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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