Thy knotty and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to ftand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood; lift, list, oh lift!
If thou did't ever thy dear father love-
GHOST. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.
HAM. Murther?
GHOST. Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this moft foul, ftrange and unnatural.
HAM. Hafte me to know it, that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love,
May fly to my revenge.
GHOST. I find thee apt;
And duller fhould't thou be, than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe's whatf.
Would't thou not flir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear a
'Tis giv'n out, that, fleeping in my orchard,
A ferpent flung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged procefs of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thon noble youth,
The ferpent that did fling thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.
HAM. Oh, my prophetic foul! my uncle !
GHOST. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to feduce!) won to his fhameful luft
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen.
Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
But foft! methinks I fcent the morning air-
Brieflet me be : Sleeping within mine orchard,
My cuftom always in the afternoon,
Upon my fecure hour thy uncle ftole
With juice of curfed ebony in a phial,
And in the porches of mine ear did pour
The leperous distilment.
Thus was I fleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once bereft;
Cut off even in the bloffoms of
No reck'ning made! but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head!
HAM. Oh horrible ! oh horrible! most horrible!
GHOST. If thou haft nature in thee, bear it not;
But howfoever thou purfu'ft this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy foul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heav'n,
And to those thorns that in her bofom lodge,
To prick and fting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire.
Adieu, adieu, adieu : remember me.
HAM. Oh, atl you host of heav'n! oh earth! what elfe! And shall I couple hell? oh fie! hold my heart ?
And you, my finews grow not inftant old;
Ay, thou poor ghost, while
In this distracted globe; remember thee !
Yea, from the tablet of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All faws of books, all forms, all preffures past,
That youth and obfervation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone fhall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter.
SOLILOQUY ón DEATH.
To be, or not to be ?-that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to fuffer
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by oppofing end them?—To die,—to fleep—
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 confummation
Devoutly to be wifh'd. To die-to fleep-
To fleep? perchance to dream ?ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have fhuffled off this mortal coil,
Muft give us pause.-There's the refpect
That makes calamity of fo long life:
For who would bear the whips and fcorns o' th' time,
Th' oppreffor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,.
The pangs of defpis'd love, the law's delay,
The infolence of office, and the fpurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes ;
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
Το
and fweat under a weary life
groan
But that the dread of fomething after death
(That undiscover'd country, from whofe bourne
No traveller returns) puzzles the will ;
And makes us rather bear thofe ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus confcience does make cowards of us all :
And thus the native hue of refolution
Is ficklied o'er with the pale caft of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lofe the name of action.
SOLILOQUY OF THE KING IN HAMLET.
H! my offence is rank, it fmells to heav'n
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't ;
A brother's murder--Pray I cannot :
Though inclination be as sharp as 'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my ftrong intent;
And like a man to double business bound,
I ftand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
To wash it white as fnow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the vifage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be foreftalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down?--Then I'll look up ;
My fault is paft.. -But oh, what form of prayer
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be, fince I am still poffefs'd
Of thofe effects for which I did the murder,,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world.
Offence's gilded hand may fhove by justice;
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the laws.
There is no fhuffling; there the action lies'
In its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd,
Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence.
What then? what refts?
Try what repentance can; what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched ftate! oh bofom black as death !
Oh limed foul, that, ftruggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels! make affay !
Bow, ftubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be foft as finews of the new-born babe!
ODE ON ST. CECILIA's DAY..
DESCEND, ye Nine ! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,
Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And fweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleafing strain
Let the warbling lute complain ::
Let the loud trumpet found,
Till the roofs all around
The fhrill echoes rebound ::
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