A Room in the Castle. |
|
Enter KING, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN. |
King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us |
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you; |
I your commission will forthwith dispatch, |
And he to England shall along with you. |
The terms of our estate may not endure |
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow |
Out of his lunacies. |
Guil. We will ourselves provide. |
Most holy and religious fear it is |
To keep those many many bodies safe |
That live and feed upon your majesty. |
Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound |
With all the strength and armour of the mind |
To keep itself from noyance; but much more |
That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest |
The lives of many. The cease of majesty |
Dies not alone, but, like a gulf doth draw |
What's near it with it; it is a massy wheel, |
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, |
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things |
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, |
Each small annexment, petty consequence, |
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone |
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. |
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; |
For we will fetters put upon this fear, |
Which now goes too free-footed. |
Ros. & Guil We will haste us. [Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. |
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Enter POLONIUS. |
Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: |
Behind the arras I'll convey myself |
To hear the process; I'll warrant she'll tax him home; |
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, |
'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, |
Since nature makes them partial, should o'er-hear |
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege: |
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed |
And tell you what I know. |
King. Thanks, dear my lord. [Exit POLONIUS. |
O! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; |
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't; |
A brother's murder! Pray can I not, |
Though inclination be as sharp as will: |
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; |
And, like a man to double business bound, |
I stand in pause where I shall first begin, |
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand |
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, |
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens |
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy |
But to confront the visage of offence? |
And what's in prayer but this two-fold force, |
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, |
Or pardon'd, being down? Then, I'll look up; |
My fault is past. But, O! what form of prayer |
Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder?' |
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd |
Of those effects for which I did the murder, |
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. |
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence? |
In the corrupted currents of this world |
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, |
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself |
Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above; |
There is no shuffling, there the action lies |
In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd |
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults |
To give in evidence. What then? what rests? |
Try what repentance can: what can it not? |
Yet what can it, when one can not repent? |
O wretched state! O bosom black as death! |
O limed soul, that struggling to be free |
Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay; |
Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel |
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. |
All may be well. [Retires and kneels. |
|
Enter HAMLET. |
Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; |
And now I'll do 't: and so he goes to heaven; |
And so am I reveng'd. That would be scann'd: |
A villain kills my father; and for that, |
I, his sole son, do this same villain send |
To heaven. |
Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. |
He took my father grossly, full of bread, |
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; |
And how his audit stands who knows save heaven? |
But in our circumstance and course of thought |
'Tis heavy with him. And am I then reveng'd, |
To take him in the purging of his soul, |
When he is fit and season'd for his passage? |
No. |
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent; |
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, |
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed, |
At gaming, swearing, or about some act |
That has no relish of salvation in 't; |
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, |
And that his soul may be as damn'd and black |
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: |
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. |
|
The KING rises and advances. |
King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: |
Words without thoughts never to heaven go. [Exit. |
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