Shakespeare's First Folio Part 587

How now? What hath befalne?

Rosin. Where the dead body is bestow'd my Lord, We cannot get from him

King. But where is he?

Rosin. Without my Lord, guarded to know your pleasure

King. Bring him before vs

Rosin. Hoa, Guildensterne? Bring in my Lord.

Enter Hamlet and Guildensterne.

King. Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?

Ham. At Supper

King. At Supper? Where?

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. Your worm is your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots. Your fat King, and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes, but to one Table that's the end

King. What dost thou meane by this?

Ham. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go a Progresse through the guts of a Begger

King. Where is Polonius

Ham. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, you shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby

King. Go seeke him there

Ham. He will stay till ye come

K. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence With fierie Quicknesse. Therefore prepare thy selfe, The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe, Th' a.s.sociates tend, and euery thing at bent For England

Ham. For England?

King. I Hamlet

Ham. Good

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes

Ham. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for England. Farewell deere Mother

King. Thy louing Father Hamlet

Hamlet. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for England.

Exit

King. Follow him at foote, Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night.

Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on th' Affaire, pray you make hast.

And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought, As my great power thereof may giue thee sense, Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe Payes homage to vs; thou maist not coldly set Our Soueraigne Processe, which imports at full By Letters coniuring to that effect The present death of Hamlet. Do it England, For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun.

Exit

Enter Fortinbras with an Armie.

For. Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous: If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye, And let him know so

Cap. I will doo't, my Lord

For. Go safely on.

Enter.

Enter Queene and Horatio.

Qu. I will not speake with her

Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode will needs be pittied

Qu. What would she haue?

Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares There's trickes i'th' world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spurnes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt, That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing, Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it, And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts, Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them, Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily

Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with, For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds. Let her come in.

To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.

Enter Ophelia distracted.

Ophe. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark

Qu. How now Ophelia?

Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one?

By his c.o.c.kle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone

Qu. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song?

Ophe. Say you? Nay pray you marke.

He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a gra.s.se-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone.

Enter King.

Qu. Nay but Ophelia

Ophe. Pray you marke.

White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow

Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord

Ophe. Larded with sweet Flowers: Which bewept to the graue did not go, With true-loue showres

King. How do ye, pretty Lady?

Ophe. Well, G.o.d dil'd you. They say the Owle was a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be. G.o.d be at your Table

King. Conceit vpon her Father

Ophe. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: To morrow is S[aint]. Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.

Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more