William Shakespeare - Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition)

Ham.

Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.

Hold you the watch to-night?

Mar. and Ber.

We do, my lord.

Ham.

Arm'd, say you?

Both.

Arm'd, my lord.

Ham.

From top to toe?

Both.

My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.

Then saw you not his face?

Hor.

O, yes, my lord: he wore his beaver up.

Ham.

What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ham.

Pale or red?

Hor.

Nay, very pale.

Ham.

And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor.

Most constantly.

Ham.

I would I had been there.

Hor.

It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham.

Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?

Hor.

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Mar. and Ber.

Longer, longer.

Hor.

Not when I saw't.

Ham.

His beard was grizzled,--no?

Hor.

It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silver'd.

Ham.

I will watch to-night;

Perchance 'twill walk again.

Hor.

I warr'nt it will.

Ham.

If it assume my noble father's person,

I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape

And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,

If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,

Let it be tenable in your silence still;

And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,

Give it an understanding, but no tongue:

I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well:

Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,

I'll visit you.

All.

Our duty to your honour.

Ham.

Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.

[ Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. ]

My father's spirit in arms! All is not well;

I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!

Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

[ Exit. ]

[ 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 health of this 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 itself scopes 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;

Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads

And recks not his own read.

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!

[ Laying his hand on Laertes's head. ]

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.

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them unto 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 the 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 behooves my daughter and your honour.

What is between you? give me up the truth.

Oph.

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders