Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,

To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
165 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire;

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart; 170 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,

But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee?

Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory

175 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
180 Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables, meet it is I set it down,

(Exit.)

(Writing.)

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
185 At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;
It is, 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.'

Ham. How say you, then; would heart of man once think it? But you'll be secret?

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark

200 But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this.

And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;
205 You, as your business and desire shall point you;
For every man hath business and desire,

210

Such as it is; and, for mine own poor part,

Look

I'll you,

go pray.

Hor These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, faith, heartily.

Hor

There's no offence, my lord.

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
And much offence too. Touching this vision here,
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you;

215 For your desire to know what is between us,
O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,

220

Give me one poor request.

Hor. What is't, my lord? we will.

Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night.
Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not.

Ham.

Hor.

My lord, not I.

Mar

Nay, but swear't.

In faith,

Nor I, my lord, in faith.

We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham. Upon my sword.
Mar.

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

225

Ghost (beneath). Swear.

Ham. Ah, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?— Come on; you hear this fellow in the cellarage;

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen.

230 Swear by my sword.

Ghost (beneath). Swear.

Ham. Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground. Come hither, gentlemen,

And lay your hands again upon my sword:

235 Never to speak of this that you have heard;

240

Swear by my sword.

Ghost (beneath). Swear.

Ham. Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast? A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.

Hor O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on,

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 250 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake,

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,

As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'
Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,'
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note

255 That you know aught of me: this not to do,

So grace and mercy at your most need help you,
Swear.

Ghost (beneath). Swear.

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

So, gentlemen,
260 With all my love I do commend me to you;
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

265 The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!
Nay, come, let's go together.

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON LIFE AND DEATH.
[From Hamlet, Act III, Sc. 1]

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; to sleep;

10 To sleep! perchance to dream! ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

16 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

20 When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

(They swear.)

(Exeunt.)

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
25 No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution

80 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,

And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd. 'Give me,' quoth I:

'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:

But in a sieve I'll thither sail,

And, like a rat without a tail,

10 I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Sec. Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

First Witch.

Thou art kind.

Third Witch. And I another.

First Witch. I myself have all the other;

15 And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know

I' the shipman's card.

I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
20 Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary sennights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
25 Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
Look what I have.

Sec. Witch. Show me, show me.

First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

80 Third Witch. A drum, a drum!

(Drum within.)

Macbeth doth come.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land,

Thus do go about, about:

35 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

Macb. So foul and fair a day 1 have not seen.
How far is't call'd to Forres?

Ban.

40 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,

What are these

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,

And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught

That man may question? You seem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying

45 Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

50

Macb.

Speak, if you can: what are you?

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!
Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!
Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!
Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear

Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner

65 You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope,

That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not:

If you can look into the seeds of time,

And say which grain will grow and which will not,

60 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear

Your favours nor your hate.

First Witch. Hail!

Sec. Witch. Hail!

Third Witch.

Hail!

65 First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Sec. Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

70

Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

First Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:

By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief,

75 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way