Hamlet by William Shakespeare (e book reader free TXT) 📕

but being in,
Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine ownself be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee! Laertes Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. Polonius The time invites you; go; your servants tend. Laertes

Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.

Ophelia

’Tis in my memory lock’d,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

Laertes Farewell. Exit. Polonius What is’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you? Ophelia So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. Polonius

Marry, well bethought:
’Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
If it be so, as so ’tis put on me,
And that in way of caution, I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you? give me up the truth.

Ophelia

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Polonius

Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

Ophelia I do not know, my lord, what I should think. Polonius

Marry, I’ll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or⁠—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Running it thus⁠—you’ll tender me a fool.

Ophelia

My lord, he hath importuned me with love
In honourable fashion.

Polonius Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. Ophelia

And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Polonius

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young,
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
Not of that dye which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment leisure,
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to’t, I charge you: come your ways.

Ophelia I shall obey, my lord. Exeunt. Scene IV

The platform.

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. Hamlet The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Horatio It is a nipping and an eager air. Hamlet What hour now? Horatio I think it lacks of twelve. Hamlet No, it is struck. Horatio

Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within.
What does this mean, my lord?

Hamlet

The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Horatio Is it a custom? Hamlet

Ay, marry, is’t:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour’d in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduced and tax’d of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform’d at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth⁠—wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin⁠—
By the o’ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
Or by some habit that too much o’er-leavens
The form of plausive manners, that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star⁠—
Their virtues else⁠—be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo⁠—
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: the dram of eale
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
To his own scandal.

Horatio Look, my lord, it comes! Enter Ghost. Hamlet

Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? Ghost beckons Hamlet.

Horatio

It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Marcellus

Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Horatio No, by no means. Hamlet It will not speak; then I will follow it. Horatio Do not, my lord. Hamlet

Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life