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exceed you three hits: he hath laid, on twelve | it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, for nine; and it would come to immediate trial, if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer. Ham. How, if I answer, no?

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall: If it please his majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me: let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win for him, if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame, and the odd hits.

Osr. Shall I deliver you so?

Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship.

[Exit. Ham. Yours, yours.-He does well, to commend it himself; there are no tongues else for's turn.

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.

Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the same breed, that, I know, the drossy age dotes on,) only got the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.

Enter a Lord.

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall: He sends to know, if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time.

Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.

Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming down.

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it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come the readiness is all: Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes? Let be.

Enter King, Queen, LAERTES, Lords, OSRIC, and Attendants, with foils, &c.

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

[The King puts the hand of Laertes

into that of Hamlet.

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have done you wrong;

But pardon it, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have
heard,

How I am punish'd with a sore distraction.
What I have done,

That might your nature, honour, and exception,
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never, Hamlet:
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it then? His madness: If't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
Sir, in this audience,

Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house,
And hurt my brother.

Laer. I am satisfied in nature,
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: but, in my terms of honour,
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement,
Till by some elder masters, of known honour,
I have a voice and precedent of peace,
To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.

Ham. I embrace it freely; And will this brother's wager frankly play.— Give us the foils; come on.

Laer. Come, one for me.

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ig

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Osr. Ay, my good lord.

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that
table:-

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Let all the battlement their ordnance fire;
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath;
And in the cup an union shall he throw,
Richer than that which four successive kings
In Denmark's crown have worn: Give me the
cups;

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,
Now the king drinks to Hamlet.-Come, be-
gin;-

And

you, the judges, bear a wary eye. Ham. Come on, sir.

Laer. Come, my lord.

Ham. One.

Laer. No.

Ham. Judgment.

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit.
Laer. Well,-again.

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The drink, the drink ;-I am poison'd! [Dies.
Ham. O villainy!-Ho! let the door be lock'd:
Treachery! seek it out. [Laertes falls.
Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art
slain;

No medicine in the world can do thee good,
In thee there is not half an hour's life;
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
[They play. Unbated, and envenom'd: the foul practice
Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie,
Never to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd;
I can no more; the king, the king's to blame.
Ham. The point

King. Stay, give me drink: Hamlet, this pearl is thine;

Here's to thy health.-Give him the cup.

[Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off
within.

Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile.
Come. Another hit; What say you?

They play.

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess.
King. Our son shall win.

Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath.-
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows;
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Ham. Good madam,-

King. Gertrude, do not drink.

Queen. I will, my lord ;-I pray you, pardon

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Envenom'd too!-Then, venom, to thy work.
[Stabs the King.
Osr.& Lords. Treason! treason!
King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but
hurt.

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damn-
ed Dane,

Drink off this potion :-Is the union here?
Follow my mother.

Laer. He is justly serv'd;

[King dies.

It is a poison temper'd by himself.-
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee;
Nor thine on me!
[Dies.

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow
thee.

I am dead, Horatio:-Wretched queen, adieu:-
You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death,
Is strict in his arrest,) 0, 1 could tell you,—
But let it be:-Horatio, I am dead;
Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Hor. Never believe it;

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane,
Here's yet some liquor left.

Ham. As thou'rt a man,

Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I'll have it.—
O God!-Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live be-
hind me?

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story.-

March afar off, and shot within.
What warlike noise is this?
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come
from Poland,

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Fort. Where is this sight?

Hor. What is it, you would see?

If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search. Fort. This quarry cries on havock !-O proud death!

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes, at a shot,
So bloodily hast struck?

1 Amb. The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late : The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing, To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd, That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead: Where should we have our thanks?

Hor. Not from his mouth, Had it the ability of life to thank you; He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question,

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Are here arriv'd; give order, that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view;

And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world,
How these things come about: So shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts;

Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause;
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I
Truly deliver.

Fort. Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune;
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.

Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, And from his mouth whose voice will draw on

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SCENE,—for the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-port in Cyprus.

SCENE I.-Venice. A street.

Enter RODERIGO and IAGO.

ACT I.

Rod. Tush, never tell me, I take it much un-
kindly,

That thou, lago,-who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine,-should'st know of
this.

Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me :-
If ever I did dream of such a matter,

Abhor me.

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great
ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft capp'd to him ;-and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits
My mediators; for, certes, says he,
I have already chose my officer.
And what was he?

Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
thy hate.

One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose

As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice,

Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the elec

tion:

And I,-of whom his eyes had seen the proof, At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds, Christian and heathen,-must be be-lee'd and

calm'd

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster ;
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's

ancient.

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of

service;

Preferment goes by letter, and affection,
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge your-
self,

Whether I in any just term am affin'd
To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him then.
Iago. O, sir, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender; and, when he's old,
cashier'd;

Whip me such honest knaves: Others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have
lin'd their coats,

Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;

And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve,
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips

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And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,

Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell,

As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho!

Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!

Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves!

BRABANTIO, above, at a window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons?

What is the matter there?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?
Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame,
put on your gown;
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?
Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my
voice?

Bra. Not I; What are you?
Rod. My name is Roderigo.
Bra. The worse welcome:

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in mad-

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Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir,

Bra. But thou must needs be sure, My spirit, and my place, have in them power To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

My house is not a grange.

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans.

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