Chapter: Act II. Scene I.
Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.

Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.

  Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.
  Rey. I will, my lord.
  Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,
    Before You visit him, to make inquire
    Of his behaviour.
  Rey. My lord, I did intend it.
  Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,
    Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
    And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
    What company, at what expense; and finding
    By this encompassment and drift of question
    That they do know my son, come you more nearer
    Than your particular demands will touch it.
    Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
    As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,
    And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?
  Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.
  Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.
    But if't be he I mean, he's very wild
    Addicted so and so'; and there put on him
    What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
    As may dishonour him- take heed of that;
    But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips
    As are companions noted and most known
    To youth and liberty.
  Rey. As gaming, my lord.
  Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,
    Drabbing. You may go so far.
  Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.
  Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.
    You must not put another scandal on him,
    That he is open to incontinency.
    That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly
    That they may seem the taints of liberty,
    The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
    A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
    Of general assault.
  Rey. But, my good lord-
  Pol. Wherefore should you do this?
  Rey. Ay, my lord,
    I would know that.
  Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,
    And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.
    You laying these slight sullies on my son
    As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,
    Mark you,
    Your party in converse, him you would sound,
    Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
    The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd
    He closes with you in this consequence:
    'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'-
    According to the phrase or the addition
    Of man and country-
  Rey. Very good, my lord.
  Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to
say?
    By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave?
  Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and
    gentleman.'
  Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'- Ay, marry!
    He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman.
    I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,
    Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say,
    There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;
    There falling out at tennis'; or perchance,
    'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'
    Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.
    See you now-
    Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;
    And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
    With windlasses and with assays of bias,
    By indirections find directions out.
    So, by my former lecture and advice,
    Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?
  Rey. My lord, I have.
  Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well!
  Rey. Good my lord!                                    [Going.]
  Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.
  Rey. I shall, my lord.
  Pol. And let him ply his music.
  Rey. Well, my lord.
  Pol. Farewell!
                                                  Exit Reynaldo.

                       Enter Ophelia.

    How now, Ophelia? What's the matter?
  Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
  Pol. With what, i' th' name of God?
  Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
    Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,
    No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,
    Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;
    Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
    And with a look so piteous in purport
    As if he had been loosed out of hell
    To speak of horrors- he comes before me.
  Pol. Mad for thy love?
  Oph. My lord, I do not know,
    But truly I do fear it.
  Pol. What said he?
  Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
    Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
    And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
    He falls to such perusal of my face
    As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.
    At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
    And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
    He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
    As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
    And end his being. That done, he lets me go,
    And with his head over his shoulder turn'd
    He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,
    For out o' doors he went without their help
    And to the last bended their light on me.
  Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.
    This is the very ecstasy of love,
    Whose violent property fordoes itself
    And leads the will to desperate undertakings
    As oft as any passion under heaven
    That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
    What, have you given him any hard words of late?
  Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
    I did repel his letters and denied
    His access to me.
  Pol. That hath made him mad.
    I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
    I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle
    And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy!
    By heaven, it is as proper to our age
    To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
    As it is common for the younger sort
    To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.
    This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
    More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
    Come.
                                                         Exeunt.


Scene II.
Elsinore. A room in the Castle.

Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
cum aliis.

  King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
    Moreover that we much did long to see you,
    The need we have to use you did provoke
    Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
    Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it,
    Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man
    Resembles that it was. What it should be,
    More than his father's death, that thus hath put him
    So much from th' understanding of himself,
    I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
    That, being of so young days brought up with him,
    And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour,
    That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
    Some little time; so by your companies
    To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather
    So much as from occasion you may glean,
    Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus
    That, open'd, lies within our remedy.
  Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you,
    And sure I am two men there are not living
    To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
    To show us so much gentry and good will
    As to expend your time with us awhile
    For the supply and profit of our hope,
    Your visitation shall receive such thanks
    As fits a king's remembrance.
  Ros. Both your Majesties
    Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
    Put your dread pleasures more into command
    Than to entreaty.
  Guil. But we both obey,
    And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
    To lay our service freely at your feet,
    To be commanded.
  King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
  Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.
    And I beseech you instantly to visit
    My too much changed son.- Go, some of you,
    And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
  Guil. Heavens make our presence and our practices
    Pleasant and helpful to him!
  Queen. Ay, amen!
                 Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, [with some
                                                    Attendants].

                         Enter Polonius.

  Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
    Are joyfully return'd.
  King. Thou still hast been the father of good news.
  Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
    I hold my duty as I hold my soul,
    Both to my God and to my gracious king;
    And I do think- or else this brain of mine
    Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
    As it hath us'd to do- that I have found
    The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
  King. O, speak of that! That do I long to hear.
  Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors.
    My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
  King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
                                                [Exit Polonius.]
    He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
    The head and source of all your son's distemper.
  Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main,
    His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.
  King. Well, we shall sift him.

              Enter Polonius, Voltemand, and Cornelius.

    Welcome, my good friends.
    Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?
  Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires.
    Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
    His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd
    To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack,
    But better look'd into, he truly found
    It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd,
    That so his sickness, age, and impotence
    Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
    On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,
    Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine,
    Makes vow before his uncle never more
    To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.
    Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
    Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee
    And his commission to employ those soldiers,
    So levied as before, against the Polack;
    With an entreaty, herein further shown,
                                                [Gives a paper.]
    That it might please you to give quiet pass
    Through your dominions for this enterprise,
    On such regards of safety and allowance
    As therein are set down.
  King. It likes us well;
    And at our more consider'd time we'll read,
    Answer, and think upon this business.
    Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.
    Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together.
    Most welcome home!                       Exeunt Ambassadors.
  Pol. This business is well ended.
    My liege, and madam, to expostulate
    What majesty should be, what duty is,
    Why day is day, night is night, and time is time.
    Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
    Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
    And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
    I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
    Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
    What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
    But let that go.
  Queen. More matter, with less art.
  Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
    That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;
    And pity 'tis 'tis true. A foolish figure!
    But farewell it, for I will use no art.
    Mad let us grant him then. And now remains
    That we find out the cause of this effect-
    Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
    For this effect defective comes by cause.
    Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
    Perpend.
    I have a daughter (have while she is mine),
    Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
    Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
                                             [Reads] the letter.
    'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified
      Ophelia,'-

    That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile
      phrase.
    But you shall hear. Thus:
                                                        [Reads.]
    'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.'
  Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?
  Pol. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful.     [Reads.]


          'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
            Doubt that the sun doth move;
          Doubt truth to be a liar;
            But never doubt I love.
      'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art
to
    reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best,
believe
    it. Adieu.
      'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to
him,

HAMLET.'

    This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me;
    And more above, hath his solicitings,
    As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
    All given to mine ear.
  King. But how hath she
    Receiv'd his love?
  Pol. What do you think of me?
  King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
  Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
    When I had seen this hot love on the wing
    (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
    Before my daughter told me), what might you,
    Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think,
    If I had play'd the desk or table book,
    Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,
    Or look'd upon this love with idle sight?
    What might you think? No, I went round to work
    And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
    'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star.
    This must not be.' And then I prescripts gave her,
    That she should lock herself from his resort,
    Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
    Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
    And he, repulsed, a short tale to make,
    Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
    Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
    Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
    Into the madness wherein now he raves,
    And all we mourn for.
  King. Do you think 'tis this?
  Queen. it may be, very like.
  Pol. Hath there been such a time- I would fain know that-
    That I have Positively said ''Tis so,'
    When it prov'd otherwise.?
  King. Not that I know.
  Pol. [points to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if
this
      be otherwise.
    If circumstances lead me, I will find
    Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
    Within the centre.
  King. How may we try it further?
  Pol. You know sometimes he walks for hours together
    Here in the lobby.
  Queen. So he does indeed.
  Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him.
    Be you and I behind an arras then.
    Mark the encounter. If he love her not,
    And he not from his reason fall'n thereon
    Let me be no assistant for a state,
    But keep a farm and carters.
  King. We will try it.

                 Enter Hamlet, reading on a book.

  Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
  Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away
    I'll board him presently. O, give me leave.
                       Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants].
    How does my good Lord Hamlet?
  Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.
  Pol. Do you know me, my lord?
  Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
  Pol. Not I, my lord.
  Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
  Pol. Honest, my lord?
  Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one
man
    pick'd out of ten thousand.
  Pol. That's very true, my lord.
  Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god
    kissing carrion- Have you a daughter?
  Pol. I have, my lord.
  Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but
not
    as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.
  Pol. [aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter.
Yet
    he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He is
far
    gone, far gone! And truly in my youth I suff'red much
extremity
    for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do
you
    read, my lord?
  Ham. Words, words, words.
  Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
  Ham. Between who?
  Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
  Ham. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here 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. All
which,
    sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I
hold it
    not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir,
    should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward.

  Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a method
in't.-
   Will You walk out of the air, my lord?
  Ham. Into my grave?
  Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' air. [Aside] How pregnant
sometimes
    his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on,
which
    reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of.
I
    will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting
between
    him and my daughter.- My honourable lord, I will most humbly
take
    my leave of you.
  Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more
    willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except
my
    life,

                    Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

  Pol. Fare you well, my lord.
  Ham. These tedious old fools!
  Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is.
  Ros. [to Polonius] God save you, sir!
                                                Exit [Polonius].

  Guil. My honour'd lord!
  Ros. My most dear lord!
  Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern?
Ah,
    Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?
  Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth.
  Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy.
    On Fortune's cap we are not the very button.
  Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?
  Ros. Neither, my lord.
  Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her
    favours?
  Guil. Faith, her privates we.
  Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune? O! most true! she is a
    strumpet. What news ?
  Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
  Ham. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me
    question more in particular. What have you, my good friends,
    deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison
    hither?
  Guil. Prison, my lord?
  Ham. Denmark's a prison.
  Ros. Then is the world one.
  Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and
    dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst.
  Ros. We think not so, my lord.
  Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either
good
    or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
  Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for
your
    mind.
  Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a
    king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
  Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance
of
    the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
  Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.
  Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality
that
    it is but a shadow's shadow.
  Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and
outstretch'd
    heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? for, by
my
    fay, I cannot reason.
  Both. We'll wait upon you.
  Ham. No such matter! I will not sort you with the rest of my
    servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most
    dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friendship,
what
    make you at Elsinore?
  Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
  Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank
you;
    and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
Were
    you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free
    visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come! Nay,
speak.
  Guil. What should we say, my lord?
  Ham. Why, anything- but to th' purpose. You were sent for; and
    there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your
modesties
    have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and
Queen
    have sent for you.
  Ros. To what end, my lord?
  Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the
rights
    of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the
    obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear
a
    better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct
with
    me, whether you were sent for or no.
  Ros. [aside to Guildenstern] What say you?
  Ham. [aside] Nay then, I have an eye of you.- If you love me,
hold
    not off.
  Guil. My lord, we were sent for.
  Ham. I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your
    discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no
    feather. I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all
my
    mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes
so
    heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the
earth,
    seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy,
the
    air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this
majestical
    roof fretted with golden fire- why, it appeareth no other
thing
    to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What
a
    piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in
    faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in
    action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the
    beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me
what
    is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor
woman
    neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
  Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
  Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'?
  Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten
    entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted
them
    on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.
  Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall
    have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil
and
    target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man
shall
    end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose
    lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind
    freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are
    they?
  Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the
    tragedians of the city.
  Ham. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in
    reputation and profit, was better both ways.
  Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late
    innovation.
  Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in
the
    city? Are they so follow'd?
  Ros. No indeed are they not.
  Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty?
  Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there
is,
    sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the
top
    of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd for't. These
are now
    the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call
    them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and
    dare scarce come thither.
  Ham. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they
    escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can
    sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow
    themselves to common players (as it is most like, if their
means
    are no better), their writers do them wrong to make them
exclaim
    against their own succession.
  Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the
nation
    holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was, for
a
    while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the
player
    went to cuffs in the question.
  Ham. Is't possible?
  Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
  Ham. Do the boys carry it away?
  Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too.
  Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark,
and
    those that would make mows at him while my father lived give
    twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture
in
    little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than
natural, if
    philosophy could find it out.

                     Flourish for the Players.

  Guil. There are the players.
  Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come!
Th'
    appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me
comply
    with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I
    tell you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like
    entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my
uncle-father
    and aunt-mother are deceiv'd.
  Guil. In what, my dear lord?
  Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly
I
    know a hawk from a handsaw.

                            Enter Polonius.

  Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen!
  Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer!
    That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling
    clouts.
  Ros. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an
old
    man is twice a child.
  Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark
it.-
   You say right, sir; a Monday morning; twas so indeed.
  Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.
  Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an
actor in
    Rome-
  Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.
  Ham. Buzz, buzz!
  Pol. Upon my honour-
  Ham. Then came each actor on his ass-
  Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy,
    history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral,
    tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral;
scene
    individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy,
nor
    Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these
are
    the only men.
  Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
  Pol. What treasure had he, my lord?
  Ham. Why,

         'One fair daughter, and no more,
           The which he loved passing well.'

  Pol. [aside] Still on my daughter.
  Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah?
  Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I
    love passing well.
  Ham. Nay, that follows not.
  Pol. What follows then, my lord?
  Ham. Why,

           'As by lot, God wot,'

 and then, you know,

           'It came to pass, as most like it was.'

    The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; for
look
    where my abridgment comes.

                     Enter four or five Players.

    You are welcome, masters; welcome, all.- I am glad to see
thee
    well.- Welcome, good friends.- O, my old friend? Why, thy
face is
    valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in
    Denmark?- What, my young lady and mistress? By'r Lady, your
    ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the
    altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of
    uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.- Masters, you
are
    all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at
    anything we see. We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us
a
    taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech.
  1. Play. What speech, my good lord?
  Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never
acted;
    or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember,
pleas'd
    not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was (as
I
    receiv'd it, and others, whose judgments in such matters
cried in
    the top of mine) an excellent play, well digested in the
scenes,
    set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said
    there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter
savoury,
    nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of
    affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as
    sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech
in't
    I chiefly lov'd. 'Twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout
of it
    especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live
in
    your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see:

         'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast-'

    'Tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus:

         'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
         Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
         When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
         Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd
         With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot
         Now is be total gules, horridly trick'd
         With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
         Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
         That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
         To their lord's murther. Roasted in wrath and fire,
         And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore,
         With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
         Old grandsire Priam seeks.'

    So, proceed you.
  Pol. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good
     discretion.

  1. Play. 'Anon he finds him,
      Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,
      Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
      Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd,
      Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
      But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
      Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
      Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
      Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
      Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword,
      Which was declining on the milky head
      Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick.
      So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
      And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
      Did nothing.
      But, as we often see, against some storm,
      A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
      The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
      As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder
      Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
      Aroused vengeance sets him new awork;
      And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
      On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
      With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
      Now falls on Priam.
      Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods,
      In general synod take away her power;
      Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
      And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
      As low as to the fiends!

  Pol. This is too long.
  Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard.- Prithee say
on.
    He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on;
come to
    Hecuba.

  1. Play. 'But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen-'

  Ham. 'The mobled queen'?
  Pol. That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good.

  1. Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames
      With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
      Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
      About her lank and all o'erteemed loins,
      A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up-
      Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd
      'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd.
      But if the gods themselves did see her then,
      When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
      In Mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
      The instant burst of clamour that she made
      (Unless things mortal move them not at all)
      Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven
      And passion in the gods.'

  Pol. Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears
in's
    eyes. Prithee no more!
  Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this
soon.-
    Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Do you
    hear? Let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract and
brief
    chronicles of the time. After your death you were better have
a
    bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
  Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
  Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his
    desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after your
own
    honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is
in
    your bounty. Take them in.
  Pol. Come, sirs.
  Ham. Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play to-morrow.
                 Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First].
    Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murther of
    Gonzago'?
  1. Play. Ay, my lord.
  Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a
    speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down
and
    insert in't, could you not?
  1. Play. Ay, my lord.
  Ham. Very well. Follow that lord- and look you mock him not.
                                            [Exit First Player.]
    My good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcome
to
    Elsinore.
  Ros. Good my lord!
  Ham. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye!
                            [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
    Now I am alone.
    O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
    Is it not monstrous that this player here,
    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,
    Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
    A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
    With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
    For Hecuba!
    What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
    That he should weep for her? What would he do,
    Had he the motive and the cue for passion
    That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
    And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
    Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
    Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
    The very faculties of eyes and ears.
    Yet I,
    A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
    Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
    And can say nothing! No, not for a king,
    Upon whose property and most dear life
    A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
    Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
    Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
    Tweaks me by th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat
    As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha?
    'Swounds, 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. Bloody bawdy villain!
    Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
    O, vengeance!
    Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
    That I, the son of a dear father murther'd,
    Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
    Must (like a whore) unpack my heart with words
    And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
    A scullion!
    Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard
    That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
    Have by the very cunning of the scene
    Been struck so to the soul that presently
    They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
    For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
    With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players
    Play something like the murther of my father
    Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
    I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench,
    I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
    May be a devil; and the devil hath power
    T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and 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. The play's the thing
    Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.         Exit.

 Act Two begins with Polonius speaking to one of his servants, Reynaldo, about his son, Laertes, who has by this time returned to Paris. We see Polonius in the act of sending Reynaldo after Laertes to inquire into his son's conduct. He instructs Reynaldo very precisely in the method of obtaining this information. First, Reynaldo is to find out from strangers in Paris about the prominent Danes in the city without revealing that he has any particular attachment to Laertes. When Laertes' name comes up, Reynaldo is to pretend to have some distant knowledge of him, and is further to suggest that he knows of Laertes as something of a happy-go-lucky youth given to gambling, drinking, fencing, swearing, fighting, and whoring. By this path of insinuation, Polonius explains, Reynaldo will hear from his hypothetical Parisian interlocutor the unvarnished truth about Laertes' conduct in France. Having thus prepared Reynaldo to spy on his son, Polonius sends him off. Ophelia enters, distraught. She tells her father that Hamlet has frightened her with his wild, unkempt appearance and deranged manners. After Ophelia describes Hamlet's behavior, she further reveals that, as per Polonius' orders, she has cut off all contact with Hamlet and has refused his letters. Polonius reasons, thus, that Hamlet's madness is the result of Ophelia's rejection. He had thought that Hamlet was only trifling with her, but it turns out that Hamlet was indeed deeply in love with Ophelia. Polonius hurries off to tell Claudius and Gertrude that he has discovered the reason for their son's odd behavior. Scene 2 King Claudius has made plans of his own to discover the reasons for Hamlet's supposed madness. He has summoned two of Hamlet's school friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, both to comfort his nephew-cum-son and to try to discover the reason for his distemper . The two scholars are only too happy to oblige in this task. After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern leave the royal presence, Polonius rushes in, announcing that he has found the reason for Hamlet's madness. Before he reveals his news, however, he entreats Claudius and Gertrude to hear from the two ambassadors to Norway, Voltemand and Cornelius, who have just returned. They report that the King of Norway, after looking into his nephew Fortinbras' actions, found out that he was indeed planning to invade Denmark. The King of Norway then rebuked Fortinbras and ordered him to abandon his plan of Danish conquest, which young Fortinbras agreed to do. Overjoyed at his nephew's acquiescence, Norway then rewarded Fortinbras with a generous annual allowance. Further, Norway granted Fortinbras leave to levy war against the Polish. Finally, the ambassadors report that Norway seeks Claudius' permission to allow Fortinbras passage through Denmark in this proposed campaign against Poland. Claudius declares his approval of this message and says that he will consider its details anon. Polonius steps forward to reveal his discovery. He tells the king and queen, in a very roundabout way, that he has discovered Hamlet's foiled love of Ophelia, and that he believes this lost love to be the root cause of Hamlet's madness. Claudius asks how they might prove this to be the case. Polonius has a plan. He offers to loose Ophelia on Hamlet while he is reading alone in the library. Meanwhile, he suggests, he and Claudius could hide behind a tapestry and observe the meeting. Claudius agrees. Just then, Hamlet enters, reading. Gertrude and Claudius exit while Polonius attempts to speak to Hamlet. Hamlet plays with Polonius, mocking him, evading his questions, and turning his language inside out. Nevertheless, Polonius "reads between the lines," as it were, and interprets Hamlet's nonsensical replies as motivated by a broken heart. Polonius leaves to contrive the proposed meeting between Hamlet and his daughter. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern enter, surprising their friend Hamlet. The three friends banter philosophically for a good while before Hamlet asks the two why they have come to Elsinore. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern try to dodge this question, declaring that they have come for no other reason than to visit him. Hamlet, though, won't let them off the hook, and makes them admit that the king and queen sent for them. When they admit it, Hamlet also tells them why they were sent for - because he has been deeply melancholy, and has foregone his accustomed behavior. He sinks deeply into a speech detailing this misery. Rosencrantz changes the subject. He tells Hamlet that he and Guildenstern passed a troop of players on their way to Elsinore. They gossip briefly about the city theaters the troop had left before coming to Denmark . Soon the players arrive with a flourish. Polonius rushes back into the scene, bearing the already stale news that the players have arrived. Hamlet banters with Polonius in the same mocking vein as before until the players burst into court, at which point Hamlet rushes up to welcome them. Hamlet insists upon hearing a speech straight away, and in particular requests a recitation based on a scene in Virgil's Aeneid, as related by Aeneas to Dido, recounting the death of Priam during the fall of Troy. Hamlet himself begins the speech and then cedes the floor to one of the players, who recites a long and fustian description of Priam's death by Pyrrhus' hand. The player goes on to speak of the wild grief of Hecuba, Priam's wife, after her husband has been killed. While speaking of her agony, the player begins to weep and shake. Polonius finally cuts him off and Hamlet agrees. Before the players retire, however, Hamlet pulls the main player aside and asks him whether the company knows a certain play, "The Murder of Gonzago." The player says that they do, and Hamlet commissions it for the following night, saying that he will write some speeches of his own to be inserted into the play as written. The player says that this would be fine and then takes his leave. Left alone on stage, Hamlet muses about the strangeness of his situation. He asks himself, "How can this player be so filled with grief and rage over Priam and Hecuba, imaginary figures whom he doesn't even know, while I, who have every reason to rage and grieve and seek bloody revenge, am weak, uncertain, and incapable of action?" He curses himself and his indecisiveness before cursing his murderous uncle in a rage. Having regained composure, Hamlet announces his plan to make sure that the ghost of his father is genuine - that the apparition was not some evil spirit sent to lure his soul to damnation. He declares his intention to stage a play exactly based on the murder of his father. While it is played he will observe Claudius. If the king is guilty, Hamlet figures, surely he will show this guilt when faced with the scene of the crime.

