir with_ means _say sir to_: 'he _sirred, complied_ with his nurse's breast before &c.' Hamlet speaks in mockery of the affected court-modes of speech and address, the fashion of euphuism--a mechanical attempt at the poetic.] [Footnote 3: _a flock of birds_--suggested by '_This Lapwing_.'] [Footnote 4: 'the mere mode.'] [Footnote 5: 'and external custom of intercourse.' But here too I rather take the _Q._ to be right: 'They have only got the fashion of the time; and, out of a habit of wordy conflict, (they have got) a collection of tricks of speech,--a yesty, frothy mass, with nothing in it, which carries them in triumph through the most foolish and fastidious (nice, choice, punctilious, whimsical) judgments.' _Yesty_ I take to be right, and _prophane_ (vulgar) to have been altered by the Poet to _fond_ (foolish); of _trennowed_ I can make nothing beyond a misprint.] [Footnote 6: Hamlet had just blown Osricke to his trial in his chosen kind, and the bubble had burst. The braggart gentleman had no faculty to generate after the dominant fashion, no invention to support his ambition--had but a yesty collection, which failing him the moment something unconventional was wanted, the fool had to look a discovered fool.] [Footnote 7: 'I shall win by the odds allowed me; he will not exceed me three hits.'] [Footnote 8: He has a presentiment of what is coming.] [Footnote 9: Nothing in this world is of much consequence to him now. Also, he believes in 'a special Providence.'] [Footnote 10: 'a yielding, a sinking' at the heart? The _Sh. Lex._ says _misgiving_.] [Footnote 11: 'obey the warning.'] [Footnote 12: 'go to them before they come here'--'_prevent_ their coming.'] [Footnote 13: The knowledge, even, of what is to come could never, any more than ordinary expediency, be the _law_ of a man's conduct. St. Paul, informed by the prophet Agabus of the troubles that awaited him at Jerusalem, and entreated by his friends not to go thither, believed the prophet, and went on to Jerusalem to be delivered into the hands of the Gentiles.] [Footnote 14: One of Shakspere's many allusions to sayings of the Lord.] [Footnote 15: Osricke does not come back: he has begged off but ventures later, under the wing of the king.] [Footnote 16: May not this form of the name suggest that in it is intended the 'foolish' ostrich?] [Footnote 17: The king is making delay: he has to have his 'union' ready.] [Footnote 18: 'if he feels ready, I am.'] [Footnote 19: 'They are _well-come_.'] [Footnote 20: 'to be polite to Laertes.' The print shows where _to_ has slipped out. The queen is anxious; she distrusts Laertes, and the king's influence over him.] [Page 262] it[1] be now, 'tis not to come: if it bee not to come, [Sidenote: be, tis] it will bee now: if it be not now; yet it will come; [Sidenote: it well come,] [Sidenote: 54, 164] the readinesse is all,[2] since no man ha's ought of [Sidenote: man of ought he leaues, knowes what ist to leaue betimes, let be.] [Sidenote: 252] what he leaues. What is't to leaue betimes?[3] _Enter King, Queene, Laertes and Lords, with other Attendants with Foyles, and Gauntlets, a Table and Flagons of Wine on it._ [Sidenote: _A table prepard, Trumpets, Drums and officers with cushion, King, Queene, and all the state, Foiles, Daggers, and Laertes._] _Kin_. Come _Hamlet_ come, and take this hand from me. [Sidenote: 245] _Ham_.[4] Giue me your pardon Sir, I'ue done you wrong,[5] [Sidenote: I haue] But pardon't as you are a Gentleman. This presence[6] knowes, And you must needs haue heard how I am punisht With sore distraction?[7] What I haue done [Sidenote: With a sore] That might your nature honour, and exception [Sidenote: 242, 252] Roughly awake,[8] heere proclaime was madnesse:[9] Was't _Hamlet_ wrong'd _Laertes_? Neuer _Hamlet_. If _Hamlet_ from himselfe be tane away: [Sidenote: fane away,] And when he's not himselfe, do's wrong _Laertes_, Then _Hamlet_ does it not, _Hamlet_ denies it:[10] Who does it then? His Madnesse? If't be so, _Hamlet_ is of the Faction that is wrong'd, His madnesse is poore _Hamlets_ Enemy.[11] Sir, in this Audience,[12] Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd euill,[13] Free me so farre[14] in your most generous thoughts, That I haue shot mine Arrow o're the house, [Sidenote: my] And hurt my Mother.[15] [Sidenote: brother.[15]] [Footnote 1: 'it'--death, the end.] [Footnote 2: His father had been taken unready. 54.] [Footnote 3: _Point_: 'all. Since'; 'leaves, what'--'Since no man has anything of what he has left, those who left it late are in the same position as those who left it early.' Compare the common saying, 'It will be all the same in a hundred years.' The _Q._ reading comes much to the same thing--'knows of ought he leaves'--'has any knowledge of it, anything to do with it, in any sense possesses it.' We may find a deeper meaning in the passage, however--surely not too deep for Shakspere:--'Since nothing can be truly said to be possessed as his own which a man must at one time or another yield; since that which is _own_ can never be taken from the owner, but solely that which is lent him; since the nature of a thing that has to be left is not such that it _could_ be possessed, why should a man mind parting with it early?'--There is far more in this than merely that at the end of the day it will be all the same. The thing that ever was really a man's own, God has given, and God will not, and man cannot, take away. Note the unity of religion and philosophy in Hamlet: he takes the one true position. Note also his courage: he has a strong presentiment of death, but will not turn a step from his way. If Death be coming, he will confront him. He does not believe in chance. He is ready--that is willing. All that is needful is, that he should not go as one who cannot help it, but as one who is for God's will, who chooses that will as his own. There is so much behind in Shakspere's characters--so much that can only be hinted at! The dramatist has not the _word_-scope of the novelist; his art gives him little _room_; he must effect in a phrase what the other may take pages to. He needs good seconding by his actors as sorely as the composer needs good rendering of his music by the orchestra. It is a lesson in unity that the greatest art can least work alone; that the greatest _finder_ most needs the help of others to show his _findings_. The dramatist has live men and women for the very instruments of his art--who must not be mere instruments, but fellow-workers; and upon them he is greatly dependent for final outcome. Here the actor should show a marked calmness and elevation in Hamlet. He should have around him as it were a luminous cloud, the cloud of his coming end. A smile not all of this world should close the speech. He has given himself up, and is at peace.] [Footnote 4: Note in this apology the sweetness of Hamlet's nature. How few are alive enough, that is unselfish and true enough, to be capable of genuine apology! The low nature always feels, not the wrong, but the confession of it, degrading.] [Footnote 5: --the wrong of his rudeness at the funeral.] [Footnote 6: all present.] [Footnote 7: --true in a deeper sense than they would understand.] [Footnote 8: 'that might roughly awake your nature, honour, and exception,':--consider the phrase--_to take exception at a thing_.] [Footnote 9: It was by cause of madness, not by cause of evil intent. For all purpose of excuse it was madness, if only pretended madness; it was there of another necessity, and excused offence like real madness. What he said was true, not merely expedient, to the end he meant it to serve. But all passion may be called madness, because therein the mind is absorbed with one idea; 'anger is a brief madness,' and he was in a 'towering passion': he proclaims it madness and so abjures it.] [Footnote 10: 'refuses the wrong altogether--will in his true self have nothing to do with it.' No evil thing comes of our true selves, and confession is the casting of it from us, the only true denial. He who will not confess a wrong, holds to the wrong.] [Footnote 11: All here depends on the expression in the utterance.] [Footnote 12: _This line not in Q._] [Footnote 13: This is Hamlet's summing up of the whole--his explanation of the speech.] [Footnote 14: 'so far as this in your generous judgment--that you regard me as having shot &c.'] [Footnote 15: _Brother_ is much easier to accept, though _Mother_ might be in the simile. To do justice to the speech we must remember that Hamlet has no quarrel whatever with Laertes, that he has expressed admiration of him, and that he is inclined to love him for Ophelia's sake. His apology has no reference to the fate of his father or his sister; Hamlet is not aware that Laertes associates him with either, and plainly the public did not know Hamlet killed Polonius; while Laertes could have no intention of alluding to the fact, seeing it would frustrate his scheme of treachery.] [Page 264] _Laer_. I am satisfied in Nature,[1] Whose motiue in this case should stirre me most To my Reuenge. But in my termes of Honor I stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement, Till by some elder Masters of knowne Honor, I haue a voyce, and president of peace To keepe my name vngorg'd.[2] But till that time, [Sidenote: To my name vngord: but all that] I do receiue your offer'd loue like loue, And wil not wrong it. _Ham_. I do embrace it freely, [Sidenote: I embrace] And will this Brothers wager frankely play. Giue vs the Foyles: Come on.[3] _Laer_. Come one for me.[4] _Ham_. Ile be your foile[5] _Laertes_, in mine ignorance, [Sidenote: 218] Your Skill shall like a Starre i'th'darkest night,[6] Sticke fiery off indeede. _Laer_. You mocke me Sir. _Ham_. No by this hand.[7] _King_. Giue them the Foyles yong _Osricke_,[8] [Sidenote: _Ostricke_,[8]] Cousen _Hamlet_, you know the wager. _Ham_. Verie well my Lord, Your Grace hath laide the oddes a'th'weaker side, [Sidenote: has] _King._ I do not feare it, I haue seene you both:[9] But since he is better'd, we haue therefore oddes.[10] [Sidenote: better, we] [Footnote 1: 'in my own feelings and person.' Laertes does not refer to his father or sister. He professes to be satisfied in his heart with Hamlet's apology for his behaviour at the funeral, but not to be sure whether in the opinion of others, and by the laws of honour, he can accept it as amends, and forbear to challenge him. But the words 'Whose motiue in this case should stirre me most to my Reuenge' may refer to his father and sister, and, if so taken, should be spoken aside. To accept apology for them and not for his honour would surely be too barefaced! The point concerning them has not been started. But why not receive the apology as quite satisfactory? That he would not seems to show a lingering regard to _real_ honour. A downright villain, like the king, would have pretended its _thorough_ acceptance--especially as they were just going to fence like friends; but he, as regards his honour, will not accept it until justified in doing so by the opinion of 'some elder masters,' receiving from them 'a voice and precedent of peace'--counsel to, and justification, or example of peace. He keeps the door of quarrel open--will not profess to be _altogether_ friends with him, though he does not hint at his real ground of offence: that mooted, the match of skill, with its immense advantages for villainy, would have been impossible. He means treachery all the time; careful of his honour, he can, like most apes of fashion, let his honesty go; still, so complex is human nature, he holds his speech declining thorough reconciliation as a shield to shelter his treachery from his own contempt: he has taken care not to profess absolute friendship, and so left room for absolute villainy! He has had regard to his word! Relieved perhaps by the demoniacal quibble, he follows it immediately with an utterance of full-blown perfidy.] [Footnote 2: Perhaps _ungorg'd_ might mean _unthrottled_.] [Footnote 3: 'Come on' _is not in the Q._--I suspect this _Come on_ but a misplaced shadow from the '_Come one_' immediately below, and better omitted. Hamlet could not say '_Come on_' before Laertes was ready, and '_Come one_' after 'Give us the foils,' would be very awkward. But it may be said to the attendant courtiers.] [Footnote 4: He says this while Hamlet is still choosing, in order that a second bundle of foils, in which is the unbated and poisoned one, may be brought him. So 'generous and free from all contriving' is Hamlet, (220) that, even with the presentiment in his heart, he has no fear of treachery.] [Footnote 5: As persons of the drama, the Poet means Laertes to be foil to Hamlet.--With the play upon the word before us, we can hardly help thinking of the _third_ signification of the word _foil_.] [Footnote 6: 'My ignorance will be the foil of darkest night to the burning star of your skill.' This is no flattery; Hamlet believes Laertes, to whose praises he has listened (218)--though not with the envy his uncle attributes to him--the better fencer: he expects to win only 'at the odds.' 260.] [Footnote 7: --not '_by these pickers and stealers_,' his oath to his false friends. 154.] [Footnote 8: Plainly a favourite with the king.--He is _Ostricke_ always in the _Q_.] [Footnote 9: 'seen you both play'--though not together.] [Footnote 10: _Point thus_: I do not fear it--I have seen you both! But since, he is bettered: we have therefore odds. 'Since'--'_since the time I saw him_.'] [Page 266] _Laer_. This is too heauy, Let me see another.[1] _Ham_. This likes me well, These Foyles haue all a length.[2] _Prepare to play._[3] _Osricke_. I my good Lord. [Sidenote: _Ostr._] _King_. Set me the Stopes of wine vpon that Table: If _Hamlet_ giue the first, or second hit, Or quit in answer of the third exchange,[4] Let all the Battlements their Ordinance fire, [Sidenote: 268] The King shal drinke to _Hamlets_ better breath, And in the Cup an vnion[5] shal he throw [Sidenote: an Vince] Richer then that,[6] which foure successiue Kings In Denmarkes Crowne haue worne. Giue me the Cups, And let the Kettle to the Trumpets speake, [Sidenote: trumpet] The Trumpet to the Cannoneer without, The Cannons to the Heauens, the Heauen to Earth, Now the King drinkes to _Hamlet_. Come, begin, [Sidenote: _Trumpets the while._] And you the Iudges[7] beare a wary eye. _Ham_. Come on sir. _Laer_. Come on sir. _They play._[8] [Sidenote: Come my Lord.] _Ham_. One. _Laer_. No. _Ham_. Iudgement.[9] _Osr_. A hit, a very palpable hit. [Sidenote: _Ostrick._] _Laer_. Well: againe. [Sidenote: _Drum, trumpets and a shot. Florish, a peece goes off._] _King_. Stay, giue me drinke. _Hamlet_, this Pearle is thine, Here's to thy health. Giue him the cup,[10] _Trumpets sound, and shot goes off._[11] _Ham_. Ile play this bout first, set by a-while.[12] [Sidenote: set it by] Come: Another hit; what say you? _Laer_. A touch, a touch, I do confesse.[13] [Sidenote: _Laer_. | doe confest.] _King_. Our Sonne shall win. [Footnote 1: --to make it look as if he were choosing.] [Footnote 2: --asked in an offhand way. The fencers must not measure weapons, because how then could the unbated point escape discovery? It is quite like Hamlet to take even Osricke's word for their equal length.] [Footnote 3: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 4: 'or be quits with Laertes the third bout':--in any case, whatever the probabilities, even if Hamlet be wounded, the king, who has not perfect confidence in the 'unction,' will fall back on his second line of ambush--in which he has more trust: he will drink to Hamlet, when Hamlet will be bound to drink also.] [Footnote 5: The Latin _unio_ was a large pearl. The king's _union_ I take to be poison made up like a pearl.] [Footnote 6: --a well-known one in the crown.] [Footnote 7: --of whom Osricke was one.] [Footnote 8: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 9: --appealing to the judges.] [Footnote 10: He throws in the _pearl_, and drinks--for it will take some moments to dissolve and make the wine poisonous--then sends the cup to Hamlet.] [Footnote 11: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 12: He does not refuse to drink, but puts it by, neither showing nor entertaining suspicion, fearing only the effect of the draught on his play. He is bent on winning the wager--perhaps with further intent.] [Footnote 13: Laertes has little interest in the match, but much in his own play.] [Page 268] [Sidenote: 266] _Qu_. He's fat, and scant of breath.[1] Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes, [Sidenote: Heere _Hamlet_ take my napkin] The Queene Carowses to thy fortune, _Hamlet_. _Ham_. Good Madam.[2] _King_. _Gertrude_, do not drinke. _Qu_. I will my Lord; I pray you pardon me.[3] [Sidenote: 222]_King_. It is the poyson'd Cup, it is too late.[4] _Ham_. I dare not drinke yet Madam, By and by.[5] _Qu_. Come, let me wipe thy face.[6] _Laer_. My Lord, Ile hit him now. _King_. I do not thinke't. _Laer_. And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.[7] [Sidenote: it is | against] _Ham_. Come for the third. _Laertes_, you but dally, [Sidenote: you doe but] I pray you passe with your best violence, I am affear'd you make a wanton of me.[8] [Sidenote: I am sure you] _Laer_. Say you so? Come on. _Play._ _Osr_. Nothing neither way. [Sidenote: _Ostr._] _Laer_. Haue at you now.[9] _In scuffling they change Rapiers._[10] _King_. Part them, they are incens'd.[11] _Ham_. Nay come, againe.[12] _Osr_. Looke to the Queene there hoa. [Sidenote: _Ostr._ | there howe.] _Hor_. They bleed on both sides. How is't my [Sidenote: is it] Lord? _Osr_. How is't _Laertes_? [Sidenote: _Ostr._] _Laer_. Why as a Woodcocke[13] To mine Sprindge, _Osricke_, [Sidenote: mine owne sprindge _Ostrick_,] I am iustly kill'd with mine owne Treacherie.[14] _Ham_. How does the Queene? _King_. She sounds[15] to see them bleede. _Qu_. No, no, the drinke, the drinke[16] [Footnote 1: She is anxious about him. It may be that this speech, and that of the king before (266), were fitted to the person of the actor who first represented Hamlet.] [Footnote 2: --a simple acknowledgment of her politeness: he can no more be familiarly loving with his mother.] [Footnote 3: She drinks, and offers the cup to Hamlet.] [Footnote 4: He is too much afraid of exposing his villainy to be prompt enough to prevent her.] [Footnote 5: This is not meant by the Poet to show suspicion: he does not mean Hamlet to die so.] [Footnote 6: The actor should not allow her: she approaches Hamlet; he recoils a little.] [Footnote 7: He has compunctions, but it needs failure to make them potent.] [Footnote 8: 'treat me as an effeminate creature.'] [Footnote 9: He makes a sudden attack, without warning of the fourth bout.] [Footnote 10: _Not in Q._ The 1st Q. directs:--_They catch one anothers Rapiers, find both are wounded_, &c. The thing, as I understand it, goes thus: With the words 'Have at you now!' Laertes stabs Hamlet; Hamlet, apprised thus of his treachery, lays hold of his rapier, wrenches it from him, and stabs him with it in return.] [Footnote 11: 'they have lost their temper.'] [Footnote 12: --said with indignation and scorn, but without suspicion of the worst.] [Footnote 13: --the proverbially foolish bird. The speech must be spoken with breaks. Its construction is broken.] [Footnote 14: His conscience starts up, awake and strong, at the approach of Death. As the show of the world withdraws, the realities assert themselves. He repents, and makes confession of his sin, seeing it now in its true nature, and calling it by its own name. It is a compensation of the weakness of some that they cannot be strong in wickedness. The king did not so repent, and with his strength was the more to blame.] [Footnote 15: _swounds, swoons_.] [Footnote 16: She is true to her son. The maternal outlasts the adulterous.] [Page 270] Oh my deere _Hamlet_, the drinke, the drinke, I am poyson'd. _Ham_. Oh Villany! How? Let the doore be lock'd. Treacherie, seeke it out.[1] _Laer_. It is heere _Hamlet_.[2] _Hamlet_,[3] thou art slaine, No Medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee, there is not halfe an houre of life; [Sidenote: houres life,] The Treacherous Instrument is in thy hand, [Sidenote: in my] Vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practise[4] Hath turn'd it selfe on me. Loe, heere I lye, Neuer to rise againe: Thy Mothers poyson'd: I can no more, the King, the King's too blame.[5] _Ham_. The point envenom'd too, Then venome to thy worke.[6] _Hurts the King._[7] _All_. Treason, Treason. _King_. O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt. _Ham_. Heere thou incestuous, murdrous, [Sidenote: Heare thou incestious damned Dane,] Damned Dane, Drinke off this Potion: Is thy Vnion heere? [Sidenote: of this | is the Onixe heere?] Follow my Mother.[8] _King Dyes._[9] _Laer_. He is iustly seru'd. It is a poyson temp'red by himselfe: Exchange forgiuenesse with me, Noble _Hamlet_; Mine and my Fathers death come not vpon thee, Nor thine on me.[10] _Dyes._[11] _Ham_. Heauen make thee free of it,[12] I follow thee. I am dead _Horatio_, wretched Queene adiew. You that looke pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes[13] or audience to this acte: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is strick'd in his Arrest) oh I could tell you. [Sidenote: strict] [Footnote 1: The thing must be ended now. The door must be locked, to keep all in that are in, and all out that are out. Then he can do as he will.] [Footnote 2: --laying his hand on his heart, I think.] [Footnote 3: In Q. _Hamlet_ only once.] [Footnote 4: _scheme, artifice, deceitful contrivance_; in modern slang, _dodge_.] [Footnote 5: He turns on the prompter of his sin--crowning the justice of the king's capital punishment.] [Footnote 6: _Point_: 'too!' _1st Q._ Then venome to thy venome, die damn'd villaine.] [Footnote 7: _Not in Quarto._ The true moment, now only, has at last come. Hamlet has lived to do his duty with a clear conscience, and is thereupon permitted to go. The man who asks whether this be poetic justice or no, is unworthy of an answer. 'The Tragedie of Hamlet' is _The Drama of Moral Perplexity_.] [Footnote 8: A grim play on the word _Union: 'follow my mother_'. It suggests a terrible meeting below.] [Footnote 9: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 10: His better nature triumphs. The moment he was wounded, knowing he must die, he began to change. Defeat is a mighty aid to repentance; and processes grow rapid in the presence of Death: he forgives and desires forgiveness.] [Footnote 11: _Not in Quarto._] [Footnote 12: Note how heartily Hamlet pardons the wrong done to himself--the only wrong of course which a man has to pardon.] [Footnote 13: _supernumeraries_. Note the other figures too--_audience, act_--all of the theatre.] [Page 272] But let it be: _Horatio_, I am dead, Thou liu'st, report me and my causes right [Sidenote: cause a right] To the vnsatisfied.[1] _Hor_. Neuer beleeue it. [Sidenote: 134] I am more an Antike Roman then a Dane: [Sidenote: 135] Heere's yet some Liquor left.[2] _Ham_. As th'art a man, giue me the Cup. Let go, by Heauen Ile haue't. [Sidenote: hate,] [Sidenote: 114, 251] Oh good _Horatio_, what a wounded name,[3] [Sidenote: O god _Horatio_,] (Things standing thus vnknowne) shall liue behind me. [Sidenote: shall I leaue behind me?] If thou did'st euer hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicitie awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine,[1] [Sidenote: _A march a farre off._] To tell my Storie.[4] _March afarre off, and shout within._[5] What warlike noyse is this? _Enter Osricke._ _Osr_. Yong _Fortinbras_, with conquest come from Poland To th'Ambassadors of England giues this warlike volly.[6] _Ham_. O I dye _Horatio_: The potent poyson quite ore-crowes my spirit, I cannot liue to heare the Newes from England, [Sidenote: 62] But I do prophesie[7] th'election lights [Sidenote: 276] On _Fortinbras_, he ha's my dying voyce,[8] So tell him with the occurrents more and lesse,[9] [Sidenote: th'] Which haue solicited.[10] The rest is silence. O, o, o, o.[11] _Dyes_[12] _Hora_. Now cracke a Noble heart: [Sidenote: cracks a] Goodnight sweet Prince, And flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest, Why do's the Drumme come hither? [Footnote 1: His care over his reputation with the people is princely, and casts a true light on his delay. No good man can be willing to seem bad, except the _being good_ necessitates it. A man must be willing to appear a villain if that is the consequence of being a true man, but he cannot be indifferent to that appearance. He cannot be indifferent to wearing the look of the thing he hates. Hamlet, that he may be understood by the nation, makes, with noble confidence in his friendship, the large demand on Horatio, to live and suffer for his sake.] [Footnote 2: Here first we see plainly the love of Horatio for Hamlet: here first is Hamlet's judgment of Horatio (134) justified.] [Footnote 3: --for having killed his uncle:--what, then, if he had slain him at once?] [Footnote 4: Horatio must be represented as here giving sign of assent. _1st Q._ _Ham_. Vpon my loue I charge thee let it goe, O fie _Horatio_, and if thou shouldst die, What a scandale wouldst thou leaue behinde? What tongue should tell the story of our deaths, If not from thee?] [Footnote 5: _Not in Q._] [Footnote 6: The frame is closing round the picture. 9.] [Footnote 7: Shakspere more than once or twice makes the dying prophesy.] [Footnote 8: His last thought is for his country; his last effort at utterance goes to prevent a disputed succession.] [Footnote 9: 'greater and less'--as in the psalm, 'The Lord preserves all, more and less, That bear to him a loving heart.'] [Footnote 10: led to the necessity.] [Footnote 11: _These interjections are not in the Quarto._] [Footnote 12: _Not in Q._ All Shakspere's tragedies suggest that no action ever ends, only goes off the stage of the world on to another.] [Page 274] [Sidenote: 190] _Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassador, with_ [Sidenote: _Enter Fortenbrasse, with the Embassadors._] _Drumme, Colours, and Attendants._ _Fortin_. Where is this sight? _Hor_. What is it ye would see; [Sidenote: you] If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search.[1] _For_. His quarry[2] cries on hauocke.[3] Oh proud death, [Sidenote: This quarry] What feast is toward[4] in thine eternall Cell. That thou so many Princes, at a shoote, [Sidenote: shot] So bloodily hast strooke.[5] _Amb_. The sight is dismall, And our affaires from England come too late, The eares are senselesse that should giue vs hearing,[6] To tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd, That _Rosincrance_ and _Guildensterne_ are dead: Where should we haue our thankes?[7] _Hor_. Not from his mouth,[8] Had it[9] th'abilitie of life to thanke you: He neuer gaue command'ment for their death. [Sidenote: 6] But since so iumpe[10] vpon this bloodie question,[11] You from the Polake warres, and you from England Are heere arriued. Giue order[12] that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view, And let me speake to th'yet vnknowing world, [Sidenote: , to yet] How these things came about. So shall you heare Of carnall, bloudie, and vnnaturall acts,[13] Of accidentall Judgements,[14] casuall slaughters[15] Of death's put on by cunning[16] and forc'd cause,[17] [Sidenote: deaths | and for no cause] And in this vpshot, purposes mistooke,[18] Falne on the Inuentors heads. All this can I [Sidenote: th'] Truly deliuer. _For_. Let vs hast to heare it, And call the Noblest to the Audience. For me, with sorrow, I embrace my Fortune, I haue some Rites of memory[19] in this Kingdome, [Sidenote: rights of[19]] [Footnote 1: --for here it is.] [Footnote 2: the heap of game after a hunt.] [Footnote 3: 'Havoc's victims cry out against him.'] [Footnote 4: in preparation.] [Footnote 5: All the real actors in the tragedy, except Horatio, are dead.] [Footnote 6: This line may be taken as a parenthesis; then--'come too late' joins itself with 'to tell him.' Or we may connect 'hearing' with 'to tell him':--'the ears that should give us hearing in order that we might tell him' etc.] [Footnote 7: They thus inquire after the successor of Claudius.] [Footnote 8: --the mouth of Claudius.] [Footnote 9: --even if it had.] [Footnote 10: 'so exactly,' or 'immediately'--perhaps _opportunely--fittingly_.] [Footnote 11: dispute, strife.] [Footnote 12: --addressed to Fortinbras, I should say. The state is disrupt, the household in disorder; there is no head; Horatio turns therefore to Fortinbras, who, besides having a claim to the crown, and being favoured by Hamlet, alone has power at the moment--for his army is with him.] [Footnote 13: --those of Claudius.] [Footnote 14: 'just judgments brought about by accident'--as in the case of all slain except the king, whose judgment was not accidental, and Hamlet, whose death was not a judgment.] [Footnote 15: --those of the queen, Polonius, and Ophelia.] [Footnote 16: 'put on,' _indued_, 'brought on themselves'--those of Rosincrance, Guildensterne, and Laertes.] [Footnote 17: --those of the king and Polonius.] [Footnote 18: 'and in this result'--_pointing to the bodies_--'purposes which have mistaken their way, and fallen on the inventors' heads.' _I am mistaken_ or _mistook_, means _I have mistaken_; 'purposes mistooke'--_purposes in themselves mistaken_:--that of Laertes, which came back on himself; and that of the king in the matter of the poison, which, by falling on the queen, also came back on the inventor.] [Footnote 19: The _Quarto_ is correct here, I think: '_rights of the past_'--'claims of descent.' Or 'rights of memory' might mean--'_rights yet remembered_.' Fortinbras is not one to miss a chance: even in this shadowy 'person,' character is recognizably maintained.] [Page 276] Which are to claime,[1] my vantage doth [Sidenote: Which now to clame] Inuite me, _Hor_. Of that I shall haue alwayes[2] cause to speake, [Sidenote: haue also cause[3]] And from his mouth [Sidenote: 272] Whose voyce will draw on more:[3] [Sidenote: drawe no more,] But let this same be presently perform'd, Euen whiles mens mindes are wilde, [Sidenote: while] Lest more mischance On plots, and errors happen.[4] _For_. Let foure Captaines Beare _Hamlet_ like a Soldier to the Stage, For he was likely, had he beene put on[5] To haue prou'd most royally:[6] [Sidenote: royall;] And for his passage,[7] The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre[8] [Sidenote: right of] Speake[9] lowdly for him. Take vp the body; Such a sight as this [Sidenote: bodies,] Becomes the Field, but heere shewes much amis. Go, bid the Souldiers shoote.[10] _Exeunt Marching: after the which, a Peale_ [Sidenote: _Exeunt._] _of Ordenance are shot off._ FINIS. [Footnote 1: 'which must now be claimed'--except the _Quarto_ be right here also.] [Footnote 2: The _Quarto_ surely is right here.] [Footnote 3: --Hamlet's mouth. The message he entrusted to Horatio for Fortinbras, giving his voice, or vote, for him, was sure to 'draw on more' voices.] [Footnote 4: 'lest more mischance happen in like manner, through plots and mistakes.'] [Footnote 5: 'had he been put forward'--_had occasion sent him out_.] [Footnote 6: 'to have proved a most royal soldier:'--A soldier gives here his testimony to Hamlet's likelihood in the soldier's calling. Note the kind of regard in which the Poet would show him held.] [Footnote 7: --the passage of his spirit to its place.] [Footnote 8: --military mourning or funeral rites.] [Footnote 9: _imperative mood_: 'let the soldier's music and the rites of war speak loudly for him.' 'Go, bid the souldiers shoote,' with which the drama closes, is a more definite initiatory order to the same effect.] [Footnote 10: The end is a half-line after a riming couplet--as if there were more to come--as there must be after every tragedy. Mere poetic justice will not satisfy Shakspere in a tragedy, for tragedy is _life_; in a comedy it may do well enough, for that deals but with life-surfaces--and who then more careful of it! but in tragedy something far higher ought to be aimed at. The end of this drama is reached when Hamlet, having attained the possibility of doing so, performs his work _in righteousness_. The common critical mind would have him left the fatherless, motherless, loverless, almost friendless king of a justifiably distrusting nation--with an eternal grief for his father weighing him down to the abyss; with his mother's sin blackening for him all womankind, and blasting the face of both heaven and earth; and with the knowledge in his heart that he had sent the woman he loved, with her father and her brother, out of the world--maniac, spy, and traitor. Instead of according him such 'poetic justice,' the Poet gives Hamlet the only true success of doing his duty to the end--for it was as much his duty not to act before, as it was his duty to act at last--then sends him after his Ophelia--into a world where true heart will find true way of setting right what is wrong, and of atoning for every ill, wittingly or unwittingly done or occasioned in this. It seems to me most admirable that Hamlet, being so great, is yet outwardly so like other people: the Poet never obtrudes his greatness. And just because he is modest, confessing weakness and perplexity, small people take him for yet smaller than themselves who never confess anything, and seldom feel anything amiss with them. Such will adduce even Hamlet's disparagement of himself to Ophelia when overwhelmed with a sense of human worthlessness (126), as proof that he was no hero! They call it weakness that he would not, foolishly and selfishly, make good his succession against the king, regardless of the law of election, and careless of the weal of the kingdom for which he shows himself so anxious even in the throes of death! To my mind he is the grandest hero in fiction--absolutely human--so troubled, yet so true!]