Chapter: Scene III.
A room in the Castle.

Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

  King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
    To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;
    I your commission will forthwith dispatch,
    And he to England shall along with you.
    The terms of our estate may not endure
    Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow
    Out of his lunacies.
  Guil. We will ourselves provide.
    Most holy and religious fear it is
    To keep those many many bodies safe
    That live and feed upon your Majesty.
  Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound
    With all the strength and armour of the mind
    To keep itself from noyance; but much more
    That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests
    The lives of many. The cesse of majesty
    Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw
    What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel,
    Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
    To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
    Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,
    Each small annexment, petty consequence,
    Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone
    Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
  King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
    For we will fetters put upon this fear,
    Which now goes too free-footed.
  Both. We will haste us.
                                               Exeunt Gentlemen.

                   Enter Polonius.

  Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet.
    Behind the arras I'll convey myself
    To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home;
    And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
    'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,
    Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
    The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege.
    I'll call upon you ere you go to bed
    And tell you what I know.
  King. Thanks, dear my lord.
                                                Exit [Polonius].
    O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
    It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
    A brother's murther! 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
    To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
    But to confront the visage of offence?
    And what's in prayer but this twofold 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 murther'?
    That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
    Of those effects for which I did the murther-
    My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
    May one be pardon'd and retain th' offence?
    In the corrupted currents of this world
    Offence's 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 limed 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.                                  He 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 seasoned for his passage?
    No.
    Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent.
    When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage;
    Or in th' 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. My mother stays.
    This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.              Exit.
  King. [rises] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.
    Words without thoughts never to heaven go.             Exit.

 Claudius meets with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Claudius says Hamlet's clearly crazy, and it's unsafe for him to stick around Denmark--the crazier he gets, the greater the threat to the throne. Instead, he'll be sent to England along with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Fine by them: they're happy to do anything for the safety of the King. Rosencrantz even goes on in a sickeningly fawning speech about how the King's needs are more important than lesser people's needs. It's such a bad speech that even Claudius has to cut him off, with a little bit of: "Go get ready to travel now, so we can contain this fear," i.e. his own fear that he'll be found out for murder and that Hamlet will come and get him. After Claudius finally gets rid of the dynamic duo, Polonius shows up to say he's off to hide himself and eavesdrop on Hamlet's conversation with Gertrude. Polonius also fawns over the King, saying it was wise of Claudius to suggest that someone listen in on this conversation, as moms tend to be biased when judging their children. Claudius, finally left alone, admits to murdering his brother, an act which carries with it God's curse . He can't even bring himself to pray. He asks if there isn't rain enough in the heavens to wash his hands clean of his brother's blood. Okay, but isn't this what prayer is for? To stop us from doing bad things, and to pardon us when we've done bad things? But he can't ask for forgiveness for the murder, since he still has all of the gains he got from committing it . At the same time, he's really suffering, man: it's so hard to be the King and enjoy his dead brother's wife. Finally, Claudius gets it together enough to kneel and pray. Just then, Hamlet enters and raises his sword... and stops. He realizes that, if Claudius dies while praying, the man will go to Heaven, since he'll have been forgiven for his sins. Hamlet notes that Claudius killed his father while his sins were still in full bloom. As King Hamlet had no time to repent, only Heaven knows how King Hamlet's account looked as he faced judgment. Hamlet clearly reveres his dad, but he knows the old King didn't have a completely clean slate. That means that Hamlet's father has to suffer in the afterlife, and it's partly Claudius' fault. Hamlet wants to make sure that Claudius must suffer the same punishment; therefore, he cannot kill Claudius when he has just confessed his sins to God. So Hamlet decides he should kill Claudius another time. He hopes to get him while he's drunk, or angry, or in the midst of any other such truly deplorable activity. This way, there's no ambiguity about whether Claudius will go to Hell. Hamlet notes that his mother is waiting for him, and says Claudius' attempts at prayer are only going to prolong the days before Hamlet rains down vengeful death on his uncle. After Hamlet exits , Claudius notes that his prayers were useless, as he still thought about his evil deeds without repentance. Claudius is sure Heaven will see through his lying prayers, and realize he's not fully sorry. In other words, Hamlet just missed his opportunity.

