Act V

Scene I. A churchyard.

[Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c.]

1 Clown.

Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully

seeks her own salvation?

2 Clown.

I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the

crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.

1 Clown.

How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

2 Clown.

Why, 'tis found so.

1 Clown.

It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies

the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an

act hath three branches; it is to act, to do, and to perform:

argal, she drowned herself wittingly.

2 Clown.

Nay, but hear you, goodman delver, -

1 Clown.

Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the

man; good: if the man go to this water and drown himself, it is,

will he, nill he, he goes, - mark you that: but if the water come

to him and drown him, he drowns not himself; argal, he that is

not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

2 Clown.

But is this law?

1 Clown.

Ay, marry, is't - crowner's quest law.

2 Clown.

Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a

gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.

1 Clown.

Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that great folk

should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves

more than their even Christian. - Come, my spade. There is no

ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they

hold up Adam's profession.

2 Clown.

Was he a gentleman?

1 Clown.

He was the first that ever bore arms.

2 Clown.

Why, he had none.

1 Clown.

What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture?

The Scripture says Adam digg'd: could he dig without arms? I'll

put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the

purpose, confess thyself, -

2 Clown.

Go to.

1 Clown.

What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the

shipwright, or the carpenter?

2 Clown.

The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clown.

I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows does well;

but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now,

thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the

church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

2 Clown.

Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

1 Clown.

Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clown.

Marry, now I can tell.

1 Clown.


2 Clown.

Mass, I cannot tell.

[Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.]

1 Clown.

Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will

not mend his pace with beating; and when you are asked this

question next, say 'a grave-maker;' the houses he makes last

till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of


[Exit Second Clown.]

[Digs and sings.]

In youth when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet;

To contract, O, the time for, ah, my behove,

O, methought there was nothing meet.


Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at



Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.


'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier


1 Clown.


But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath claw'd me in his clutch,

And hath shipp'd me intil the land,

As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a skull.]


That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the

knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that

did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician,

which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God,

might it not?


It might, my lord.


Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord!

How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my lord such-a-one, that

praised my lord such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg

it, - might it not?


Ay, my lord.


Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and knocked

about the mazard with a sexton's spade: here's fine revolution,

an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the

breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? mine ache to think


1 Clown.


A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,

For and a shrouding sheet;

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up another skull].


There's another: why may not that be the skull of a lawyer?

Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures,

and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock

him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him

of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a

great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his

fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries: is this the fine of

his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine

pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of

his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth

of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will

scarcely lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no

more, ha?


Not a jot more, my lord.


Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?


Ay, my lord, And of calf-skins too.


They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I

will speak to this fellow. - Whose grave's this, sir?

1 Clown.

Mine, sir.


O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.


I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.

1 Clown.

You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours: for my part,

I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.


Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine: 'tis for

the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

1 Clown.

'Tis a quick lie, sir; 't will away again from me to you.


What man dost thou dig it for?

1 Clown.

For no man, sir.


What woman then?

1 Clown.

For none neither.


Who is to be buried in't?

1 Clown.

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.


How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or

equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three

years I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that

the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he

galls his kibe. - How long hast thou been a grave-maker?

1 Clown.

Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our

last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.


How long is that since?

1 Clown.

Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it was the

very day that young Hamlet was born, - he that is mad, and sent

into England.


Ay, marry, why was be sent into England?

1 Clown.

Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there;

or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.



1 Clown.

'Twill not he seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.


How came he mad?

1 Clown.

Very strangely, they say.


How strangely?

1 Clown.

Faith, e'en with losing his wits.


Upon what ground?

1 Clown.

Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man and boy,

thirty years.


How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot?

1 Clown.

Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, - as we have many

pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, - he

will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last

you nine year.


Why he more than another?

1 Clown.

Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that he will

keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of

your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now; this skull hath lain

in the earth three-and-twenty years.


Whose was it?

1 Clown.

A whoreson, mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?


Nay, I know not.

1 Clown.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'a pour'd a flagon of

Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's

skull, the king's jester.



1 Clown.

E'en that.


Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! - I knew him,

Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he

hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred

in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those

lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes

now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that

were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your

own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now, get you to my lady's

chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this

favour she must come; make her laugh at that. - Pr'ythee, Horatio,

tell me one thing.


What's that, my lord?


Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the earth?


E'en so.


And smelt so? Pah!

[Throws down the skull.]


E'en so, my lord.


To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not

imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it

stopping a bung-hole?


'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.


No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty

enough, and likelihood to lead it: as thus: Alexander died,

Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is

earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam whereto he

was converted might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

O, that that earth which kept the world in awe

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!

But soft! but soft! aside! - Here comes the king.

[Enter priests, &c, in procession; the corpse of Ophelia,

Laertes, and Mourners following; King, Queen, their Trains, &c.]

The queen, the courtiers: who is that they follow?

And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken

The corse they follow did with desperate hand

Fordo it own life: 'twas of some estate.

Couch we awhile and mark.

[Retiring with Horatio.]


What ceremony else?


That is Laertes,

A very noble youth: mark.


What ceremony else?

1 Priest.

Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd

As we have warranties: her death was doubtful;

And, but that great command o'ersways the order,

She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd

Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,

Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her,

Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites,

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home

Of bell and burial.


Must there no more be done?

1 Priest.

No more be done;

We should profane the service of the dead

To sing a requiem and such rest to her

As to peace-parted souls.


Lay her i' the earth; -

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

May violets spring! - I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be

When thou liest howling.


What, the fair Ophelia?


Sweets to the sweet: farewell.

[Scattering flowers.]

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;

I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,

And not have strew'd thy grave.


O, treble woe

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head

Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense

Depriv'd thee of! - Hold off the earth awhile,

Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:

[Leaps into the grave.]

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,

Till of this flat a mountain you have made,

To o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head

Of blue Olympus.



What is he whose grief

Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow

Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

[Leaps into the grave.]


The devil take thy soul!

[Grappling with him.]


Thou pray'st not well.

I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat;

For, though I am not splenetive and rash,

Yet have I in me something dangerous,

Which let thy wiseness fear: away thy hand!


Pluck them asunder.


Hamlet! Hamlet!


Gentlemen! -


Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.]


Why, I will fight with him upon this theme

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.


O my son, what theme?


I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers

Could not, with all their quantity of love,

Make up my sum. - What wilt thou do for her?


O, he is mad, Laertes.


For love of God, forbear him!


'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do:

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?

Woul't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile?

I'll do't. - Dost thou come here to whine?

To outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her, and so will I:

And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw

Millions of acres on us, till our ground,

Singeing his pate against the burning zone,

Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,

I'll rant as well as thou.


This is mere madness:

And thus a while the fit will work on him;

Anon, as patient as the female dove,

When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,

His silence will sit drooping.


Hear you, sir;

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter;

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.



I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. -

[Exit Horatio.]

[To Laertes]

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;

We'll put the matter to the present push. -

Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. -

This grave shall have a living monument:

An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;

Till then in patience our proceeding be.


Scene II. A hall in the Castle.

[Enter Hamlet and Horatio.]


So much for this, sir: now let me see the other;

You do remember all the circumstance?


Remember it, my lord!


Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting

That would not let me sleep: methought I lay

Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly,

And prais'd be rashness for it, - let us know,

Our indiscretion sometime serves us well,

When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.


That is most certain.


Up from my cabin,

My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark

Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire;

Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew

To mine own room again: making so bold,

My fears forgetting manners, to unseal

Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,

O royal knavery! an exact command, -

Larded with many several sorts of reasons,

Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,

With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, -

That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,

My head should be struck off.


Is't possible?


Here's the commission: read it at more leisure.

But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed?


I beseech you.


Being thus benetted round with villanies, -

Or I could make a prologue to my brains,

They had begun the play, - I sat me down;

Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair:

I once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much

How to forget that learning; but, sir, now

It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know

The effect of what I wrote?


Ay, good my lord.


An earnest conjuration from the king, -

As England was his faithful tributary;

As love between them like the palm might flourish;

As peace should still her wheaten garland wear

And stand a comma 'tween their amities;

And many such-like as's of great charge, -

That, on the view and know of these contents,

Without debatement further, more or less,

He should the bearers put to sudden death,

Not shriving-time allow'd.


How was this seal'd?


Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.

I had my father's signet in my purse,

Which was the model of that Danish seal:

Folded the writ up in the form of the other;

Subscrib'd it: gave't the impression; plac'd it safely,

The changeling never known. Now, the next day

Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent

Thou know'st already.


So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.


Why, man, they did make love to this employment;

They are not near my conscience; their defeat

Does by their own insinuation grow:

'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes

Between the pass and fell incensed points

Of mighty opposites.


Why, what a king is this!


Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now upon, -

He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother;

Popp'd in between the election and my hopes;

Thrown out his angle for my proper life,

And with such cozenage - is't not perfect conscience

To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd

To let this canker of our nature come

In further evil?


It must be shortly known to him from England

What is the issue of the business there.


It will be short: the interim is mine;

And a man's life is no more than to say One.

But I am very sorry, good Horatio,

That to Laertes I forgot myself;

For by the image of my cause I see

The portraiture of his: I'll court his favours:

But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me

Into a towering passion.


Peace; who comes here?

[Enter Osric.]


Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.


I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water-fly?


No, my good lord.


Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him. He

hath much land, and fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and

his crib shall stand at the king's mess; 'tis a chough; but, as I

say, spacious in the possession of dirt.


Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should

impart a thing to you from his majesty.


I will receive it with all diligence of spirit. Put your

bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head.


I thank your lordship, t'is very hot.


No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.


It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.


Methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.


Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, - as 'twere - I cannot

tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that

he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the

matter, -


I beseech you, remember, -

[Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.]


Nay, in good faith; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here

is newly come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute

gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft

society and great showing: indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he

is the card or calendar of gentry; for you shall find in him the

continent of what part a gentleman would see.


Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; - though, I

know, to divide him inventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of

memory, and yet but yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail.

But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great

article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make

true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else

would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.


Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.


The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the gentleman in our more

rawer breath?




Is't not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do't,

sir, really.


What imports the nomination of this gentleman?


Of Laertes?


His purse is empty already; all's golden words are spent.


Of him, sir.


I know, you are not ignorant, -


I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not

much approve me. - Well, sir.


You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is, -


I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in

excellence; but to know a man well were to know himself.


I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on

him by them, in his meed he's unfellowed.


What's his weapon?


Rapier and dagger.


That's two of his weapons: - but well.


The king, sir, hath wager'd with him six Barbary horses:

against the which he has imponed, as I take it, six French

rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and

so: three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy,

very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of

very liberal conceit.


What call you the carriages?


I knew you must be edified by the margent ere you had done.


The carriages, sir, are the hangers.


The phrase would be more german to the matter if we could

carry cannon by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then.

But, on: six Barbary horses against six French swords, their

assigns, and three liberal conceited carriages: that's the French

bet against the Danish: why is this all imponed, as you call it?


The king, sir, hath laid that, in a dozen passes between

your and him, he shall not exceed you three hits: he hath

laid on twelve for nine; and it would come to immediate trial

if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.


How if I answer no?


I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.


Sir, I will walk here in the hall: if it please his majesty,

it is the breathing time of day with me: let the foils be

brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his purpose,

I will win for him if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my

shame and the odd hits.


Shall I re-deliver you e'en so?


To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.


I commend my duty to your lordship.


Yours, yours.

[Exit Osric.]

He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues else

for's turn.


This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.


He did comply with his dug before he suck'd it. Thus has he, - and

many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on, -

only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter;

a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and

through the most fanned and winnowed opinions; and do but blow

them to their trial, the bubbles are out,

[Enter a Lord.]


My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young Osric,

who brings back to him that you attend him in the hall: he sends

to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you

will take longer time.


I am constant to my purposes; they follow the king's pleasure:

if his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now or whensoever, provided

I be so able as now.


The King and Queen and all are coming down.


In happy time.


The queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to

Laertes before you fall to play.


She well instructs me.

[Exit Lord.]


You will lose this wager, my lord.


I do not think so; since he went into France I have been in

continual practice: I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not

think how ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter.


Nay, good my lord, -


It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving as

would perhaps trouble a woman.


If your mind dislike anything, obey it: I will forestall their

repair hither, and say you are not fit.


Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in

the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be

not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come:

the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves,

what is't to leave betimes?

[Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, and Attendants with

foils &c.]


Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

[The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.]


Give me your pardon, sir: I have done you wrong:

But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.

This presence knows, and you must needs have heard,

How I am punish'd with sore distraction.

What I have done

That might your nature, honour, and exception

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.

Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet:

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,

And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,

Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.

Who does it, then? His madness: if't be so,

Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;

His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.

Sir, in this audience,

Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil

Free me so far in your most generous thoughts

That I have shot my arrow o'er the house

And hurt my brother.


I am satisfied in nature,

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most

To my revenge. But in my terms of honour

I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement

Till by some elder masters of known honour

I have a voice and precedent of peace

To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time

I do receive your offer'd love like love,

And will not wrong it.


I embrace it freely;

And will this brother's wager frankly play. -

Give us the foils; come on.


Come, one for me.


I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night,

Stick fiery off indeed.


You mock me, sir.


No, by this hand.


Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,

You know the wager?


Very well, my lord;

Your grace has laid the odds o' the weaker side.


I do not fear it; I have seen you both;

But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds.


This is too heavy, let me see another.


This likes me well. These foils have all a length?

[They prepare to play.]


Ay, my good lord.


Set me the stoups of wine upon that table, -

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,

Or quit in answer of the third exchange,

Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;

The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath;

And in the cup an union shall he throw,

Richer than that which four successive kings

In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups;

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,

The trumpet to the cannoneer without,

The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,

'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.' - Come, begin: -

And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.


Come on, sir.


Come, my lord.

[They play.]








A hit, a very palpable hit.


Well; - again.


Stay, give me drink. - Hamlet, this pearl is thine;

Here's to thy health. -

[Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within.]

Give him the cup.


I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile. -

Come. - Another hit; what say you?

[They play.]


A touch, a touch, I do confess.


Our son shall win.


He's fat, and scant of breath. -

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows:

The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.


Good madam!


Gertrude, do not drink.


I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.


[Aside.] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late.


I dare not drink yet, madam; by-and-by.


Come, let me wipe thy face.


My lord, I'll hit him now.


I do not think't.


[Aside.] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.


Come, for the third, Laertes: you but dally;

I pray you pass with your best violence:

I am afeard you make a wanton of me.


Say you so? come on.

[They play.]


Nothing, neither way.


Have at you now!

[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they

change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes.]


Part them; they are incens'd.


Nay, come again!

[The Queen falls.]


Look to the queen there, ho!


They bleed on both sides. - How is it, my lord?


How is't, Laertes?


Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric;

I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.


How does the Queen?


She swoons to see them bleed.


No, no! the drink, the drink! - O my dear Hamlet! -

The drink, the drink! - I am poison'd.



O villany! - Ho! let the door be lock'd:

Treachery! seek it out.

[Laertes falls.]


It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain;

No medicine in the world can do thee good;

In thee there is not half an hour of life;

The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,

Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice

Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie,

Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd:

I can no more: - the king, the king's to blame.


The point envenom'd too! -

Then, venom, to thy work.

[Stabs the King.]

Osric and Lords.

Treason! treason!


O, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt.


Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane,

Drink off this potion. - Is thy union here?

Follow my mother.

[King dies.]


He is justly serv'd;

It is a poison temper'd by himself. -

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:

Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,

Nor thine on me!



Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. -

I am dead, Horatio. - Wretched queen, adieu! -

You that look pale and tremble at this chance,

That are but mutes or audience to this act,

Had I but time, - as this fell sergeant, death,

Is strict in his arrest, - O, I could tell you, -

But let it be. - Horatio, I am dead;

Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright

To the unsatisfied.


Never believe it:

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. -

Here's yet some liquor left.


As thou'rt a man,

Give me the cup; let go; by heaven, I'll have't. -

O good Horatio, what a wounded name,

Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story. -

[March afar off, and shot within.]

What warlike noise is this?


Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,

To the ambassadors of England gives

This warlike volley.


O, I die, Horatio;

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:

I cannot live to hear the news from England;

But I do prophesy the election lights

On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;

So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,

Which have solicited. - the rest is silence.



Now cracks a noble heart. - Good night, sweet prince,

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

Why does the drum come hither?

[March within.]

[Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and others.]


Where is this sight?


What is it you will see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.


This quarry cries on havoc. - O proud death,

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,

That thou so many princes at a shot

So bloodily hast struck?

1 Ambassador.

The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead:

Where should we have our thanks?


Not from his mouth,

Had it the ability of life to thank you:

He never gave commandment for their death.

But since, so jump upon this bloody question,

You from the Polack wars, and you from England,

Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies

High on a stage be placed to the view;

And let me speak to the yet unknowing world

How these things came about: so shall you hear

Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts;

Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;

Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause;

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I

Truly deliver.


Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.

For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune:

I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,

Which now, to claim my vantage doth invite me.


Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more:

But let this same be presently perform'd,

Even while men's minds are wild: lest more mischance

On plots and errors happen.


Let four captains

Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage;

For he was likely, had he been put on,

To have prov'd most royally: and, for his passage,

The soldiers' music and the rites of war

Speak loudly for him. -

Take up the bodies. - Such a sight as this

Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

[A dead march.]

[Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies; after the which a peal of ordnance is shot off.]