Bap. Nor Earth to giue me food, nor Heauen light, Sport and repose locke from me day and night: Each opposite that blankes the face of ioy, Meet what I would haue well, and it destroy: Both heere, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, If once a Widdow, euer I be Wife
Ham. If she should breake it now
King. 'Tis deepely sworne: Sweet, leaue me heere a while, My spirits grow dull, and faine I would beguile The tedious day with sleepe
Qu. Sleepe rocke thy Braine,
And neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine.
Ham. Madam, how like you this Play? Qu. The Lady protests to much me thinkes
Ham. Oh but shee'l keepe her word
King. Haue you heard the Argument, is there no Offence in't? Ham. No, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no Offence i'th' world
King. What do you call the Play? Ham. The Mouse-trap: Marry how? Tropically: This Play is the Image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the Dukes name, his wife Baptista: you shall see anon: 'tis a knauish peece of worke: But what o'that? Your Maiestie, and wee that haue free soules, it touches vs not: let the gall'd iade winch: our withers are vnrung. Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus nephew to the King
Ophe. You are a good Chorus, my Lord
Ham. I could interpret betweene you and your loue: if I could see the Puppets dallying
Ophe. You are keene my Lord, you are keene
Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge
Ophe. Still better and worse
Ham. So you mistake Husbands. Begin Murderer. Pox, leaue thy damnable Faces, and begin. Come, the croaking Rauen doth bellow for Reuenge
Lucian. Thoughts blacke, hands apt, Drugges fit, and Time agreeing: Confederate season, else, no Creature seeing: Thou mixture ranke, of Midnight Weeds collected, With Hecats Ban, thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy naturall Magicke, and dire propertie, On wholsome life, vsurpe immediately.
Powres the poyson in his eares.
Ham. He poysons him i'th' Garden for's estate: His name's Gonzago: the Story is extant and writ in choyce Italian. You shall see anon how the Murtherer gets the loue of Gonzago's wife
Ophe. The King rises
Ham. What, frighted with false fire
Qu. How fares my Lord? Pol. Giue o're the Play
King. Giue me some Light. Away
All. Lights, Lights, Lights.
Manet Hamlet & Horatio.
Ham. Why let the strucken Deere go weepe, The Hart vngalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleepe; So runnes the world away. Would not this Sir, and a Forrest of Feathers, if the rest of my Fortunes turne Turke with me; with two Prouinciall Roses on my rac'd Shooes, get me a Fellowship in a crie of Players sir
Hor. Halfe a share
Ham. A whole one I, For thou dost know: Oh Damon deere, This Realme dismantled was of Ioue himselfe, And now reignes heere. A verie verie Paiocke
Hora. You might haue Rim'd
Ham. Oh good Horatio, Ile take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound. Did'st perceiue? Hora. Verie well my Lord
Ham. Vpon the talke of the poysoning? Hora. I did verie well note him. Enter Rosincrance and Guildensterne.
Ham. Oh, ha? Come some Musick. Come y Recorders: For if the King like not the Comedie, Why then belike he likes it not perdie. Come some Musicke