Part 14 (1/2)

P. Queen.

Sleep rock thy brain, And never come mischance between us twain!

[Exit.]

Ham.

Madam, how like you this play?

Queen.

The lady protests too much, methinks.

Ham.

O, but she'll keep her word.

King.

Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Ham.

No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world.

King.

What do you call the play?

Ham.

The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what o' that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the gall'd jade wince; our withers are unwrung.

[Enter Lucia.n.u.s.]

This is one Lucia.n.u.s, nephew to the King.

Oph.

You are a good chorus, my lord.

Ham.

I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.

Oph.

You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham.

It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

Oph.

Still better, and worse.

Ham.

So you must take your husbands.--Begin, murderer; pox, leave thy d.a.m.nable faces, and begin. Come:--'The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.'

Luc.

Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears.]

Ham.

He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian; you shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph.

The King rises.

Ham.

What, frighted with false fire!

Queen.

How fares my lord?

Pol.

Give o'er the play.

King.

Give me some light:--away!

All.

Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.]

Ham.

Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep: So runs the world away.-- Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers--if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,--with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellows.h.i.+p in a cry of players, sir?