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[Exeunt.]

       SCENE II. A hall in the Castle.

       [Enter Hamlet and Horatio.]

       Ham.

       So much for this, sir: now let me see the other;

       You do remember all the circumstance?

       Hor.

       Remember it, my lord!

       Ham.

       Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting

       That would not let me sleep: methought I lay

       Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly,

       And prais’d be rashness for it,—let us know,

       Our indiscretion sometime serves us well,

       When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us

       There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,

       Rough-hew them how we will.

       Hor.

       That is most certain.

       Ham.

       Up from my cabin,

       My sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark

       Grop’d I to find out them: had my desire;

       Finger’d their packet; and, in fine, withdrew

       To mine own room again: making so bold,

       My fears forgetting manners, to unseal

       Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,

       O royal knavery! an exact command,—

       Larded with many several sorts of reasons,

       Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too,

       With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,—

       That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,

       No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,

       My head should be struck off.

       Hor.

       Is’t possible?

       Ham.

       Here’s the commission: read it at more leisure.

       But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed?

       Hor.

       I beseech you.

       Ham.

       Being thus benetted round with villanies,—

       Or I could make a prologue to my brains,

       They had begun the play,—I sat me down;

       Devis’d a new commission; wrote it fair:

       I once did hold it, as our statists do,

       A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much

       How to forget that learning; but, sir, now

       It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know

       The effect of what I wrote?

       Hor.

       Ay, good my lord.

       Ham.

       An earnest conjuration from the king,—

       As England was his faithful tributary;

       As love between them like the palm might flourish;

       As peace should still her wheaten garland wear

       And stand a comma ‘tween their amities;

       And many such-like as’s of great charge,—

       That, on the view and know of these contents,

       Without debatement further, more or less,

       He should the bearers put to sudden death,

       Not shriving-time allow’d.

       Hor.

       How was this seal’d?

       Ham.

       Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.

       I had my father’s signet in my purse,

       Which was the model of that Danish seal:

       Folded the writ up in the form of the other;

       Subscrib’d it: gave’t the impression; plac’d it safely,

       The changeling never known. Now, the next day

       Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent

       Thou know’st already.

       Hor.

       So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to’t.

       Ham.

       Why, man, they did make love to this employment;

       They are not near my conscience; their defeat

       Does by their own insinuation grow:

       ‘Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes

       Between the pass and fell incensed points

       Of mighty opposites.

       Hor.

       Why, what a king is this!

       Ham.

       Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,—

       He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother;

       Popp’d in between the election and my hopes;

       Thrown out his angle for my proper life,

       And with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience

       To quit him with this arm? and is’t not to be damn’d

       To let this canker of our nature come

       In further evil?

       Hor.

       It must be shortly known to him from England

       What is the issue of the business there.

       Ham.

       It will be short: the interim is mine;

       And a man’s life is no more than to say One.

       But I am very sorry, good Horatio,

       That to Laertes I forgot myself;

       For by the image of my cause I see

       The portraiture of his: I’ll court his favours:

       But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me

       Into a towering passion.

       Hor.

       Peace; who comes here?

       [Enter Osric.]

       Osr.

       Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.

       Ham.

       I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this waterfly?

       Hor.

       No, my good lord.

       Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for ‘tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, and fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king’s mess; ‘tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.

       Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his majesty.

       Ham. I will receive it with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use; ‘tis for the head.

       Osr.

       I thank your lordship, t’is very hot.

       Ham.

       No, believe me, ‘tis very cold; the wind is northerly.

       Osr.

       It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.

       Ham.

       Methinks it is very sultry and

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