Qu. Aye me; what act, that roares so lowd, & thunders in the Index
Ham. Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet presentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curles, the front of Ioue himselfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Herald Mercurie New lighted on a heauen-kissing hill: A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery God did seeme to set his Seale, To giue the world assurance of a man. This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes. Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath. Haue you eyes? Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore? Ha? Haue you eyes? You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this? What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde? O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe. And melt in her owne fire. Proclaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will
Qu. O Hamlet, speake no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, And there I see such blacke and grained spots, As will not leaue their Tinct
Ham. Nay, but to liue In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the nasty Stye
Qu. Oh speake to me, no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine eares. No more sweet Hamlet
Ham. A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket
Qu. No more. Enter Ghost.
Ham. A King of shreds and patches. Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings You heauenly Guards. What would your gracious figure? Qu. Alas he's mad
Ham. Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? Oh say
Ghost. Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits; O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest workes. Speake to her Hamlet
Ham. How is it with you Lady? Qu. Alas, how is't with you? That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse. Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th' Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and stand an end. Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke? Ham. On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable. Do not looke vpon me, Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood
Qu. To who do you speake this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Qu. Nothing at all, yet all that is I see
Ham. Nor did you nothing heare? Qu. No, nothing but our selues
Ham. Why look you there: looke how it steals away: My Father in his habite, as he liued, Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall. Enter.