« PoprzedniaDalej »
In mincing with his fword her husband's limbs;
made milch the burning eyes of Heaven, And pallion in the gods.
Pol. Look whether he has not turned his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more.
Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee fpeak out the red of this foon. Good my Lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do ye hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chroniclers of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you lived.
Pol. My Lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Ham. God's bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his defert, and who shall 'scape whipping ? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your hounty. Take them in. Poi. Come, Sirs.
[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll have a play to.
Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murder of Gonzago?
Play. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. We'll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a specch of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down and infert in't? could
Play. Ay, my Lord.
Ham Very well. Follow that Lord, and look you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night: you are welcome to Ellinoor. Rof. Good my Lord.
That he should weep for her? what would he do,
That I, the fon of a dear father murdered,
(32) And fall a curfing like a very drað
A ftallion.) But why a stallion? The two old Folios hare it, a scullion, but that too is wrong. I am persuaded Shakespeare wrote as I have reformed the text, a vulli.n, i.e. a stupid, heartless, fàint-hearted, white-livered fellow; one good for nothing, but curfing and talking big. So, in King Lear; I'll make a Top o'tl' mooniline of you; you whorlon,
villionly barbermonger, draw. 2 Henry VI.
Away, base cullions !-Suffolk, Ict 'em go. The word is of lialian extraction, from coglione; which, in its metaphorical significatien, (as La Crufca defines it) dicesi ancor englione per ingiuria in senso di balardo, is said by way of reproach to a slupid, good-for-nothing blockhead. VOL. XII,
Enter King, Queen, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSIN
CRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Lords.
AND can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confufion, Grating fo harshly all his days of quiet, With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
RoS, He does confess, he feels himself distracted; But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
Queer. Did he receive you well?
Rof. Niggard of question, but of our demands
Queen. Did you affay him to any paftime?
Rof. Madam, it fo fell out that certain players
Pol, 'Tis most true :
King. With all my heart, and it doth much conTo hear him so inclined.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
Queen. I shall obey you: And for my part, Ophelia, I do with, That your good beauties be the happy causeOf Hamlet's wildness! So shall I hope; your virtues May bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may.
[Exit Queen. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.--Gracious, 10 We will bestow ourfelves. Read on this book; That shew of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness, We're oft to blame in this, 'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do fugar o'er The devil himself.
King Oh, 'tis too true. How. Imart a lash that speech doth give my conscience !
[ Afide. The harlot's cheek, beautied with plaistring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, Than is my deed to my molt painted word. Oh heavy burden ! Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my Lord.
[Exeunt all but Ophelia.