ACT 4, SCENE 7: The Castle.


KING: Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
And you must put me in your heart for friend,
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he which hath your noble father slain
Pursued my life.                                                                                         [5]

LAERTES:              It well appears. But tell me
Why you proceeded not against these feats
So criminal and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else
You mainly were stirred up.

KING:                           O, for two special reasons,
Which may to you perhaps seem much unsinewed,                        [10]
But yet to me th' are strong. The Queen his mother
Lives almost by his looks, and for myself --
My virtue or my plague, be it either which --
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul,
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,                                     [15]
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a public count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him,
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,                          [20]
Convert his gyves to graces, so that my arrows,
Too slightly timbered for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
But not where I have aimed them.

LAERTES: And so have I a noble father lost,                                                  [25]
A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections -- but my revenge will come.

KING: Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think                         [30]
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
That we can let our beard be shook with danger
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.
I loved your father, and we love ourself,
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine --                                   [35]

Enter a MESSENGER with letters.

How now? What news?

MESSENGER:                          Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
These to your Majesty, this to the Queen.

KING: From Hamlet? Who brought them?

MESSENGER: Sailors, my lord, they say, I saw them not.
They were given me by Claudio, He received them                          [40]
Of him that brought them.

KING:                           Laertes, you shall hear them.
-- Leave us.

Exit Messenger.

"High and mighty, You shall know I am set
naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave
to see your kingly eyes, when I shall, first asking you                       [45]
pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden
and more strange return.
What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?                                               [50]

LAERTES: Know you the hand?

KING:              'Tis Hamlet's character. "Naked"!
And in a postscript here he says "alone."
Can you devise me?

LAERTES: I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come,
It warms the very sickness in my heart                                                [55]
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
"Thus didst thou."

KING:                          If it be so, Laertes --
As how should it be so? how otherwise? --
Will you be ruled by me?

LAERTES:                           Ay, my lord,
So you will not o'errule me to a peace.                                                 [60]

KING: To thine own peace. If he be now returned
As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it, I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall;                                    [65]
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.

LAERTES:                          My lord, I will be ruled,
The rather if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ.                                                                        [70]

KING:                           It falls right.
You have been talked of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein they say you shine. Your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him
As did that one, and that, in my regard,                                               [75]
Of the unworthiest siege.

LAERTES:                           What part is that, my lord?

KING: A very riband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too, for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears
Than settled age his sables and his weeds,                                           [80]
Importing health and graveness. Two months since
Here was a gentleman of Normandy:
I have seen myself, and served against, the French,
And they can well on horseback, but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't, he grew unto his seat,                                           [85]
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As had he been incorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast. So far he topped my thought,
That I in forgery of shapes and tricks
Come short of what he did.                                                                     [90]

LAERTES:                           A Norman was't?

KING: A Norman.

LAERTES: Upon my life, Lamont.

KING:                           The very same.

LAERTES: I know him well. He is the brooch indeed
And gem of all the nation.

KING: He made confession of you,                                                                    [95]
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defense,
And for your rapier most especial,
That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed
If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation                       [100]
He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er to play with you.                                         [105]
Now, out of this --

LAERTES:                          What out of this, my lord?

KING: Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?

LAERTES:                           Why ask you this?

KING: Not that I think you did not love your father,                                    [110]
But that I know love is begun by time,
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it,                                             [115]
And nothing is at a like goodness still,
For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,
Dies in his own too much. That we would do,
We should do when we would; for this "would" changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many                                           [120]
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents,
And then this "should" is like a spendthrift's sigh,
That hurts by easing. But to the quick of th' ulcer:
Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake
To show yourself indeed your father's son                                          [125]
More than in words?

LAERTES:                           To cut his throat i' th' church.

KING: No place indeed should murder sanctuarize,
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.
Hamlet returned shall know you are come home.                            [130]
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together,
And wager o'er your heads. He, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,                                      [135]
Will not peruse the foils, so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.

LAERTES:                           I will do't,
And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.                                         [140]
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death                               [145]
That is but scratched withal. I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.

KING:              Let's further think of this,
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,                                           [150]
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assayed; therefore this project
Should have a back or second, that might hold
If this did blast in proof. Soft, let me see.
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings --                             [155]
I ha't!
When in your motion you are hot and dry --
As make your bouts more violent to that end --
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared him
A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,                                    [160]
If he by chance escape your venomed stuck,
Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise?

Enter QUEEN.

QUEEN: One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow. Your sister's drowned, Laertes.

LAERTES: Drowned! O, where?                                                                         [165]

QUEEN: There is a willow grows aslant the brook,
That shows his hoary leaves in the glassy stream,
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,                                        [170]
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs her crownet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,                         [175]
And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up,
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element. But long it could not be                                        [180]
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

LAERTES:              Alas, then she is drowned?

QUEEN: Drowned, drowned.

LAERTES: Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,                               [185]
And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet
It is our trick, Nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone,
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord,
I have a speech a' fire that fain would blaze,                                       [190]
But that this folly drowns it.


KING:                           Let's follow, Gertrude.
How much I had to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I this will give it start again,
Therefore let's follow.


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