One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's Hamlet How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years I have taken note of it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been a grave maker? 1 Clown- Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. Hamlet How long is that since? 1 Clown Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that is mad, and sent into England. Hamlet Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? 1 Clown Why, because a' was mad: a' shall recover his wits there; or, if a' do not, it's no great matter there. Hamlet-Why? 1 Clown-Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. 1 Clown - Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. Hamlet How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot? 1 Clown I' faith, if a' be not rotten before a' die, a' will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year. Hamlet-Why he more than another? 1 Clown Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that a' will keep out water a great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your dead body. Here's a skull now; this skull has lain in the earth three and twenty years. Hamlet-Whose was it? 1 Clown - A mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was? Hamlet-Nay, I know not. 1 Clown-A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester. Hamlet-This? 1 Clown- E'en that. Hamlet - Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chopfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come; make her laugh at that. - Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hamlet Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the earth? Horatio- E'en so, my lord. [Puts down the skull. Why Hamlet -To what base uses we may return, Horatio! may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole? Horatio— 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. Hamlet - No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer barrel ? Imperious Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, Oh that that earth, which kept the world in awe, But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the king. Enter Priests, etc., in procession; the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES, and Mourners following; KING, QUEEN, their trains, etc. The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow? The corse they follow did with desperate hand Couch we awhile, and mark. Laertes What ceremony else? Hamlet [Retiring with HORATIO. That is Laertes, a very noble youth: mark. Laertes What ceremony else? 1 Priest Her obsequies have been as far enlarged As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful; Her maiden strewments and the bringing home And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! — I tell thee, churlish priest, When thou liest howling. Hamlet Queen What, the fair Ophelia! [Scattering flowers. Sweets to the sweet: farewell! I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; O, treble woe Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, Hamlet [advancing]- What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. Laertes [Leaps into the grave. The devil take thy soul! [Grappling with him. Hamlet Thou pray'st not well. I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat; Which let thy wisdom fear: hold off thy hand. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.] Hamlet Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag. Queen O my son, what theme? Hamlet I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? King O, he is mad, Laertes. Queen For love of God, forbear him. Hamlet 'Swounds, show me what thou❜lt do: Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile ? I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I: And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Singeing its pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, This is mere madness: I'll rant as well as thou. Queen And thus awhile the fit will work on him; When that her golden couplets are disclosed, Hamlet Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus ? I loved you ever. — But it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew and dog will have his day. King I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. [TO LAERTES] [Exit. [Exit HORATIO. Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. [Exeunt. POETRY AS A MISTRESS. BY ABRAHAM COWLEY. [ABRAHAM COWLEY, one of the most admired poets of his time, was born in London, in 1618. He was expelled from Cambridge University during the Civil War on account of his royalist sympathies, and then studied for a time at St. John's, Oxford. When Queen Henrietta Maria left the country he followed her to France, and managed her correspondence in cipher with the king. After the Restoration he was neglected for many years by Charles II., but at length obtained the lease of the queen's lands at Chertsey, in Surrey. He died in 1667, and was buried in Westminster Abbey beside the remains of Chaucer and SpenThe epicDavideis," "Pindaric Odes," and "The Mistress" are his chief poetical works. Cowley enjoyed extraordinary favor in his day, being considered by some equal to Shakespeare or Spenser, but is now almost forgotten.] ser. I WAS even then acquainted with the poets (for the conclusion is taken out of Horace); and perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them which stamped first, or rather engraved, the characters in me; they were like letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which with the tree still grow proportionably. But, how this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I believe I can tell the particular little chance which filled my head first with such chimes of verse, as have never since left ringing there: for I remember when I began to read, and take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my mother's parlor (I know not by what accident, for she herself never in her life read any book but of |