A Room in POLONIUS' House. |
|
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. |
Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: |
And, sister, as the winds give benefit |
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, |
But let me hear from you. |
Oph. Do you doubt that? |
Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, |
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; |
No more. |
Oph. No more but so? |
Laer. Think it no more: |
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone |
In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, |
The inward service of the mind and soul |
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now, |
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch |
The virtue of his will; but you must fear, |
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own, |
For he himself is subject to his birth; |
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do, |
Carve for himself, for on his choice depends |
The safety and the health of the whole state; |
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd |
Unto the voice and yielding of that body |
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you, |
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it |
As he in his particular act and place |
May give his saying deed; which is no further |
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. |
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, |
If with too credent ear you list his songs, |
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. |
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear: |
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. |
Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep, |
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, |
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, |
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven, |
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, |
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, |
And recks not his own rede. |
Laer. O! fear me not. |
I stay too long; but here my father comes. |
|
Enter POLONIUS. |
A double blessing is a double grace; |
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. |
Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame! |
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, |
And you are stay'd for. There, my blessing with thee! |
And these few precepts in thy memory |
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, |
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. |
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar; |
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, |
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; |
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment |
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware |
Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, |
Bear 't that th' opposed may beware of thee. |
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; |
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. |
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, |
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; |
For the apparel oft proclaims the man, |
And they in France of the best rank and station |
Are most select and generous, chief in that. |
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; |
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, |
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. |
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. |
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! |
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. |
Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants tend. |
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well |
What I have said to you. |
Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, |
And you yourself shall keep the key of it. |
Laer. Farewell. [Exit. |
Pol. What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? |
Oph. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. |
Pol. Marry, well bethought: |
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late |
Given private time to you; and you yourself |
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous. |
If it be so,—as so 'tis put on me, |
And that in way of caution,—I must tell you, |
You do not understand yourself so clearly |
As it behoves my daughter and your honour. |
What is between you? give me up the truth. |
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders |
Of his affection to me. |
Pol. Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl, |
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. |
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? |
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. |
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby, |
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, |
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly; |
Or,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, |
Running it thus,—you'll tender me a fool. |
Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love |
In honourable fashion. |
Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it: go to, go to. |
Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, |
With almost all the holy vows of heaven. |
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, |
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul |
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, |
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both, |
Even in their promise, as it is a-making, |
You must not take for fire. From this time |
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; |
Set your entreatments at a higher rate |
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, |
Believe so much in him, that he is young, |
And with a larger tether may he walk |
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia, |
Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers, |
Not of that dye which their investments show, |
But mere implorators of unholy suits, |
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, |
The better to beguile. This is for all: |
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, |
Have you so slander any moment's leisure, |
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. |
Look to 't, I charge you; come your ways. |
Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. |
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