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!
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.