Chapter 17

_Enter two_ Clowns,[1] _with spades, &c._ (L.H.U.E.)

_1st Clo._ (R.) Is she to be buried in christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation?

_2nd Clo._ (L.) I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight:[2] the crowner[3] hath set on her, and finds it christian burial.

_1st Clo._ How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

_2nd Clo._ Why, 'tis found so.

_1st Clo._ It must be _se offendendo_;[4] it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform:[5] argal,[6] she drowned herself wittingly.

_2nd Clo._ Nay, but hear you, goodman delver.[7]

_1st Clo._ Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes,[8] mark you that; but if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

_2nd Clo._ But is this law?

_1st Clo._ Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law.[9]

_2nd Clo._ Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of christian burial.

_1st Clo._ Why, there thou say'st:[10] And the more pity that great folks should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even christian.[11] Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold up Adam's profession.

_2nd Clo._ Was he a gentleman?[12]

_1st Clo._ He was the first that ever bore arms. I'll put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself----[13]

_2nd Clo._ Go to.

_1st Clo._ What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

_2nd Clo._ The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

_1st Clo._ I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows does well; But how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

_2nd Clo._ Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

_1st Clo._ Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.[14]

_2nd Clo._ Marry, now I can tell.

_1st Clo._ To't.

_2nd Clo._ Mass, I cannot tell.

_1st Clo._ Cudgel thy brains no more about it,[15] for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are asked this question next, say, a grave-maker, the houses that he makes, last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of liquor.[16]

[_Exit_ 2nd Clown, L.H.U.E.]

_Enter_ HAMLET _and_ HORATIO (L.H.U.E.)

First Clown _digs and sings._

_In youth, when I did love, did love_,[17] _Methought, it was very sweet_, _To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove_ _O, methought, there was nothing meet._

_Ham._

(_Behind the grave._)

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, he sings at grave-making?

_Hor._

(_On_ HAMLET'S R.)

Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

_Ham._ 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.[18]

_1st Clo._ _But age, with his stealing steps_, _Hath clawed me in his clutch_, _And hath shipped me into the land_, _As if I had never been such._

[_Throws up a skull._]

_Ham._ That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent Heaven, might it not?

_Hor._ It might, my lord.

[_Gravedigger throws up bones._]

_Ham._ Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with them?[19] mine ache to think on't.

_1st Clo._

[_Sings._]

_A pick-axe and a spade, a spade_, _For and a shrouding sheet:_[20] _O, a pit of clay for to be made_ _For such a guest is meet._

[_Throws up a skull._

_Ham._ There's another: Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets,[21] his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce[22] with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? I will speak to this fellow.--Whose grave's this, sirrah?

_1st Clo._ Mine, sir.--

[_Sings._]

_O, a pit of clay for to be made_ _For such a guest is meet._

_Ham._ (R. _of grave._) I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't.

_1st Clo._ You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.

_Ham._ Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

_1st. Clo._ 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you.

_Ham._ What man dost thou dig it for?

_1st Clo._ For no man, sir.

_Ham._ What woman, then?

_1st Clo._ For none, neither.

_Ham._ Who is to be buried in't?

_1st Clo._ One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

_Ham._ How absolute the knave is![23] we must speak by the card,[24] or equivocation will undo us,

[_To_ HORATIO, R.]

How long hast thou been a grave-maker?

_1st Clo._ Of all the days i'the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.

_Ham._ How long's that since?

_1st Clo._ Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was the very day that young Hamlet was born,[25] he that is mad, and sent into England.

_Ham._ Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

_1st Clo._ Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there.

_Ham._ Why?

_1st Clo._ 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.

_Ham._ How came he mad?

_1st Clo._ Very strangely, they say.

_Ham._ How strangely?

_1st Clo._ 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

_Ham._ Upon what ground?

_1st Clo._ Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.

_Ham._ How long will a man lie i'the earth ere he rot?

_1st Clo._ 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, he will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.

_Ham._ Why he more than another?

_1st Clo._ Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your ill-begotten dead body. Here's a skull now, hath lain in the earth three-and-twenty years.

_Ham._ Whose was it?

_1st Clo._ O, a mad fellow's it was: Whose do you think it was?

_Ham._ Nay, I know not.

_1st Clo._ A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

_Ham._ This?

[_Takes the skull._]

_1st Clo._ E'en that.

_Ham._ 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. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! 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 chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour[26] she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

_Hor._ What's that, my lord?

_Ham._ Dost thou think Alexander look'd o'this fashion i'the earth?

_Hor._ E'en so.

_Ham._ And smelt so? pah!

[_Gives the skull to HORATIO, who returns it to the grave-digger._]

_Hor._ E'en so, my lord.

_Ham._ To what base uses may we return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till it find it stopping a bung-hole?

_Hor._ 'Twere to consider too curiously,[27] to consider so.

_Ham._ 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 to 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?

Imperial Cæsar,[28] dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw![29]

But soft! but soft! aside: Here comes the king, The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow? And with such maimèd rites?[30] This doth betoken The corse they follow did with desperate hand Fordo its own life:[31] 'Twas of some estate.[32] Couch we awhile, and mark.

[_Retiring with_ HORATIO, R.H.]

_Enter_ Priests, &c., _in procession; the corpse of_ OPHELIA, LAERTES _and_ Mourners _following_; KING, QUEEN, _their_ Trains, _&c._

_Laer._

(L. _of the grave._)

What ceremony else?

_Ham._ (R.) That is Laertes, A very noble youth.

_1st Priest._

(R. _of the grave._)

Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order,[33] She should in ground unsanctified have lodged Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards,[34] flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her: Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants,[35] Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial.[36]

_Laer._ Must there no more be done?

_1st Priest._ No more be done: We should profane the service of the dead To sing a _requiem_,[37] and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.

_Laer._ O, from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,[38] A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.

_Ham._ What, the fair Ophelia!

_Queen._

(_Behind the grave_, C. _with the_ KING.)

Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!

[_Scattering flowers._]

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.

_Laer._ O, treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense[39] Depriv'd thee of!--Hold off the earth a while, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:

[_Leaps into the grave._]

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, Till of this flat a mountain you have made, To o'ertop old Pelion,[40] or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.

_Ham._

(_Advancing._)

What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis?--whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers?--this is I, Hamlet the Dane.

_Laer._

(L., _leaping from the grave._)

The devil take thy soul!

[_Grappling with him._]

_Ham._ (R.C.) Thou pray'st not well. I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat; For, though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand!

_King._ Pluck them asunder.

_Queen._ (C.) Hamlet, Hamlet!

_Ham._ (R.C.) Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

_Queen._ O my son, what theme?

_Ham._ I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.--What wilt thou do for her?

_Queen._ O, he is mad, Laertes.

_Ham._ Come, show me what thou'lt do: Wou'lt weep? wou'lt fight? wou'lt fast? wou'lt tear thyself? I'll do't.--Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me[41] with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I: And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground,[42] Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa[43] like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.

_Queen._ This is mere madness: And thus a while the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,[44] His silence will sit drooping.

_Ham._ Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew,[45] and dog will have his day.

[_Exit_, R.H.]

_King._ (C.) I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.

[_Exit_ HORATIO, R.H.]

Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son,

[_Exit_ QUEEN, _attended_, R.H.]

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;[46]

[_To_ LAERTES.]

We'll put the matter to the present push.-- This grave shall have a living monument:[47] An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

[_The characters group round the grave._]