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If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham.
If she should break it now! [To Ophelia.]

P. King.
'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.]

P. Queen.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!

[Exit.]

Ham.
Madam, how like you this play?

Queen.
The lady protests too much, methinks.

Ham.
O, but she'll keep her word.

King.
Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Ham.
No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the
world.

King.
What do you call the play?

Ham.
The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the
image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name;
his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of
work: but what o' that? your majesty, and we that have free
souls, it touches us not: let the gall'd jade wince; our withers
are unwrung.

[Enter Lucianus.]

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.

Oph.
You are a good chorus, my lord.

Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see
the puppets dallying.

Oph.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham.
It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

Oph.
Still better, and worse.

Ham.
So you must take your husbands.--Begin, murderer; pox, leave
thy damnable faces, and begin. Come:--'The croaking raven doth
bellow for revenge.'

Luc.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;
Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property
On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears.]

Ham.
He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago:
The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian; you
shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph.
The King rises.

Ham.
What, frighted with false fire!

Queen.
How fares my lord?

Pol.
Give o'er the play.

King.
Give me some light:--away!

All.
Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.]

Ham.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play;
For some must watch, while some must sleep:
So runs the world away.--
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers--if the rest of my
fortunes turn Turk with me,--with two Provincial roses on my
razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

Hor.
Half a share.

Ham.
A whole one, I.
For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
A very, very--pajock.

Hor.
You might have rhymed.

Ham.
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand
pound! Didst perceive?

Hor.
Very well, my lord.

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