Laer. I know him well; he is the brooch, indeed, And gem of all the nation.

King. He made confeffion of you, And gave you such a masterly report, For art and exercife in your defence, And for your rapier most especial,

That he cried out, 'twould be a fight indeed,
If one could match you. (64) The ferimers of
their nation,

He fwore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppofed 'em ---Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet fo envenom with his envy,
That he could nothing do, but wifh and beg
Your fudden coming o'er to play with him.
Now out of this--

Laer. What out of this, my Lord?

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a forrow,
A face without a heart?

Laer. Why afk you this?

King. Not that I think you did not love your But that I know, love is begun by time; [father, And that I fee in paffages of proof,

Time qualifies the ipark and fire of it;

(64)

-The fcrimers of their nation,

He fwore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,

If you oppofed them.] This likewife is a passage omitted in the Folios; the reducing the play to a reasonable length was the motive of fo many caftrations. Some of the modern Quartos have in the room of frimers fubftituted fencers; which is but a glofs of the more obfolete word. Scrimer is properly a gladiator, fencer; from which we have derived our word, fkermish. The fcience of defence was by the Dutch called scherm; by the Itallans, fcherima and ferima; and by the French efcrime; as the Anglo-Saxons of old used to call a fencer or fwordfman ferimbre; which (the b being lett out, and a metathesis made in the letters of the laft iyllable) is the very term used by our Author.

There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick, or fnuff, that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like goodness ftill;
For goodnets, growing to a pleurify, (65)
Dies in his own too much; what we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would
changes,

And hath abatements and delays as many

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; And then this should is like a fpendthrift figh, That hurts by eafing. But to th' quick o' th' ulcer: Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake

(65) For goodness, growing to a pleurify,

Dies in his own too much;] Mr Warburton fagaciously obferved to me, that this is nonfenfe, and untrue in fa&; and therefore thinks, that Shakespeare muft have wrote;

For goodness, growing to a piethory, &c.

For the pleurify is an inflammation of the membrane which covers the whole thorax, and is generally occafioned by a ftagnation of the blood; but a plethora is, when the veffels are fuller of humours than is agreeable to a natural state, or health; and too great a fulacfs and floridnefs of the blood are frequently the caufes of fudden death. But I have not difturbed the text, becaufe 'tis poffible our Author himself might be out in his phyfics; and I have the more reason to fufpect it, becaufe Beaumont and Fletcher have twice com mitted the felf-fame blunder:

You are too infolent;

And thofe too many excellencies, that feed
Your pride, turn to a pleurity, and kill

That which fhould nourish virtue. Cuftom of the Country: So, again;

-Thou grand decider

Of dufty and old titles, that healeft with blood
The earth when it is-fick, and cureft the world
O' th' pleurity of people.

Two Noble Kinfmen.

If I may guess at the accident which caufed their mistake, it feems this; they did not confider that plurify was derived from pleura; but the declination of plus pluris, croffed their thoughts, and fo they naturally fuppofed the diftemper to arife from fome fuperfluity.

To fhew yourself your father's fon indeed.
More than in words?

Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church.

[rize,

King. No place, indeed, fhould murder fanctuaRevenge fhould have no bounds; but good Laertes, Will you do this? keep clofe within your chamber; Hamlet returned, fhall know you are come home; We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, And fet a double varnish on the fame [gether, The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, toAnd wager on your heads. He being remifs, Moft generous, and free from all contriving, Will not perufe the foils; fo that with ease, Or with a little fhuffling you may chufe A fword unbated, and in a pafs of practice Requite him for your father.

Laer. I will do't;

And for the purpose I'll anoint my fword:
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no cataplafm so rare,
Collected from all fimples that have virtue

Under the moon, can fave the thing from death
That is but scratched withal; I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him flightly,.
It may be death.

King. Let's farther think of this;

Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our fhape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad perform-

ance,

"Twere better not affayed; therefore this project Should have a back, or fecond, that might hold, If this fhould blaft in proof.---Soft, let me feeWe'll make a folemn wager on your cunnings; I ha't----when in your motion you are hot,.

(As make your bouts more violent to that end,)
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him:
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but fipping,
If he by chance escape your venomed tuck,
Our purpose may hold there.

Enter Queen.

How now, fweet Queen?

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So faft they follow: your fifter's drowned, Laertes. Laer. Drowned! oh where?

Queen. There is a willow grows aflant a brook,That thews his hoar leaves in the glaffy ftream: There with fantaftic garlands did the come, Of crow-flowers, nettles, daifies, and long purples, (That liberal thepherds give a groffer name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them ;)

There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious fliver broke;
When down her widow trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths fpread wide,
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time the chaunted fnatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress;

Or like a creature native, and endued
Unto that element; but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer. Alas then, fhe is drowned!

Queen. Drowned, drowned.

Laer. Too much of water haft thou, poor Ophelia,

And therefore I forbid my tears

but yet

It is our trick; Nature her cuftom holds,

Let Shame fay what it will; when thefe are gone,

King. Follow, Gertrude:

The woman wi!! be out: adieu, my Lord!
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.

How much had I to do to calm his rage!

[Exit.

Now fear I, this will give it start again;

Therefore let's follow.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

I

SCENE, A Church.

Enter two Clowns, with Spades and Mattocks.

I CLOWN.

S fhe to be buried in Chriftian burial, that wilfully feeks her own falvation?

2 Clown. I tell thee fhe is, therefore make her grave ftraight; the crowner hath fate on her, and finds it Chriftian burial.

1 Clown. How can that be, unlefs fhe drowned herfelf in her own defence?

2 Clown. Why, 'tis found fo.

1 Clown. It must be fe offendendo, it cannot be elfe. For here lyes 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, fhe drowned herfelf wittingly.

2 Clown. Nay, but hear you, goodman Delver. 1 Clown. Give me leave: here lyes the water, good: here stands the man, good: if the man go to this water, and drown himíelf, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himielf. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, fhortens not his own life.