Part 2 (1/2)

[Exeunt all but Hamlet.]

Ham.

O that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O G.o.d! O G.o.d!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!

Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appet.i.te had grown By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,-- Let me not think on't,--Frailty, thy name is woman!-- A little month; or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's body Like Niobe, all tears;--why she, even she,-- O G.o.d! 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; Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flus.h.i.+ng in her galled eyes, She married:-- O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to good; But break my heart,--for I must hold my tongue!

[Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.]

Hor.

Hail to your lords.h.i.+p!

Ham.

I am glad to see you well: Horatio,--or I do forget myself.

Hor.

The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham.

Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?-- Marcellus?

Mar.

My good lord,-- Ham.

I am very glad to see you.--Good even, sir.-- But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor.

A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham.

I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall you do my ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself: I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor.

My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham.

I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor.

Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.

Ham.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!-- My father,--methinks I see my father.

Hor.

Where, my lord?

Ham.

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor.

I saw him once; he was a goodly king.

Ham.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor.

My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham.

Saw who?

Hor.

My lord, the king your father.