Complete Plays, The Read online

  As I am now unhappy; which is more

  Than history can pattern, though devised

  And play’d to take spectators. For behold me

  A fellow of the royal bed, which owe

  A moiety of the throne a great king’s daughter,

  The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing

  To prate and talk for life and honour ’fore

  Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it

  As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,

  ’Tis a derivative from me to mine,

  And only that I stand for. I appeal

  To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes

  Came to your court, how I was in your grace,

  How merited to be so; since he came,

  With what encounter so uncurrent I

  Have strain’d to appear thus: if one jot beyond

  The bound of honour, or in act or will

  That way inclining, harden’d be the hearts

  Of all that hear me, and my near’st of kin

  Cry fie upon my grave!

  Leontes

  I ne’er heard yet

  That any of these bolder vices wanted

  Less impudence to gainsay what they did

  Than to perform it first.

  Hermione

  That’s true enough;

  Through ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

  Leontes

  You will not own it.

  Hermione

  More than mistress of

  Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not

  At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,

  With whom I am accused, I do confess

  I loved him as in honour he required,

  With such a kind of love as might become

  A lady like me, with a love even such,

  So and no other, as yourself commanded:

  Which not to have done I think had been in me

  Both disobedience and ingratitude

  To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,

  Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely

  That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,

  I know not how it tastes; though it be dish’d

  For me to try how: all I know of it

  Is that Camillo was an honest man;

  And why he left your court, the gods themselves,

  Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

  Leontes

  You knew of his departure, as you know

  What you have underta’en to do in’s absence.

  Hermione

  Sir,

  You speak a language that I understand not:

  My life stands in the level of your dreams,

  Which I’ll lay down.

  Leontes

  Your actions are my dreams;

  You had a bastard by Polixenes,

  And I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame,—

  Those of your fact are so — so past all truth:

  Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as

  Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,

  No father owning it,— which is, indeed,

  More criminal in thee than it,— so thou

  Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage

  Look for no less than death.

  Hermione

  Sir, spare your threats:

  The bug which you would fright me with I seek.

  To me can life be no commodity:

  The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,

  I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,

  But know not how it went. My second joy

  And first-fruits of my body, from his presence

  I am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort

  Starr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,

  The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,

  Haled out to murder: myself on every post

  Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred

  The child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs

  To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried

  Here to this place, i’ the open air, before

  I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,

  Tell me what blessings I have here alive,

  That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.

  But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,

  I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,

  Which I would free, if I shall be condemn’d

  Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else

  But what your jealousies awake, I tell you

  ’Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,

  I do refer me to the oracle:

  Apollo be my judge!

  First Lord

  This your request

  Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,

  And in Apollos name, his oracle.

  Exeunt certain Officers

  Hermione

  The Emperor of Russia was my father:

  O that he were alive, and here beholding

  His daughter’s trial! that he did but see

  The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes

  Of pity, not revenge!

  Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and Dion

  Officer

  You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,

  That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have

  Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought

  The seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d

  Of great Apollo’s priest; and that, since then,

  You have not dared to break the holy seal

  Nor read the secrets in’t.

  Cleomenes

  Dion

  All this we swear.

  Leontes

  Break up the seals and read.

  Officer

  [Reads] Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.

  Lords

  Now blessed be the great Apollo!

  Hermione

  Praised!

  Leontes

  Hast thou read truth?

  Officer

  Ay, my lord; even so

  As it is here set down.

  Leontes

  There is no truth at all i’ the oracle:

  The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

  Enter Servant

  Servant

  My lord the king, the king!

  Leontes

  What is the business?

  Servant

  O sir, I shall be hated to report it!

  The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear

  Of the queen’s speed, is gone.

  Leontes

  How! gone!

  Servant

  Is dead.

  Leontes

  Apollo’s angry; and the heavens themselves

  Do strike at my injustice.

  Hermione swoons

  How now there!

  Paulina

  This news is mortal to the queen: look down

  And see what death is doing.

  Leontes

  Take her hence:

  Her heart is but o’ercharged; she will recover:

  I have too much believed mine own suspicion:

  Beseech you, tenderly apply to her

  Some remedies for life.

  Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hermione

  Apollo, pardon

  My great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!

  I’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,

  New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,

  Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;

  For, being transported by my jealousies

  To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose

  Camillo for the minister to poison

  My friend Polixenes: which had be
en done,

  But that the good mind of Camillo tardied

  My swift command, though I with death and with

  Reward did threaten and encourage him,

  Not doing ’t and being done: he, most humane

  And fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest

  Unclasp’d my practise, quit his fortunes here,

  Which you knew great, and to the hazard

  Of all encertainties himself commended,

  No richer than his honour: how he glisters

  Thorough my rust! and how his pity

  Does my deeds make the blacker!

  Re-enter Paulina

  Paulina

  Woe the while!

  O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,

  Break too.

  First Lord

  What fit is this, good lady?

  Paulina

  What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?

  What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?

  In leads or oils? what old or newer torture

  Must I receive, whose every word deserves

  To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny

  Together working with thy jealousies,

  Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle

  For girls of nine, O, think what they have done

  And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all

  Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.

  That thou betray’dst Polixenes,’twas nothing;

  That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant

  And damnable ingrateful: nor was’t much,

  Thou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,

  To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,

  More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon

  The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter

  To be or none or little; though a devil

  Would have shed water out of fire ere done’t:

  Nor is’t directly laid to thee, the death

  Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,

  Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart

  That could conceive a gross and foolish sire

  Blemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,

  Laid to thy answer: but the last,— O lords,

  When I have said, cry ‘woe!’ the queen, the queen,

  The sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t

  Not dropp’d down yet.

  First Lord

  The higher powers forbid!

  Paulina

  I say she’s dead; I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath

  Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring

  Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,

  Heat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you

  As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!

  Do not repent these things, for they are heavier

  Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee

  To nothing but despair. A thousand knees

  Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,

  Upon a barren mountain and still winter

  In storm perpetual, could not move the gods

  To look that way thou wert.

  Leontes

  Go on, go on

  Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved

  All tongues to talk their bitterest.

  First Lord

  Say no more:

  Howe’er the business goes, you have made fault

  I’ the boldness of your speech.

  Paulina

  I am sorry for’t:

  All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,

  I do repent. Alas! I have show’d too much

  The rashness of a woman: he is touch’d

  To the noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help

  Should be past grief: do not receive affliction

  At my petition; I beseech you, rather

  Let me be punish’d, that have minded you

  Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege

  Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:

  The love I bore your queen — lo, fool again!—

  I’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children;

  I’ll not remember you of my own lord,

  Who is lost too: take your patience to you,

  And I’ll say nothing.

  Leontes

  Thou didst speak but well

  When most the truth; which I receive much better

  Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me

  To the dead bodies of my queen and son:

  One grave shall be for both: upon them shall

  The causes of their death appear, unto

  Our shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit

  The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there

  Shall be my recreation: so long as nature

  Will bear up with this exercise, so long

  I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me

  Unto these sorrows.

  Exeunt

  CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

  Claudius, King of Denmark.

  Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the present king.

  Polonius, lord chamberlain.

  Horatio, friend to Hamlet.

  Laertes, son to Polonius.

  Lucianus, nephew to the king.

  Voltimand, Cornelius, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and Osric, courtiers.

  A Gentleman.

  A Priest.

  Marcellus and Bernardo, officers.

  Francisco, a soldier.

  Reynaldo, servant to Polonius.

  Players.

  Two Clowns, grave-diggers.

  Fortinbras, prince of Norway.

  A Captain.

  English Ambassadors.

  Queen Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet.

  Ophelia, daughter to Polonius.

  Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants.

  Ghost of Hamlet's Father.

  Scene: Denmark.

  SCENE III. BOHEMIA. A DESERT COUNTRY NEAR THE SEA.

  Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner

  Antigonus

  Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch’d upon

  The deserts of Bohemia?

  Mariner

  Ay, my lord: and fear

  We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly

  And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,

  The heavens with that we have in hand are angry

  And frown upon ’s.

  Antigonus

  Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;

  Look to thy bark: I’ll not be long before

  I call upon thee.

  Mariner

  Make your best haste, and go not

  Too far i’ the land: ’tis like to be loud weather;

  Besides, this place is famous for the creatures

  Of prey that keep upon’t.

  Antigonus

  Go thou away:

  I’ll follow instantly.

  Mariner

  I am glad at heart

  To be so rid o’ the business.

  Exit

  Antigonus

  Come, poor babe:

  I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o’ the dead

  May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother

  Appear’d to me last night, for ne’er was dream

  So like a waking. To me comes a creature,

  Sometimes her head on one side, some another;

  I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,

  So fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,

  Like very sanctity, she did approach

  My cabin where I lay; thrice bow’d before me,

  And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes

  Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon

  Did this break-from her: ‘Good Antigonus,

 
; Since fate, against thy better disposition,

  Hath made thy person for the thrower-out

  Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,

  Places remote enough are in Bohemia,

  There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe

  Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,

  I prithee, call’t. For this ungentle business

  Put on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see

  Thy wife Paulina more.’ And so, with shrieks

  She melted into air. Affrighted much,

  I did in time collect myself and thought

  This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:

  Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,

  I will be squared by this. I do believe

  Hermione hath suffer’d death, and that

  Apollo would, this being indeed the issue

  Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,

  Either for life or death, upon the earth

  Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!

  There lie, and there thy character: there these;

  Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,

  And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,

  That for thy mother’s fault art thus exposed

  To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,

  But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I

  To be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!

  The day frowns more and more: thou’rt like to have

  A lullaby too rough: I never saw

  The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!

  Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:

  I am gone for ever.

  Exit, pursued by a bear

  Enter a Shepherd

  Shepherd

  I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting — Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, ’tis by the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an’t be thy will what have we here! Mercy on ’s, a barne a very pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some ’scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the ’scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

  Enter Clown

  Clown

  Hilloa, loa!

  Shepherd

  What, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man?

  Clown

  I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin’s point.