Ham. What are they Children? Who maintains 'em? How are they efcoted? Will they purfue the Quality no longer than they can fing? Will they not fay afterwards if they fhould grow themfelves to common Players, as it is like most, if their Means are no better, their Writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own Succeffion.

Rof. Faith, there has been much to do on both fides; and the Nation holds it no Sin, to tarre them to controverfie. There was for a while, no Mony bid for Argument, unless the Poet and the Player went to Cuffs in the Question.

Ham. Is't poffible?

Guild. Oh there has been much throwing about of Brains.

Ham. Do the Boys carry it away ?

Rof. Ay, that they do, my Lord, Hercules and his load too. Ham. It is not ftrange, for mine Uncle is King of Denmark, and thofe that would make mowes at him while my Father lived, give twenty, forty, an hundred Ducates a piece, for his Picture in little. There is fomething in this more than Natural, if Philosophy could find it out.

Guild. There are the Players.

[Flourish for the Players.

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elfinoor; your Hands, come; the appurtenance of Welcome, is Fashion and Ceremony. Let me comply with you in the Garbe, left my extent to the Players (which I tell you must shew fairly outward) fhould more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my Uncle Father, and Aunt Mother are deceiv'd.

Guild. In what, my dear Lord?

Ham. I am but mad North, North-Weft: When the Wind is Southerly, I know a Hawk from a Handfaw. Enter Polonius.

Pol. Well be with you, Gentlemen.

Ham. Hark you, Guildenftern, and you too, at each ear a hearer; that great Baby you see there, is not yet out of his fwathing Clouts.

Rof. Haply he's the fecond time come to them; for they fay, an old Man is twice a Child.

Ham.

Ham. I will Prophefie, he comes to tell me of the Players. Mark it, you fay right, Sir; for on Monday Morn ing 'twas fo indeed.

Pol. My Lord, I have News to tell you.

Ham. My Lord, I have News to tell you,
When Rofcius was an Ator in Rome

Pol. The Actors are come hither, my Lord.
Ham. Buzze, buzze.

Pol. Upon mine Honour

Ham. Then came each Actor on his Afs

Pol. The best Actors in the World, either for Tragedy, Comedy, Hiftory, Paftoral, Paftorical-Comical-HiftoricalPaftoral, Tragical-Hiftorical, Tragical-Comical-HistoricalPaftoral, Scene undividable, or Poem unlimited,

Seneca

cannot be too heavy, nor Plantus too light, for the law of Wit, and the Liberty. Thefe are the only Men.

Ham. O Jephta, Judge of Ifrael, what a Treasure hadft thou!

Pol. What a Treasure had he, my Lord?

Ham. Why one fair Daughter, and no more,

The which he loved paffing well.

Pol. Still on my Daughter.

Ham. Am I not i'th' right, old Jephta?

Pol. If you call me Jephta, my Lord, I have a Daughter that I love paffing well.

Ham. Nay, that follows not.

Pol. What follows then, my Lord?

Ham. Why, as by lot, God wot

and then you

know, it came to pass, as most like it was; the first row of the Rubrick will hew you more. For lock where my Abridgements come.

Enter four or five Players.

Y'are welcome Mafters, welcome all. I am glad to fee thee well; welcome good Friends. Oh! my old Friend! Thy Eace is valiant fince I faw thee laft: Com'st thou to Beard me in Denmark? what my young Lady and Mistress? Berlady your Lordship is nearer Heaven, than when I faw you laft, by the Altitude of a Choppine. Pray God your Voice, like a piece of uncurrent Gold, be not crack'd within the Ring. Masters, you are all welcome; we'll e'en tot like French Faulconers, fly at any thing we fee; we'll have

a fpeech ftraight. Come, give us a Taste of your Quality; come, a paffionate Speech.

I Play. What Speech, my Lord?

Ham. I heard thee fpeak me a Speech once, but it was never acted; or if it was, not above once, for the Play I remember pleas'd not the Million, 'twas Caviar to the General; but it was, as I received it, and others, whose Judgment in fuch Matters, cryed in the top of mine, an excellent Play; well digefted in the Scenes, fet down with as much modefty, as cunning. I remember one faid, there was no Sallets in the Lines, to make the Matter favoury; nor no Matter in the Phrafe, that might indite the Author of Affectation, but call'd it an honeft Method. One chief Speech in it, I chiefly lov'd, 'twas Aneas Tale to Dido, and thereabout of it efpecially, where he fpeaks of Priam's Slaughter. If it live in your Memory, begin at this Line, let me fee, let me feeThe rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian Beaft. It is not fo it begins with Pyrrhus.

The rugged Pyrrhus, he whofe Sable Arms
Black as his purpofe, did the Night resemble
When he lay couched in the Ominous Horse,
Hath now his dread and black Complexion fmear'd
With Heraldry more difmal; Head to Foot
Now is he total Geules; horridly Trickt
With Blood of Fathers, Mothers, Daughters, Sons,
Bak'd and impafted, with the parching Streets,
That lend a tyrannous, and damned Light
To the vile Murthers. Roafted in a Wrath and Fire,
And thus o'erfized with coagulate Gore,

With Eyes like Carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus

Old Grandfire Priam feeks.

Pol. 'Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good Difcretion.

1 Play. Anon he finds him,

Striking too fhort at Greeks. His antick Sword,
Rebellious to his Arm, lyes where it falls
Repugnant to command; unequal match,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell Sword,
Th'unnerved Father falls. Then fenfelefs Ilium,
Seeming to feel his Blow, with flaming Top

Stoops

Stoops to his Bafe, and with a hideous crafh
Takes Prifoner Pyrrhus Ear. For lo, his Sword,
Which was declining on the milky Head

Of Reverend Priam, feem'd i'th' Air to ftick:
So as a Tyrant Pyrrhus ftood,

And like a Neutral to his Will and Matter,
Did Nothing.

But as we often fee against fome Storm,

A Silence in the Heav'ns, the Rack ftand ftill,
The bold winds fpeechlefs, and the Orb below
As hush as Death: Anon the dreadful Thunder
Doth rend the Region. So after Pyrrhus pawfe,
A rowfed Vengeance fets him new a work,
And never did the Cyclops Hammers fall

On Mars his Armours, forg'd for proof Eterne,
With lefs Remorfe than Pyrrhus bleeding Sword
Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou Strumpet-Fortune! all you Gods,
In general Synod take away her Power:

Break all the Spokes and Fellies from her Wheel,
And bowl the round Nave down the Hill of Heay'n,
As low as to the Fiends.

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It fhall to th' Barbers with your Beard. Prethee fay on; he's for a Jigg, or a tale of Bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, O who, had feen the Mobled Queen ? Ham. The Mobled Queen?

Pol. That's good; Mobled Queen, is good.

1 Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the Flame With Biffon Rheum; a Clout about that Head, Where late the Diadem ftood, and for a Robe About her lank and all o'er-teamed Loyns, A Blanket in th'alarum of fear caught up. Who this had feen, with Tongue in Venom fteep'd, 'Gainft Fortune's State, would Treafon have pronounc'd? But if the Gods themselves did fee her then, When the faw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In mincing with his Sword her Husband's Limbs ; The inftant Burft of Clamour that she made, (Unless things mortal move them not all)

Would

Would have made Milch the burning Eyes of Heav'n,
And Paffion in the Gods.

Pol. Look where he has not turn'd his Colour, and has Tears in's Eyes. Pray you no more,

Ham. 'Tis well, I'll have thee fpeak out the reft foon. Good my Lord, will you fee the Players well beftow'd. Do ye hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstracts, and brief Chronicles of the time. After your Death, you were better have a bad Epitaph, than their ill Report while you lived.

Pol. My Lord, I will ufe them according to their Defert.

Ham. Gods bodikins Man, better. Ufe every Man after his Defert, and who fhould fcape whipping; ufe them after your own Honour and Dignity. The lefs they deferve, the more Merit is in your Bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, Sirs. [Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, Friends: We'll hear a Play to morrow. Doft thou hear me, old Friend, can you play the Murther of Gonzago ?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham. We'll ha't to morrow Night. You could for a need study a fpeech of fome dozen or fixteen Lines, which I would fet down, and infert in't? Could ye not?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham. Very well. Follow that Lord, and look you mock him not. My good Friends, I'll leave you 'till Night, you are welcome to Elfinoor.

Ham. Ay fo, good b'w'ye: Now I am alone.

O what a Rogue and Peafant Slave am I!
Is it not monftrous that this Player here,
But in a Fiction, in a Dream of Paffion,
Could force his Soul fo to his whole Conceit,
That from her working, all his Vifage warm'd;
Tears in his Eyes, diftraction in's afpect,

A broken Voice, and his whole Function fuiting
With Forms, to his Conceit? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba ?

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

[Exeunt.

That