Hamlet. William Shakespeare

customary suits of solemn black,

      Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,

      No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

      Nor the dejected havior of the visage,

      Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, 285

      'That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,

      For they are actions that a man might play;

      But I have that within which passeth show-

      These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

      Claudius. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 290

      To give these mourning duties to your father;

      But you must know, your father lost a father;

      That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound

      In filial obligation for some term

      To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever 295

      In obstinate condolement is a course

      Of impious stubbornness. 'Tis unmanly grief;

      It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,

      A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,

      An understanding simple and unschool'd; 300

      For what we know must be, and is as common

      As any the most vulgar thing to sense,

      Why should we in our peevish opposition

      Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,

      A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 305

      To reason most absurd, whose common theme

      Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,

      From the first corse till he that died to-day,

      'This must be so.' We pray you throw to earth

      This unprevailing woe, and think of us 310

      As of a father; for let the world take note

      You are the most immediate to our throne,

      And with no less nobility of love

      Than that which dearest father bears his son

      Do I impart toward you. For your intent 315

      In going back to school in Wittenberg,

      It is most retrograde to our desire;

      And we beseech you, bend you to remain

      Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,

      Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 320

      Gertrude. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.

      I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.

      Hamlet. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

      Claudius. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.

      Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come. 325

      This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet

      Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,

      No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day

      But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,

      And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, 330

      Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away.

      Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet.

      Hamlet. O that this too too solid flesh would melt,

      Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

      Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 335

      His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!

      How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

      Seem to me all the uses of this world!

      Fie on't! ah, fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden

      That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature 340

      Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

      But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two.

      So excellent a king, that was to this

      Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother

      That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 345

      Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!

      Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him

      As if increase of appetite had grown

      By what it fed on; and yet, within a month-

      Let me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman! — 350

      A little month, or ere those shoes were old

      With which she followed my poor father's body

      Like Niobe, all tears- why she, even she

      (O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason

      Would have mourn'd longer) married with my uncle; 355

      My father's brother, but no more like my father

      Than I to Hercules. Within a month,

      Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

      Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

      She married. O, most wicked speed, to post 360

      With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

      It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

      But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!

      Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

      Horatio. Hail to your lordship! 365

      Hamlet. I am glad to see you well.

      Horatio! — or I do forget myself.

      Horatio. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

      Hamlet. Sir, my good friend- I'll change that name with you.

      And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? 370

      Marcellus?

      Marcellus. My good lord!

      Hamlet. I am very glad to see you. — [To Bernardo] Good even, sir. —

      But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

      Horatio.