\nGentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands,
\ncome then: the appurtenance of welcome is fashion
\nand ceremony: let me comply with you in this garb,
\nlest my extent to the players, which, I tell you,
\nmust show fairly outward, should more appear like
\nentertainment than yours.<\/p>\n
GUILDASTERN<\/strong> Enter POLONIUS<\/em><\/p>\n HAMLET<\/strong> ROSACRANTZ<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> Enter Players<\/em><\/p>\n HAMLET HAMLET<\/strong> First Player<\/strong> First Player<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> LORD POLONIUS<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> Exit POLONIUS with all the Players but the First<\/em><\/p>\n HAMLET<\/strong> First Player<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> Exit First Player<\/em><\/p>\n Exeunt ROSACRANTZ and\u00a0GUILDASTERN<\/em><\/p>\n HAMLET<\/strong> HAMLET<\/strong> Exit<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"Lego](\"http:\/\/www.futurerulerofmidgard.com\/legohamlet\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/lego-hamlet-a2-s2-4-1.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n
\nIn what, my dear lord?<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nHark you, Guildastern; and you too: at each ear a
\nhearer: that great baby you see there is not yet
\nout of his swaddling-clouts.<\/p>\n
\nHappily he’s the second time come to them; for they
\nsay an old man is twice a child.<\/p>\n
\nI will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players;
\nmark it. You say right, sir: o’ Monday morning;
\n’twas so indeed.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nUpon mine honour,–<\/p>\n
\nThen came each actor on his ass,–<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nScene individable, or
\npoem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor
\nPlautus too light. For the law of writ and the
\nliberty, these are the only men.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nAm I not i’ the right, old Jephthah?<\/p>\n
\nIf you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter
\nthat I love passing well.<\/p>\n
\nNay, that follows not.<\/p>\n
\nWhat follows, then, my lord?<\/p>\n
\nWhy,
\n‘As by lot, God wot,’
\nand then, you know,
\n‘It came to pass, as most like it was,’–
\nthe first row of the pious chanson will show you
\nmore; for look, where my abridgement comes.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong>O, my old friend! thy face is valenced since I saw thee last:
\ncomest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young
\nlady and mistress! By’r lady, your ladyship is
\nnearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the
\naltitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like
\napiece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the
\nring. Masters, you are all welcome. We’ll e’en
\nto’t like French falconers, fly at any thing we see<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nI heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was
\nnever acted; or, if it was, not above once; for the
\nplay, I remember, pleased not the million; ’twas
\ncaviare to the general: but it was–as I received
\nit, and others, whose judgments in such matters
\ncried in the top of mine–an excellent play, well
\ndigested in the scenes, set down with as much
\nmodesty as cunning. I remember, one said there
\nwere no sallets in the lines to make the matter
\nsavoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might
\nindict the author of affectation; but called it an
\nhonest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very
\nmuch more handsome than fine. One speech in it I
\nchiefly loved: ’twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido; and
\nthereabout of it especially, where he speaks of
\nPriam’s slaughter: if it live in your memory, begin
\nat this line: let me see, let me see–
\n‘The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,’–
\nit is not so:–it begins with Pyrrhus:–
\n‘The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
\nBlack as his purpose, did the night resemble
\nWhen he lay couched in the ominous horse,
\nHath now this dread and black complexion smear’d
\nWith heraldry more dismal; head to foot
\nNow is he total gules; horridly trick’d
\nWith blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
\nBaked and impasted with the parching streets,
\nThat lend a tyrannous and damned light<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\n‘Anon he finds him
\nStriking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
\nRebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
\nRepugnant to command: unequal match’d,
\nPyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide;
\nBut with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
\nThe unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
\nSeeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
\nStoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
\nTakes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear: for, lo! his sword,
\nWhich was declining on the milky head
\nOf reverend Priam, seem’d i’ the air to stick:
\nSo, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
\nAnd like a neutral to his will and matter,
\nDid nothing.
\nBut, as we often see, against some storm,
\nA silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
\nThe bold winds speechless and the orb below
\nAs hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
\nDoth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus’ pause,
\nAroused vengeance sets him new a-work;<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\n‘Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames
\nWith bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
\nWhere late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
\nAbout her lank and all o’er-teemed loins,
\nA blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;
\nWho this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d,
\n‘Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have
\npronounced:
\nBut if the gods themselves did see her then
\nWhen she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
\nIn mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,
\nThe instant burst of clamour that she made,
\nUnless things mortal move them not at all,
\nWould have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,
\nAnd passion in the gods.’<\/p>\n
\nLook, whether he has not turned his colour and has
\ntears in’s eyes. Pray you, no more.<\/p>\n
\n‘Tis well: I’ll have thee speak out the rest soon.
\nGood my lord, will you see the players well
\nbestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for
\nthey are the abstract and brief chronicles of the
\ntime: after your death you were better have a bad
\nepitaph than their ill report while you live.<\/p>\n
\nMy lord, I will use them according to their desert.<\/p>\n
\nGod’s bodykins, man, much better: use every man
\nafter his desert, and who should ‘scape whipping?
\nUse them after your own honour and dignity: the less
\nthey deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.
\nTake them in.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nWe’ll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need,
\nstudy a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which
\nI would set down and insert in’t, could you not?<\/p>\n
\nAy, my lord.<\/p>\n
\nVery well. Follow that lord; and look you mock him
\nnot.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nWhat’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
\nThat he should weep for her? What would he do,
\nHad he the motive and the cue for passion
\nThat I have? He would drown the stage with tears
\nAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
\nMake mad the guilty and appal the free,
\nConfound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
\nThe very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
\nA dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
\nLike John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
\nAnd can say nothing; no, not for a king,
\nUpon whose property and most dear life
\nA damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward?
\nWho calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
\nPlucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
\nTweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i’ the throat,
\nAs deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
\nHa!<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nFie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
\nThat guilty creatures sitting at a play
\nHave by the very cunning of the scene
\nBeen struck so to the soul that presently
\nThey have proclaim’d their malefactions;
\nFor murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
\nWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players
\nPlay something like the murder of my father
\nBefore mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;
\nI’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
\nI know my course. The spirit that I have seen
\nMay be the devil: and the devil hath power
\nTo assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
\nOut of my weakness and my melancholy,
\nAs he is very potent with such spirits,
\nAbuses me to damn me: I’ll have grounds
\nMore relative than this:<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n