Chapter: ACT III. Scene I.
Elsinore. A room in the Castle.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern,
and Lords.

  King. And can you by no drift of circumstance
    Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
    Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
    With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
  Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted,
    But from what cause he will by no means speak.
  Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
    But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
    When we would bring him on to some confession
    Of his true state.
  Queen. Did he receive you well?
  Ros. Most like a gentleman.
  Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.
  Ros. Niggard of question, but of our demands
    Most free in his reply.
  Queen. Did you assay him
    To any pastime?
  Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain players
    We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him,
    And there did seem in him a kind of joy
    To hear of it. They are here about the court,
    And, as I think, they have already order
    This night to play before him.
  Pol. 'Tis most true;
    And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties
    To hear and see the matter.
  King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me
    To hear him so inclin'd.
    Good gentlemen, give him a further edge
    And drive his purpose on to these delights.
  Ros. We shall, my lord.
                            Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
  King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
    For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
    That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
    Affront Ophelia.
    Her father and myself (lawful espials)
    Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen,
    We may of their encounter frankly judge
    And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
    If't be th' affliction of his love, or no,
    That thus he suffers for.
  Queen. I shall obey you;
    And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
    That your good beauties be the happy cause
    Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues
    Will bring him to his wonted way again,
    To both your honours.
  Oph. Madam, I wish it may.
                                                   [Exit Queen.]
  Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.- Gracious, so please you,
    We will bestow ourselves.- [To Ophelia] Read on this book,
    That show of such an exercise may colour
    Your loneliness.- We are oft to blame in this,
    'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage
    And pious action we do sugar o'er
    The Devil himself.
  King. [aside] O, 'tis too true!
    How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
    The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art,
    Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
    Than is my deed to my most painted word.
    O heavy burthen!
  Pol. I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord.
                                      Exeunt King and Polonius].

                           Enter Hamlet.

  Ham. To be, or not to be- that is the question:
    Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
    And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep-
    No more; and by a sleep to say we end
    The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep.
    To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
    Must give us pause. There's the respect
    That makes calamity of so long life.
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
    Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
    The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
    The insolence of office, and the spurns
    That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
    When he himself might his quietus make
    With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
    To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
    But that the dread of something after death-
    The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
    No traveller returns- puzzles the will,
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have
    Than fly to others that we know not of?
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
    And thus the native hue of resolution
    Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
    And enterprises of great pith and moment
    With this regard their currents turn awry
    And lose the name of action.- Soft you now!
    The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons
    Be all my sins rememb'red.
  Oph. Good my lord,
    How does your honour for this many a day?
  Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
  Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours
    That I have longed long to re-deliver.
    I pray you, now receive them.
  Ham. No, not I!
    I never gave you aught.
  Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you did,
    And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd
    As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost,
    Take these again; for to the noble mind
    Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
    There, my lord.
  Ham. Ha, ha! Are you honest?
  Oph. My lord?
  Ham. Are you fair?
  Oph. What means your lordship?
  Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit
no
    discourse to your beauty.
  Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with
honesty?
  Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform
    honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty
can
    translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a
paradox,
    but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
  Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
  Ham. You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so
    inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved
you
    not.
  Oph. I was the more deceived.
  Ham. Get thee to a nunnery! Why wouldst thou be a breeder of
    sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could
accuse
    me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne
me.
    I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at
my
    beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give
    them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows
as I
    do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves
all;
    believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your
    father?
  Oph. At home, my lord.
  Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
    nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
  Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens!
  Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy
dowry:
    be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not
escape
    calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell. Or if thou wilt
    needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what
    monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too.
    Farewell.
  Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him!
  Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath
    given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig,
you
    amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make
your
    wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath
made
    me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are
    married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep
as
    they are. To a nunnery, go.                            Exit.
  Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
    The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
    Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
    The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
    Th' 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. O, woe is me
    T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

                   Enter King and Polonius.

  King. Love? his affections do not that way tend;
    Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little,
    Was not like madness. There's something in his soul
    O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
    And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
    Will be some danger; which for to prevent,
    I have in quick determination
    Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England
    For the demand of our neglected tribute.
    Haply the seas, and countries different,
    With variable objects, shall expel
    This something-settled matter in his heart,
    Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
    From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
  Pol. It shall do well. But yet do I believe
    The origin and commencement of his grief
    Sprung from neglected love.- How now, Ophelia?
    You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said.
    We heard it all.- My lord, do as you please;
    But if you hold it fit, after the play
    Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
    To show his grief. Let her be round with him;
    And I'll be plac'd so please you, in the ear
    Of all their conference. If she find him not,
    To England send him; or confine him where
    Your wisdom best shall think.
  King. It shall be so.
    Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.         Exeunt.

 Later, in a room in the palace... Claudius questions Rosencrantz and Guildenstern about whether they've gotten any closer to figuring out why Hamlet "puts on" this madness. The two friends say that Hamlet admits he's been out of sorts, but he won't tell them why. If anything, they say, Hamlet's been pretty good at not saying much. He was full of answers to their questions, but he was pretty excited about the players--and wants to make sure that the King and Queen come to the play. They'll be there! As planned, Claudius and Polonius set a trap for Hamlet, with Ophelia as the willing bait. The two men will hide and wait to see what happens when Hamlet encounters Ophelia, hoping they'll be able to judge from Hamlet's interaction with the girl whether he's been driven mad by love, or by something else. Gertrude hopes it's Ophelia, since her virtues will bring Hamlet back around to his senses. Ophelia, ever pliant, hopes so too. Polonius then instructs Ophelia to walk around reading a prayer book, which will seem a reasonable excuse for her to be alone. Always ready with a moral lesson, Polonius quips that piety and devotion are often a good cover for wicked deeds. Claudius says in an aside that Polonius' words are like a whip to his conscience: he's covered over his wicked deed, but it doesn't make his deed any less ugly. Guess that ghost wasn't lying, then. Hearing Hamlet approach, everybody clears out so Hamlet can privately deliver one of the greatest speeches of all time. What's the question? "To be, or not to be." He compares death to a little sleep, which wouldn't be so bad. The only catch is that we might have dreams--bad dreams. Of course, we'd escape a lot by being dead, like being spurned in love, except that maybe it's better to put up with the bad things you know about in life than to run off into death's "undiscovered country." Anyone else get chills? Hamlet then spots Ophelia reading her religious book, and closes his speech by saying he hopes she'll pray for him. After a little small talk, Ophelia tries to return the letters and presents Hamlet gave her when they were hanging out. Hamlet insists that he never gave her anything, and asks if she's honest . He suggests if Ophelia is honest and beautiful, then she shouldn't let the traits mix, as beauty corrupts honesty faster than honesty can influence the beautiful. Basically, he's saying that a pretty woman will attract a lot of guys and is bound to eventually lose her honor with one of them. A woman who's chaste but not beautiful, on the other hand, won't attract anyone, so she'll remain chaste. To be a total jerk, he then throws in, "Yeah, I was in love with you. Once." He goes on to say that even though he loved her once, she shouldn't have believed it, because...he actually didn't love her. Hamlet then tells Ophelia to "get thee to a nunnery," since it unwise for her to love him. He then pats himself on the back for being fairly virtuous, although he could be rightfully accused of all sorts of awful things, like being "proud, revengeful, and ambitious." Things would be way worse if he had the thoughts, imagination, and time to make real all his darkest desires. Such men should have no place in the world, except that all men are such men. Thus, Ophelia really had better get herself off to a convent, where it's safe. As a parting shot, he points out that even if Ophelia is a regular girl, marriage would still be awful. Actually, he says, if she has to marry, Ophelia should marry a fool, as wise men know that women only make men into "monsters." Note: That's a reference to the idea that all women turn men into "cuckolds" , who grow horns, like monsters. After all, Hamlet says, women are monstrous anyway, painting their faces and frolicking about so men think they're cute, when really they're just going to ruin everybody's life. Women pretend to be dumb, he says, when they're really in it for the sex. And that is why he's crazy. ... which makes us wonder: does he know he's being watched? Now that Hamlet has dismissed half the planet as faithless , he suggests that there be no more marriage, ever. "Those that are married already--all but one--shall live, the rest shall keep as they are," he says. Hamlet exits, and Ophelia essentially throws her hands up. Though she had once "suck'd the honey of music vows," he now sounds out of tune. Claudius and Polonius creep out of their hiding place. Claudius announces that Hamlet doesn't sound either lovesick or mad. Instead, it sounds like he's suffering from great sadness. Something is sitting heavy on his soul. In any case, Claudius thinks this seems like a good time to send Hamlet off to England. The change of scenery might do him good, right? Polonius isn't sure. He still thinks this is about unrequited love, but he has one more test for Hamlet. Polonius says they should leave Hamlet alone with his mom after the play, and see if she can convince him to reveal the true source of his grief. If Gertrude doesn't get any good information out of him, well, then it's off to England for the silent son.

