_Ham._ (L.) A little more than kin, and less than kind.[31]
_King._ How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
_Ham._ Not so, my lord; I am too much i'the sun.[32]
_Queen._(L.C.) Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour[33] off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not for ever with thy vailed lids[34] Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
_Queen._ If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee?
_Ham._ Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 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;[35] These but the trappings[36] and the suits of woe.
_King._ 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his;[37] and the survivor bound, In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow:[38] But to perséver[39] In obstinate condolement,[40] is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven.[41] We pray you, throw to earth This unprevailing[42] woe; and think of us As of a father: for let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our throne; Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
_Queen._ Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet: I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
_Ham._ I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
_King._ Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply; Be as ourself in Denmark.--Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart:[43] in grace whereof,[44] No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,[45] But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; Re-speaking earthly thunder.
[_Trumpet March repeated. Exeunt_ KING _and_ QUEEN, _preceded by_ POLONIUS, Lords, Ladies, LAERTES, _and_ Attendants, R.H.]
_Ham._ O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself[46] into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon[47] 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world![48] Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.[49] 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:[50] so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem[51] the winds of heaven 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!-- A little month; or ere those shoes were old With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears;--she married with my uncle, My father's brother; but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. It is not, nor it cannot come to, good: But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!