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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:37:06 GMT
LORD POLONIUS
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:37:18 GMT
OPHELIA
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:37:30 GMT
LORD 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 bawds,
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.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:37:48 GMT
OPHELIA
I shall obey, my lord.
Exeunt
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:38:05 GMT
SCENE IV. The platform.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:38:20 GMT
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:38:32 GMT
HAMLET
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:38:42 GMT
HORATIO
It is a nipping and an eager air.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:38:54 GMT
HAMLET
What hour now?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:39:05 GMT
HORATIO
I think it lacks of twelve.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:42:10 GMT
HAMLET
No, it is struck.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:42:27 GMT
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?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:42:37 GMT
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.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:42:50 GMT
HORATIO
Is it a custom?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 16:43:02 GMT
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.
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