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When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage; Or in th' 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. King. [rises] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to
heaven go. Exit.
Scene IV. The Queen's closet.
Enter Queen and Polonius.
Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him. Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here. Pray you
be round with him. Ham. (within) Mother, mother, mother! Queen. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I
hear him coming. [Polonius hides behind the arras.]
Enter Hamlet.
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Ham. Mother, you
have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you
question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? Ham. What's the matter now? Queen. Have
you forgot me? Ham. No, by the rood, not so! You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife, And (would
it were not so!) you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come,
and sit you down. You shall not budge; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part
of you. Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me? Help, help, ho! Pol. [behind] What, ho! help,
help, help! Ham. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead! [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills
Polonius. Pol. [behind] O, I am slain! Queen. O me, what hast thou done? Ham. Nay, I know not. Is it the
King? Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother, As
kill a king, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a king? Ham. Ay, lady, it was my word. [Lifts up the
arras and sees Polonius.] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better. Take thy
fortune. Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down And
let me wring your heart; for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise
so rude against me? Ham. Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue hypocrite; takes
off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false
as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet religion
makes A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful
visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen. Ah me, what act, That roars so loud and
thunders in the index? Ham. Look here upon th's picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two
brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like
Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: A
combination and a form indeed Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a
man. This was your husband. Look you now what follows. Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear Blasting
his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this
moor? Ha! have you eyes You cannot call it love; for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, Else
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Hamlet
could you not have motion; but sure that sense Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err, Nor sense to ecstacy
was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserv'd some quantity of choice To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands
or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy
blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax And
melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, Since frost itself as
actively doth burn, And reason panders will. Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more! Thou turn'st mine eyes into
my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct. Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty!
Queen. O, speak to me no more! These words like daggers enter in mine ears. No more, sweet Hamlet! Ham.
A murtherer and a villain! A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; A
cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole And put it in his pocket!
Queen. No more!
Enter the Ghost in his nightgown.
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