The glass of fashion, and the mould* of form,
The observ'd of all observers! quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh:
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy.†

HAMLET'S INSTRUCTIONS TO THE PLAYERS.

Speak the speech, I pray yo, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus: but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may sav) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends nie to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for out-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod.§ Pray you, avoid it.

Play. I warrant your honour.

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off *The model by whom all endeavoured to form thêm selves. † Alienation of mind.

The meaner people then seem to have sat in the pit. & Herod's character was always violent. Impression, resemblance.

though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one, must in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play, -and heard others praise, and that highly,-not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abom nably.

Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently with us.

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And, let those that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them, for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though in the meantime, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous; and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.

ON FLATTERY, AND AN EVEN-MINDED MAN.

Nay, do not think I flatter:

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the

flatter'd?

poor

be

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant‡ hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,

And could of men distinguish her election,

She 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

Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blessed are those Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 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.

MIDNIGHT.

'Tis now the very witching time of night;

When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this worid: Now could I drink hot

blood,

And do such business as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my
O, heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

mother.

THE KING'S ESPAIRING SOLILOQUY, AND HAMLET'S

REFLECTIONS ON HIM.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder!-Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens,
l'o wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,-
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,

Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself.

Buys out the law: But 'tis not so above:
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can: What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom, black as death!
O limid* soul; that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help angels, make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of
steel;

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe;

All may be well!

[Retires and kneels

Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't; and so he goes to heaven:
And so am I reveng'd? That would be scann'd:†
A villain kills my father; and, for that,

I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.

Why, this is hire and salary,§ not revenge.
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?
But, in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him: And am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
No.

Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:[]
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage;
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed;
At gaming, swearing; or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't:

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven:
And that his soul may be as damn’d, and black,
As hell, whereto it goes.

*Caught as with bird-lime.

+ Should be considered.

§ Reward.

+ Only.

Se.ze him at a more horrid time.

HAMLET AND HIS MOTHER.

Queen. What have I done, thou dar'st wag thy

tongue

In noise so rude ag、inst me?

Such an act,

Ham.
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction* plucks
The very soul; and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heav'n's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristfult-visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.

Queen.
Ah me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?t
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow:
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself:
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:

This was your husband.-Look you now, what follows:

Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, 'tis humble,
And waits upon the judgment: And what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense,** sure you have,
† Sorrowful.

* Marriage contract.

Index of contents prefixed to a book.

§ Apollo's. The act of standing. T To grow fat. **Sensation.