ACT V SCENE I� Setting:A churchyard. Setting:� Setting:�Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c.�
| First Clown� |
Is she to be buried in Christian burial that |
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wilfully seeks her own salvation? |
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| Second Clown� |
I tell thee she is: and therefore make her grave |
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straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it |
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Christian burial. |
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| First Clown� |
How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her |
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own defence? |
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| Second Clown� |
Why, 'tis found so. |
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| First Clown� |
It must be 'se offendendo;' it cannot be else. For |
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here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, |
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it argues an act: and an act hath three branches: it |
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is, to act, to do, to perform: argal, she drowned |
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herself wittingly. |
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| Second Clown� |
Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,–– |
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| First Clown� |
Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here |
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stands the man; good; if the man go to this water, |
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and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he |
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goes,––mark you that; but if the water come to him |
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and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he |
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that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life. |
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| Second Clown� |
But is this law? |
�20 |
| First Clown� |
Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest law. |
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| Second Clown� |
Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been |
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a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' |
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Christian burial. |
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| First Clown� |
Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that |
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great folk should have countenance in this world to |
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drown or hang themselves, more than their even |
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Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient |
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gentleman but gardeners, ditchers, and grave–makers: |
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they hold up Adam's profession. |
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| Second Clown� |
Was he a gentleman? |
�30 |
| First Clown� |
He was the first that ever bore arms. |
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| Second Clown� |
Why, he had none. |
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| First Clown� |
What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the |
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Scripture? The Scripture says 'Adam digged:' |
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could he dig without arms? I'll put another |
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question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the |
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purpose, confess thyself–– |
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| Second Clown� |
Go to. |
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| First Clown� |
What is he that builds stronger than either the |
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mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? |
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| Second Clown� |
The gallows–maker; for that frame outlives a |
�40 |
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thousand tenants. |
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| First Clown� |
I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows |
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does well; but how does it well? it does well to |
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those that do in: now thou dost ill to say the |
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gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, |
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the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come. |
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| Second Clown� |
Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or |
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a carpenter?' |
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| First Clown� |
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. |
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| Second Clown� |
Marry, now I can tell. |
�50 |
| First Clown� |
To't. |
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| Second Clown� |
Mass, I cannot tell. |
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Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance. |
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| First Clown� |
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull |
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ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when |
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you are asked this question next, say 'a |
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grave–maker: 'the houses that he makes last till |
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doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a |
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stoup of liquor. |
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Exit Second Clown |
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He�digs�and�sings |
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In youth, when I did love, did love, |
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Methought it was very sweet, |
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To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, |
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O, methought, there was nothing meet. |
�61 |
| HAMLET� |
Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he |
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sings at grave–making? |
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| HORATIO� |
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. |
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| HAMLET� |
Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath |
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the daintier sense. |
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| First Clown� |
Sings. |
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But age, with his stealing steps, |
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Hath claw'd me in his clutch, |
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And hath shipped me intil the land, |
�69 |
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As if I had never been such. |
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Throws up a skull. |
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| HAMLET� |
That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: |
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how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were |
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Cain's jaw–bone, that did the first murder! It |
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might be the pate of a politician, which this ass |
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now o'er–reaches; one that would circumvent God, |
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might it not? |
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| HORATIO� |
It might, my lord. |
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| HAMLET� |
Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good morrow, |
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sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might |
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be my lord such–a–one, that praised my lord |
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such–a–one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not? |
�80 |
| HORATIO� |
Ay, my lord. |
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| HAMLET� |
Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and |
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knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: |
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here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to |
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see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, |
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but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on't. |
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| First Clown: [Sings.]� |
A pick–axe, and a spade, a spade, |
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For and a shrouding sheet: |
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O, a pit of clay for to be made |
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For such a guest is meet. |
�90 |
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Throws up another skull. |
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| HAMLET� |
There's another: why may not that be the skull of a |
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lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, |
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his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he |
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suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the |
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sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of |
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his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be |
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in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, |
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his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, |
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his recoveries: is this the fine of his fines, and |
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the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine |
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pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him |
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no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than |
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the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The |
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very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in |
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this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha? |
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| HORATIO� |
Not a jot more, my lord. |
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| HAMLET� |
Is not parchment made of sheepskins? |
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| HORATIO� |
Ay, my lord, and of calf–skins too. |
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| HAMLET� |
They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance |
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in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose |
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grave's this, sirrah? |
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| First Clown� |
Mine, sir. |
�115 |
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Sings. |
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O, a pit of clay for to be made |
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For such a guest is meet. |
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| HAMLET� |
I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't. |
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| First Clown� |
You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not |
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yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine. |
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| HAMLET� |
Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine: |
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tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest. |
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| First Clown� |
Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away gain, from me to |
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you. |
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| HAMLET� |
What man dost thou dig it for? |
�120 |
| First Clown� |
For no man, sir. |
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| HAMLET� |
What woman, then? |
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| First Clown� |
For none, neither. |
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| HAMLET� |
Who is to be buried in't? |
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| First Clown� |
One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. |
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| HAMLET� |
How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the |
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card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, |
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Horatio, these three years I have taken a note of |
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it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the |
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peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he |
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gaffs his kibe. How long hast thou been a |
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grave–maker? |
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| First Clown� |
Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day |
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that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. |
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| HAMLET� |
How long is that since? |
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| First Clown� |
Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it |
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was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that |
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is mad, and sent into England. |
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| HAMLET� |
Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? |
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| First Clown� |
Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits |
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there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there. |
�141 |
| HAMLET� |
Why? |
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| First Clown� |
Twill, a not be seen in him there; there the men |
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are as mad as he. |
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| HAMLET� |
How came he mad? |
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| First Clown� |
Very strangely, they say. |
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| HAMLET� |
How strangely? |
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| First Clown� |
Faith, e'en with losing his wits. |
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| HAMLET� |
Upon what ground? |
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| First Clown� |
Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man |
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and boy, thirty years. |
�151 |
| HAMLET� |
How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot? |
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| First Clown� |
I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die––as we |
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have many pocky corses now–a–days, that will scarce |
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hold the laying in––he will last you some eight year |
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or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year. |
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| HAMLET� |
Why he more than another? |
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| First Clown� |
Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that |
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he will keep out water a great while; and your water |
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is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. |
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Here's a skull now; this skull has lain in the earth |
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three and twenty years. |
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| HAMLET� |
Whose was it? |
�162 |
| First Clown� |
A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was? |
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| HAMLET� |
Nay, I know not. |
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| First Clown� |
A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a |
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flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, |
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sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester. |
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| HAMLET� |
This? |
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| First Clown� |
E'en that. |
�170 |
| HAMLET� |
Let me see. |
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Takes the skull. |
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Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow |
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of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath |
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borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how |
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abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at |
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it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know |
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not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your |
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gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, |
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that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one |
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now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap–fallen. |
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let |
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her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must |
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come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell |
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me one thing. |
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| HORATIO� |
What's that, my lord? |
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| HAMLET� |
Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' |
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the earth? |
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| HORATIO� |
E'en so. |
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| HAMLET� |
And smelt so? pah! |
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Puts down the skull. |
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| HORATIO� |
E'en so, my lord. |
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| HAMLET� |
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may |
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not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, |
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till he find it stopping a bung–hole? |
�191 |
| HORATIO� |
Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. |
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| HAMLET� |
No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with |
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modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as |
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thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, |
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Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of |
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earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he |
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was converted, might they not stop a beer–barrel? |
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Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, |
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Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. |
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O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, |
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Should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw! |
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But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king. |
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Enter Priest, the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, their trains, &c. |
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The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow? |
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And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken |
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The corse they follow did with desperate hand |
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Fordo its own life: 'twas of some estate. |
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Couch we awhile, and mark. |
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Retiring with HORATIO. |
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| LAERTES� |
What ceremony else? |
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| HAMLET� |
That is Laertes, |
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A very noble youth: mark. |
�210 |
| LAERTES� |
What ceremony else? |
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| First Priest� |
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged |
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As we have warranty: her death was doubtful; |
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And, but that great command o'ersways the order, |
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She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd |
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Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers, |
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Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her; |
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Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, |
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Her maiden strewments and the bringing home |
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Of bell and burial. |
�220 |
| LAERTES� |
Must there no more be done? |
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| First Priest� |
No more be done! |
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We should profane the service of the dead |
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To sing a requiem and such rest to her |
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As to peace–parted souls. |
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| LAERTES� |
Lay her i' the earth: |
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And from her fair and unpolluted flesh |
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May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, |
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A ministering angel shall my sister be, |
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When thou liest howling. |
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| HAMLET� |
What, the fair Ophelia! |
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| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Sweets to the sweet: farewell! |
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Scattering flowers. |
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I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; |
�230 |
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I thought thy bride–bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, |
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And not have strew'd thy grave. |
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| LAERTES� |
O, treble woe |
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Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, |
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Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense |
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Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, |
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Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: |
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Leaps into the grave. |
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Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, |
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Till of this flat a mountain you have made, |
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To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head |
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Of blue Olympus. |
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| HAMLET� |
Advancing.�What is he whose grief |
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Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow |
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Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand |
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Like wonder–wounded hearers? This is I, |
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Hamlet the Dane. |
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Leaps into the grave. |
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| LAERTES� |
The devil take thy soul! |
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Grappling with him. |
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| HAMLET� |
Thou pray'st not well. |
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I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat; |
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For, though I am not splenitive and rash, |
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Yet have I something in me dangerous, |
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Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand. |
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| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Pluck them asunder. |
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| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Hamlet, Hamlet! |
�250 |
| All� |
Gentlemen,–– |
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| HORATIO� |
Good my lord, be quiet. |
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| � |
The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave. |
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| HAMLET� |
Why I will fight with him upon this theme |
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Until my eyelids will no longer wag. |
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| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
O my son, what theme? |
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| HAMLET� |
I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers |
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| � |
Could not, with all their quantity of love, |
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| � |
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? |
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| KING CLAUDIUS� |
O, he is mad, Laertes. |
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| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
For love of God, forbear him. |
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| HAMLET� |
Swounds, show me what thou'lt do: |
�260 |
| � |
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? |
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Woo't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? |
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I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? |
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To outface me with leaping in her grave? |
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Be buried quick with her, and so will I: |
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And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw |
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Millions of acres on us, till our ground, |
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Singeing his pate against the burning zone, |
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Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, |
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I'll rant as well as thou. |
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| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
This is mere madness: |
�270 |
| � |
And thus awhile the fit will work on him; |
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Anon, as patient as the female dove, |
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When that her golden couplets are disclosed, |
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His silence will sit drooping. |
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| HAMLET� |
Hear you, sir; |
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What is the reason that you use me thus? |
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I loved you ever: but it is no matter; |
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Let Hercules himself do what he may, |
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| � |
The cat will mew and dog will have his day. |
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| � |
Exit |
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| KING CLAUDIUS� |
I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. |
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| � |
Exit HORATIO. |
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| � |
To LAERTES. |
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| � |
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; |
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| � |
We'll put the matter to the present push. |
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| � |
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. |
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| � |
This grave shall have a living monument: |
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An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; |
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Till then, in patience our proceeding be. |
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| � |
Exeunt |
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