In a true hate, to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better. A Forest, with a Cave, in Wales. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with
And often, to our comfort, shall we find The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life Is nobler, than attending for a check; Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble! Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours. Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we,
poor unfledg'd, [know not Have never wing'd from view o' the nest ; nor What air 's from home. Haply, this life is If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you, That have a sharper known; well correspond- With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed; A prison for a debtor that not dares To stride a limit.
Arv. What should we speak of When we are as old as you? when we shall The rain and wind beat dark December, how, The freezing hours away? We have seen In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey: nothing: Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : Our valor is, to chase what flies; our cage We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, And sing our bondage freely.
Did you but know the city's usuries, [court, Bel. How you speak! And felt them knowingly the heart o' the As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry, that [war, The fear 's as bad as falling; the toil of the A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame, and honor: which dies i' the search;
And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph, As record of fair act; nay, many times [this gate Doth ill deserve, by doing well; what's worse, Stoop, boys; Must curt'sy at the censure: O, boys, this story heavens! and The world may read in me: my body's mark'd [narchs With Roman swords; and my report was once To morning's holy office. The gates of mo- First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov❜d Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
Whose roof's as low as ours. Instructs you how t'adore the
And keep their impious turbans on, without And when a soldier was the theme, my name Good-morrow to the sun-Hail thou fair Was not far off: then was I as a tree [hardly Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so As prouder livers do.
Guid. Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven!
The fore-end of my time. But up to the moun- | Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
This is not hunter's language: he that strikes The venison first, shall be the lord o' th' feast; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little, they are sons to th' king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they're mine: and though train'd up thus meanly
I could not miss my way will poor folks lie That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis A punishment, or trial? Yes: no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.-My dear lord! Thou art one o' the false ones: now I think on thee,
My hunger 's gone; but even before I was At point to sink for food.-But what is this? [Seeing the Cave.
I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts Here is a path to it :-'tis some savage hold; do hit [them, I were best not call; I dare not call: yet
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts In simple and low things, to prince it, much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom The king his father call'd Guiderius, Jove! When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell The warlike feats I've done, his spirits fly out Into my story: say-thus mine enemy fell; And thus I set my foot on his neck ;-even then [sweats, The princely blood flows in his cheek, he Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in
posture [Cadwal, Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st That acts my words. The younger brother, In these two princely boys! They are as (Once, Arviragus) in as like a figure [more As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, [gentle Strikes life into my speech, and shows much Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough His own conceiving.
False to his bed! What is it to be false? To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock ?-If sleep charge nature,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis won- derful
That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearn'd'; honor untaught; Civility not seen from other; valor, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop, As if it had been sow'd!
Enter Arviragus, with Imogen as dead, bear ing her in his Arms. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for!
Arv. The bird is dead That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
To break it with a fearful dream of him, And cry myself awake? That 's false to 's Than have seen this.
Enter Imogen in Boy's Clothes. Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one: I've tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.-Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O, Jove! I think,
I thank you-by yond' bush? pray how far thither?
Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right 'Ods pitikins!-can it be six miles yet? Reposing on a cushion. [cheek I have gone all night-'faith, I'll lie down
Guid. Where?
Arv. O' the floor:
His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept; and My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose Answer'd my steps too loud. [rudeness
Guid. Why, he but sleeps:
[put But soft! no bedfellow :-O gods and goddess- [Seeing the body. These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world; [dream; This bloody man, the care on 't. I hope I For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so: 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes: our very [Good faith,
If he be gone, he 'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers, While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack The flow'r that's like thy face, pale primrose;
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath; the ruddock would
With charitable bill (O bill sore shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument !) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are To winter-ground thy corse- [none,
Bel. Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less: for Cloten 1
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; And, though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that: though mean and
Together have one dust; yet reverence [tion (That angel of the world) doth make distincOf place 'tween high and low. Our foe was
And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince.
Guid. Pray you fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.
Guid, Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Guid. Fear no more the lightning flash, Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash; Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.
Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way ?
eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. I tremble still with fear: but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! [is The dream 's here still even when I awake, it Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt. SHAKSPEARE. § 18. HAMLET.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, [dead The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; Stars shone with trains of fire, dews of blood fell;
Disasters veil'd the sun; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. Ghosts vanish at the Crowing of the Cock; and the Reverence paid to Christmas-time. Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing, Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine and of the truth herein, This present object made probation. Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes, Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; This bird of dawning singeth all night long: The nights are wholesome; then no planets
No fairy takes, nor witch hath pow'r to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. Real Grief.
Seems, madam! nay, it is: I know not
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, [seem, That can denote me truly: these, indeed, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within, which passeth show; These, but the trapping and the suits of woe,
Immoderate Grief discommended.
"Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
Had left the flushing 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.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Cautions to young Ladies.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute,
To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; No more. That father lost, lost his; and the survivor In filial obligation, for some term
[bound, Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain, If with too credent ear you list his songs;
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere In obstinate condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven; A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; An understanding simple and unschool'd; For what we know, must be, and is as com- As any the most vulgar thing to sense, [mon Why should we, in our peevish opposition, Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to Heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, To reason most absurd; whose common theme Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried From the first corse till he that died to-day, This must be so.
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity. Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon : Virtue herself 'scapes not calumnious strokes : The canker galls the infants of the spring Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd: And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent.
A Satire on ungracious Pastors.
I shall th' effects of this good lesson keep As watchmen to my heart: but, good my bro- Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, [ther, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puft and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own read.
Hamlet's Soliloquy on his Mother's Marriage. 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 God! 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 [this! Possess it merely. That it should come to Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. But two months dead! nay, not so much, not Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. So excellent a king; that was, to this, [two. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; That he might not let e'en the winds of heaven! But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be- Must I remember ?-why, she would hang on
A Father's Advice to his Son, going to travel. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
As if increase of appetite had grown [him, Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, By what it fed on: and yet within a month-Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Let me not think on 't-frailty, thy name is Give ev'ry man thine ear, but few thy voice: woman! Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
A little month;-or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, body, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; Like Niobe, all tears;-why she, even she-For the apparel oft proclaims the man. O Heaven! a beast that wants discourse of Neither a borrower nor a lender be: reason, [mine uncle, For loan oft loses both itself and friend; Would have mourn'd longer-married with And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. My father's brother; but no more like my fa- Than I to Hercules: within a month, [ther, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
This above all, to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Hamlet on the Appearance of his Father's To ears of flesh and blood: list, list, O list. If thou didst ever thy dear father loveHam. O Heaven! [murder. Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnaturalTM Ham. Murder? [is;
Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me : Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, Why the canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements? why the sepulchre Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again? What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, So horribly to shake our disposition [souls? With thoughts beyond the reaches of our
The Mischief it might tempt him to. What if it tempt you towards the flood, my Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, [lord,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea; And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of
And draw you into madness? Think of it: The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into ev'ry brain, That looks so many fathoms to the sea, And hears it roar beneath.
Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge.
Ghost. I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this? Now, Hamlet, hear:
"Tis given out, that, sleeping in my orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Den- Is by a forged process of my death [mark Rankly abus'd; but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life, Now wears his crown.
Ham. O my prophetic soul! my uncle? Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, [gifts, With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous (O wicked wits and gifts, that have the pow'r So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous.queen O Hamlet, what a falling off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven: So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
Ghost. My hour is almost come,
But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air ;- Brief let me be: Sleeping within mine or- My custom always of the afternoon,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious To what I shall unfold.
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect [hearing Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou Ham. What? [shalt hear. Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, To tell the secrets of my prison-house, [forbid All my smooth body.
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch &
[spheres; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin. Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head:
Ham. O horrible! O horrible! most hor
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