HAMLET

A little more then kin, and less then kind. Not so my Lord, I am too much in the Sun. I Madam, it is common. Seems Madam? Nay, it is: I know not Seems: It's not alone my Inky Cloak (good Mother) Nor Custo ̄ marry suits of solemn Black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful River in the Eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the Visage, Together with all Forms, Moods, shows of Grief, That can denote me truly. These indeed Seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that Within, which passes show; These, but the Trappings, and the Suits of woe. I shall in all my best Obey you Madam. O that this too too solid Flesh, would melt, Thaw, and resolve it self into a Due: Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His Cannon against Self-slaughter. Oh God, Oh God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seems to me all the uses of this world? Fie on't? O fie, fie, it's and unweeded Garden That grows to Seed: Things rank, and gross in Nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this: But two months dead: Nay, not so much; not two, So excellent a King, that was to this Hiperjon to a Satire: so loving to my Mother, That he might not beteene the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and Earth Must I remember: why she would hang on him, As if increase of Appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet within a month? Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman. A little Month, or ere those shoes were old, With which she followed my poor Father's body Like Niobe, all tears. Why she, even she. (Oh Heaven! A beast that wants discourse of Reason Would have mourned longer) married with mine Uncle, My Father's Brother: but no more Like my Father, Then I to Hercules. Within a Month? Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous Tears Had left the flushing of her gauled eyes, She married. Oh most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to Incestuous sheets: It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue. I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget my self. Sir my good friend, I'll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg Horatio ? I am very glad to see you: good even Sir. But what in faith make you from Wittemberge ? I would not have your Enemy say so; Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against your self. I know you are no Truant: But what is your affair in Elsenour ? We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. I pray thee do not mock me (fellow Student) I think it was to see my Mothers-Wedding. Thrift, thrift Horatio: the Funeral Bakt-meats Did coldly furnish forth the Marriage Tables; Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Ere I had ever seen that day Horatio. My father, me thinks I see my father. In my minds eye (Horatio) He was a man, take him for all in all: I shall not look upon his Like again. Saw? Who? The King my Father? For Heavens love let me hear. But where was this? Did you not speak to it? 'Tis very strange. Indeed, indeed Sirs; but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to Night Armed, say you? From top to toe? Then saw you not his face? What, looked he frowningly? Pale, or read? And fixed his eyes upon you? I would I had been there. Very Like, very Like: stayed it long? His Beard was grisly? no. I'll watch to Night; perchance it'll wake a gain. If it assume my noble Father's person, I'll speak to it, though Hell it self should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto concealed this sighed; Let it be Triple in your silence still: And whatsoever else shall hap to night, Give it and understanding but no tongue; I will requite your loves; so, fare you well: Upon the Platform betwixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. Your love, as mine to you: farewell. My Father's Spirit in Arms? All is not well: I doubt some foul play: would the Night were come; Till then fit still my soul; foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth orewhelm them to men's eyes. The Air bites shrewdly: is it very cold? What hour now? The King does wake to night, and takes his rouse, Keeps wassels and the swaggering upspring reels, And as he dreines his draughts of Renish down, The kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge. I marry is't; And to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born: It is a Custom More honoured in the breach, then the observance. Angels and Ministers of Grace defend us: Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damned, Bring with thee airs from Heaven, or blasts from Hell, Be thy events 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, o, answer me, Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell Why thy Canonized bones Hearsed in death, Have burst their cerments, why the Sepulcher Wherein we saw thee quietly enurn'd Hath oped his ponderous and Marble jaws, To cast thee up again? What may this mean? That thou dead Coarse again in complete steel, Reuisits thus the glimpses of the Moon, Making Night hideous? And we fools of Nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our Souls, Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? It will not speak: then will I follow it. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pins fee; And for my Soul, what can it do to that? Being a thing immortal as it self: It waves me forth again; I'll follow it. It wafts me still: go on, I'll follow thee. Hold off your band. My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerve: Still am I called? Unhand me Gentlemen: By Heaven, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, go on, I'll follow thee. Where wilt thou led me? speak; I'll go no fur there. I will. Alas poor Ghost. Speak, I am bound to hear. What? O Heaven! Murder? Hast, hast me to know it, That with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of Love, May sweep to my Revenge. Oh my Prophetic soul: mine Uncle? O all you host of Heaven! O Earth; what else? And shall I couple Hell? O fie: hold my heart; And you my sinews, grow not instant Old; But bear me stiffly up: Remember thee? I, thou poor Ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted Globe: Remember thee? Yea, from the Table of my Memory, I'll wipe away all trivial found Records, All saws of Books, all forms, all presures passed, That youth and observation copied there; And thy Commandment all alone shall live Within the Book and Volume of my Brain, Unmix with baser matter; yes, yes, by Heaven: O most pernicious woman! O Villain, Villain, smiling damned Villain! My Tables, my Tables; meet it is I set it down, That one may smile, and smile and be a Villain; At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark; So Uncle there you are: now to my word; It is; Adue, Adue, Remember me: I have sworn't. Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come. O wonderful! No you'll reveal it. How say you then, would heart of man once think it? But you'll be secret? There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's and arrant knave. Why right, you are in the right; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it-fit that we shake hands, and partly: You, as your business and desires shall point you: For every man ha business and desire, Such as it is: and for mine own poor partly, Look you, I'll go pray. I'm sorry they offend you heartily: Yes faith, heartily. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is my Lord, And much offence too, touching this Vision here: It is and honest Ghost, that let me tell you: For your desire to know what is between us, Over master't as you may. And now good friends, As you are Friends, Scholars and Soldiers, Give me one poor request. Never make known what you have seen to night. Upon my sword. Indeed, upon my sword, Indeed. Ah would boy, sayest thou so. Art thou there truepenny? Come one you here this fellow in the selleredge Consent to swear. Never to speak of this that you have seen. Swear by my sword. Hic & ubique? Then we'll shift for ground, Come hither Gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword, Never to speak of this that you have herd: Swear by my Sword. Well said old Mole, canst work in the ground so fast? A worthy Pioneer, once more remove good friends. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Then are dreamt of in our Philosophy. But come, Here as before, never so help you mercy, How strange or odd so ere I bear my self; (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put and Antic disposition on:) That you at such time seeing me, never shall With Arms encumbered thus, or thus, head shake; Or by pronouncing of some doubtful Phrase; As well, we know, or we could and if we would, Or if we list to speak; or there be and if there might, Or such ambiguous giving out to note, That you know ought of me; this not to do: So grace and mercy at your most need help you: Swear. Rest, rest perturbed Spirit: so Gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you; And what so poor a man as Hamlet is, May do to express his love and friending to you, God willing shall not lack: let us go in together, And still your fingers on your lips I pray, The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right. Nay, come let's go together. Well, God-a-mercy. Excellent, excellent well: you are a Fishmonger. Then I would you were so honest a man. I sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of two thousand. For if the Sun breed Maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing Carrion— Have you a daughter? Let her not walk in the Sun: Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend look too't. Words, words, words. Between who? Slanders Sir: for the Satirical slave says here, that old men have grey Beards; that their faces are wrin kled; their eyes purging thick Amber, or Plumtree Gum: and that they have a plentiful lock of Wit, together with weak Hammes. All which Sir, though I most powerfully, and potently believe; yet I hold it not Honesty to have it thus set down: For you your self Sir, should be old as I am, if Like a Crab you could go backward. Into my Grave? You cannot Sir take from me any thing, that I will more willingly partly withal, except my life, my life. These tedious old fools. My excellent good friends? How dost thou Guildensterne ? O, Rosincrane good Lads: How do you both? Nor the Soales of her Shoo? Then you live about her waste, or in the mid dle of her favour? In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true she is a Strumpet. What's the news? Then is Doomsday near: But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: what have you my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to Prison hither? Denmark's a Prison. A goodly one, in which there are many Con fines, Wards, and Dungeons; Denmark being one of the worst. Why then it's none to you; for there is nothing either good or bade, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison. Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count my self a King of infinite space; were it not that I have bade dreams. A dream it self is but a shadow. Then are our Beggars bodies; and our More narchs and outstretched Heroes the Beggars Shadows: shall we to the Court: for, by my fey I cannot rea son? No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants: for to speak to you Like and honest man: I am most dreadfully attended; but in the beaten way of friendship. What make you at Elsonower? Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you: and sure deer friends my thanks are too deer a halfpenny; were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me: come, come; nay speak. Why any thing. But to the purpose; you were sent for; and there is a kind confession in your looks; which your modesties have not craft enough to continued lor, I know the good King & Queen have sent for you. That you must teach me: but let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the Obligation of our euer-preserued love, and by what more deer, a better proposer could charge you withal; be even and direct with me, whither you were sent for or no. Nay then I have and eye of you: if you love me hold not off. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery of your secricie to the King and Queen: moult no feather, I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of ex ercise; and indeed, it goes so heavenly with my dispositi on; that this goodly frame the Earth, seems to me a ster rill Promontory; this most excellent Canopy the Air, look you, this brave overhanging, this Majestical Roof, fretted with golden fire: why, it appears no other thing to me, then a foul and pestilent congregation of vam pours. What a piece of work is a man! how Noble in Reason? how infinite in faculty? in form and moving how express and admirable? in Actium, how Like and And gel? in apprehension, how Like a God? the beauty of the world, the Paragon of Animals; and yet to me, what is this Quintessence of Dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so. Why did you laugh, when I said, Man delights not me? He that plays the King shall be welcome; his Majesty shall have Tribute of me: the adventurous Knight shall use his Foil and Target: the Lover shall not sighs gratis, the humorous man shall end his partly in peace: the Clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled of the sere: and the Lady shall say her mind freely; or the blank Verse shall halt for't: what Players are they? How chances it they travail? their resi dence both in reputation and profit was better both ways. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the City? Are they so followed? What are they Children? Who maintains they? How are they escoted? Will they pursue the Quality no longer then they can sing? Will they not say afterwards if they should grow themselves to common Players (as it is Like most if their means are not better) their Wri ters do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own Succession. Is't possible? It is not strange: for mine Uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my Father lived; give twenty, forty, and hundred Ducats a piece, for his picture in Little. There is some thing in this more then Natural, if Philosophy could find it out. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsonower : your hands, come: The appurtenance of Welcome, is Fashion and Ceremony. Let me comply with you in the Garb, left my extent to the Players (which I tell you must show fairly outward) should more appear Like entertainment then yours. You are welcome: but my Uncle Father, and An Mother are deceived. but mad North, Northwest: when the Wind is Southerly know a Hawk from a Handsaw. Hark you Guildensterne, and you too: at each care a hearer: that great Baby you see there, is not yet out of his swathing clouts. I will Prophesy. He comes to tell me of the Players. Mark it, you say right Sir: for a Monday mor ning 'twas so indeed. My Lord, I have News to tell you. When Rossius and Actor in Room— Buzz, buzz. Then can each Actor on his Ass — Oh Iephta Judge of Israel, what a Treasure hadst thou? Why one fair Daughter, and no more The which he loved passing well. Am I not in the right old Iephta ? Nay that follows not. I herd thee speak me a speech once, but it was never Acted: or if it was, not above once, for the Play I remember pleased not the Million, 'twas Cauiarie to the General: but it was (as I received it, and others, whose judgement in such matters, cried in the top of mine) and excellent Play: well digested in the Scoenes, set down with as much modesty, as cunning. I remember one said, there was no Salads in the lines, to make the matter sa uoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the Author of affectation, but called it and honest method. One chief Speech in it, I chiefly loved, 'twas Aeneas Tale to Dido, and thereabouts of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this Line, let me see, let me see: The rugged Pyrrhus Like the Hyrcanian Beast. It is not so: it begins with Pyrrhus The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose Sable Arms Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the Ominous Horse, Hath now this dread and black Complexion smeared With Heraldry more dismal: Head to foot Now is he to take Geulles, horridly Tricked With blood of Father's, Mother's, Daughters, Sons, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous, and damned light To their vild Murders, roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o're-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes Like Carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old Grandsire Priam seeks. The inobled Queen? I is well, I'll have thee speak out the rest, soon. Good my Lord, will you see the Players well be stowed. Do you hear, let them be well used: for they are the Abstracts and brief Chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bade Epitaph, then their ill report while you lived. Gods bodykins man, better. Use every man after his desert, and who should escape whipping: use them after your own Honour and Dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Follow him Friends: we'll hear a play to mor row. Dost thou hear me old Friend, can you play the murder of Gonzago ? We'll have't to morrow night. You could for a needs study a speech of some dosen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? Could you not? Very well. Follow that Lord, and look you mock him not. My good Friends, I'll leave you till night you are welcome to Elsonower ? I so, God buy'ye: Now I am alone. O what a Rogue and Peasant slave am I? Is it not monstrous that this Player here, But in a Fixion, in a dream of Passion, Could force his soul so to his whole conceit, That from her working, all his visage warmed; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's Aspect, A broken voice, and his whole Function suiting With Forms, to his Conceit? And all for nothing? For Hecuba? What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the Motive and the Cue for passion That I have? He would drown the Stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech: Make mad the guilty, and apale the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, The very faculty of Eyes and Ears Yet I, A dull and muddy-metled Rascal, peak Like John a-dreames, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing: No, not for a King, Upon whose property, and most deer life, A damned defeat was made. Am I a Coward? Who calls me Villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my Beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by' the Nose? gives me the Lie in the Throat, As deep as to the Lungs? Who does me this? Would? Why I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am Pigeon-Liuer'd, and lack Gall To make Oppression bitter, or ere this, I should have fatted all the Region Kites With this Slaves Offal, bloody: a Bawdy villain, Remorseless, Treacherous, Lecherous, kindles villain! O Vengeance! Who? What and Ass am I? I sure, this is most brave, That I, the Son of the Dear murdered, Prompted to my Revenge by Heaven, and Hell, Must (Like a Whore) unpack my heart with words, And fallen a Cursing Like a very Drab, A Scullion? Fie vpon't: Foh. About my Brain. I have herd, that guilty Creatures sitting at a Play, Have by the very cunning of the Scoene, Be struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaimed their Malefactions. For Murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous Organ. I'll have these Players, Play something Like the murder of my Father, Before mine Uncle. I'll observe his looks, I'll tent him to the quick: If he but blench I know my course. The Spirit that I have seen May be the Devil, and the Devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhaps Out of my Weakness, and my Melancholy, As he is very potent with such Spirits, Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds More Relative then this: The Play's the thing, Wherein I'll catch the Conscience of the King. To be, or not to be, that is the Question: Whither it's Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ake, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir too? It's a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; I, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shufflel'd off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes Calamity of so long life: For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time, The Oppressors' wrong, the poor men Contumely, The pangs of disprized Love, the Laws delay, The insolence of Office, and the Spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his Quietus make With a bore Bodkin? Who would these Farthels bear To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered Country, from whose Born No Traveller returns, Puzels the will, And makes us rather bear those illes we have, Then fly to others that we know not of. Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all, And thus the Native hew of Resolution Is sicklied over, with the pale cast of Thought, And enterprizes of great pith and moment, With this regard their Currants turn away, And lose the name of Actium. Soft you now, The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons Be all my sins remembered. I humbly thank you: well, well, well. No, no, I never gave you ought. Would, would: Are you honest? Are you fair? That if you be honest and fair, your Honesty should admit no discourse to your Beauty. I truly: for the power of Beauty, will sooner transform Honesty from what it is, to a Bawd, then the force of Honesty can translate Beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a Paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. You should not have believed me. For virtue cannot so innocculate our old stock, but we shall-rellish of it. I loved you not. Get thee to a Nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of Sinners? I am my self indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were bet ter my Mother had not born me. I am very proud, re vengeful, Ambitious, with more offences at my beck, then I have thoughts to put them in imagination, to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such Fellows as I do, crawling between Heaven and Earth. We are arrant Knaves all, believe none of us. Go thy ways to a Nunnery. Where's your Father? Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the Fool no way, but in's own house. Farewell. If thou dost Marry, I'll give thee this Plague for thy Dowry. Be thou as chased as Ice, as pure as Snow, thou shalt not escape Calumny. Get thee to a Nunnery. Go, Farewell. Or if thou wilt needs Marry, marry a fool: for Wise men know well enough, what monsters you make of them. To a Nunnery go, and quickly too. Far well. I have herd of your prattlings too well enough. God has given you one pace, and you make your self and other: you gidge, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname Gods creatures, and make your Wantonness, your Ig norance. Go too, I'll no more on't, it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more Marriages. Those that are married already, all but one shall live, the rest shall keep as they are. To a Nunnery, go. Speak the Speech I pray you, as I pronounced it to you trippingly on the Tongue: But if you mouth it, as many of your Players do, I had as live the Town-crier had spoke my Lines: Nor do not saw the Air too much your hand thus, but use all gently; for in the very Tor rend, Tempest, and (as I may say) the Whirlwind of Passion, you must acquire and beget a Temperance that may give it Smoothness. Oh it offends me to the Soul, to see a robustious Pery-wig-pated Fellow, tear a Passi on to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the Groundlings: who (for the most partly) are capable of nothing, but inexplicable dumb shows, & noise: I could have such a Fellow whipped for o're-doing Termagant: it out- Herod's Herod. Pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither: but let your own Discretion be your Tutor. Suit the Actium to the Word, the Word to the Actium, with this special observance: That you ore-stop not the modesty of Nature; for any thing so Overdone, is from ̄ the purpose of Playing, whose end both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twer the Mirror up to Nature; to show Virtue her own Feature, Scorn her own Image, and the very Age and Body of the Time, his form and pressure. Now, this Overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskill full laugh, cannot but make the Judicious grieve; The censure of the which One, must in your allowance o're-way a whole Theater of Others. O, there be Players that I have seen Play, and herd others praise, and that highly (not to speak it profanely) that neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gate of Christian, Pagan, or Norman, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's Iouerney-men had made men, and not made them well, they imitated Humanity so ab hominably. Oh reform it altogether. And let those that play your Clowns, speak no more then is set down for them. For there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren Spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time, some necessary Question of the Play be then to be considered: that's Villainous, & shows a most pitiful Ambition in the Fool that uses it. Go make you ready. How now my Lord, Will the King hear this piece of Work? Bid the Players make hast. Will you two help to hasten them? What hoa, Horatio ? Horatio, thou art eene as joust a man As ere my Conversation coap'd withal. Nay, do not think I flatter: For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no Reuennew hast, but thy good spirits To feed & cloth thee. Why should the poor be flattered? No, let the Candied tongue, Like absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant Hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow feigning? Dost thou hear, Since my deer Soul was Mistress of my choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath sealed thee for her self. For thou hast be As one in suffering all, that suffers nothing. A man that Fortune's buffets, and Rewards Hath 'tane with equal Thanks. And blessed are those, Whose Blood and Judgement are so well co-mingled, That they are not a Pipe for Fortune's finger, To found what stop she please. Give me that man, That is not Passion Slave, and I will wear him In my hearts Core: I, in my Heart of heart, As I do thee. Something too much of this. There is a Play to night before the King, One Scoene of it comes near the Circumstance Which I have told thee, of my Father's death. I prithee, when thou seest that Act afoot, Even with the very Comment of my Soul Observe mine Uncle: If his occulted gilded, Do not it self unkennel in one speech, It is a damned Ghost that we have seen: And my Imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's Stythe. Give him needful note, For I mine eyes will rivet to his Face: And after we will both our judgements join, To censure of his seeming. They are coming to the Play: I must be idle. Get you a place. Excellent I'faith, of the Chameleons dish: I eat the Air promise-cramm'd, you cannot feed Capons so. No, nor mine. Now my Lord, you played once in the University, you say? And what did you enact? It was a bruit partly of him, to kill so Capital a Calf there. Be the Players ready? Lady, shall I lie in your Lap? I mean, My Head upon your Lap? Do you think I meant Country matters? That's a fair thought to lie between Maids legs Nothing. Who I? O God, your only Iigge-maker: what should a man do, but be merry. For look you now cheerful lie my Mother looks, and my Father died within's two Hours. So long? Nay then let the Devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of Sables. O Heavens! die two more neths ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope, a great men Memory, may outlive his life half a year: But byrlady he must build Churches then: or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the Hoby-horsse, whose Epitaph is, For oh, For oh, the Hoby-horse is forgotten. Marry this is Miching Malicho, that means Mischief. We shall know by these Fellows: the Players cannot keep counsel, they'll tell all. I, or any show that you'll show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means. Is this a Prologue, or the Poesy of a Ring? As Woman's love. Wormwood, Wormwood. If she should break it now. Madam, how Like you this Play? O but shee'l keep her word. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest, no Of fence in the world. The Mousetrap: Marry how? Tropically: This Play is the Image of a murder done in Vienna: Gone zago is the Dukes name, his wife Baptista : you shall see anon: it's a knavish piece of work: But what of that? Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the gail worser jade winch: our withers are vnrung. This is one Lucianus nephew to the King. I could interpret between you and your love: if I could see the Puppets dallying. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge. So you mistake Husbands. Begin Murderer. Pox, leave thy damnable Faces, and begin. Come, the croaking Raven does bellow for Re venge. He poisons him in that Garden for's estate: His name's Gonzago: the Story is extant and writ in choice Italian. You shall see anon how the Murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. What, frighted with false fire. Why let the strucken Dear go weep, The Heart ungalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleep; So runs the world away. Would not this Sir, and a Forest of Feathers, if the rest of my Fortune's turn Turk with me; with two Provincial Roses on my raced Shoes, get me a Fellowship in a cry of Players sir. A whole one I, For thou dost know: O Damon deer, This Realm dismantled was of Jove himself, And now reigns here. A very very Paiocke. O good Horatio, I'll take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? Upon the talk of the poisoning? O, would? Come some Music. Come y e Recorders: For if the King Like not the Comedy, Why then belike he likes it not perdy. Come some Music. Sir, a whole History. I sir, what of him? With drink Sir? Your wisdom should show it self more ri cher, to signify this to his Doctor: for for me to put him to his Purgation, would perhaps plunge him into far more Choler. I am tame Sir, pronounce. You are welcome. Sir, I cannot. Make you a wholesome answer: my wits dis eased. But sir, such answers as I can make, you shall come manned: or rather you say, my Mother: therefore no more but to the matter. My Mother you say. O wonderful Son, that can so astonish a Mother. But is there no sequel at the heals of this More the admiration? We shall obey, were she ten times our Mother. Have you any further Trade with us? So I do still, by these pickers and stealers. Sir I lack Advancement. I, but while the grass grows, the Proverb is something musty. Oh the Recorder. Let me see, to withdraw with you, why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would driven me into a toil? I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this Pipe? I pray you. I do beseech you. It's as easy as lying: govern these Ventiges with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most excellent Music. Look you, these are the stops. Why look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me: you would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops: you would pluck out the heart of my Mystery; you would found me from my lowest Note, to the top of my Compass: and there is much Mu sick, excellent Voice, in this little Organ, yet cannot you make it. Why do you think, that I am easier to be played on, then a Pipe? Call me what Instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. God bless you Sir. Do you see that Cloud? that's almost in shape Like a Camel. Me thinks it is Like a Weasel. Or Like a Whale? Then will I come to my Mother, by and by: They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. By and by, is easily said. Leave me Friends: It's now the very witching time of night, When Churchyards yawn, and Hell it self breathes out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hight blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on. Soft now, to my Mother: O Heart, lose not thy Nature; let not ever The Soul of Nero, enter this firm bosom: Let me be cruel, not unnatural, I will speak Daggers to her, but use none: My Tongue and Soul in this be Hypocrites. How in my words soever she be shent, To give them Seals, never my Soul consent. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now I'll doo't, and so he goes to Heaven, And so am I revenged: that would be scanned, A Villain kills my Father, and for that I his foul Son, do this same Villain send To heaven. O this is hire and Sallery, not Revenge. He took my Father grossly, full of bred, With all his Crimes broad blown, as fresh as May, And how his Audit stands, who knows, save Heaven: But in our circumstance and course of thought It's heavy with him: and am I then revenged, To take him in the purging of his Soul, When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? No. Up Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent When he is drunk asleep: or in his Rage, Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some act That ha no relish of Salvation in't, Then trip him, that his heals may kick at Heaven, And that his Soul may be as damned and black As Hell, whereto it goes. My Mother stays, This Physic but prolongs thy sickly days. Now Mother, what's the matter? Mother, you have my Father much offended. Go, go, you question with and idle tongue. Whats the matter now? No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queen, your Husbands Brother's wife, But would you were not so. You are my Mother. Come, come, and fit you down, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you up a glass, Where you may see the inmost partly of you? How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducat, dead. Nay I know not, is it the King? A bloody deed, almost as bade good Mother, As kill a King, and marry with his Brother. I Lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool farewell, I took thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou findest to be too busy, is some danger. Lean wringing of your hands, peace, fit you down, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned Custom have no brazed it so, That it is proof and bulwark against Sense. Such and Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modesty, Calls Virtue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the fair forehead of and innocent love, And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vows As false as Dicers Oaths. O such a deed, As from the body of Contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heavens face does glow, Yea this solidity and compound mass, With tristfull visage as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Look here upon this Picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two Brother's: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curls, the front of Jove himself, And eye Like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, Like the Herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: A Combination, and a form indeed, Where every God did seem to set his Seal, To give the world assurance of a man. This was your Husband. Look you now what follows. Here is your Husband, Like a Mildewed ear Blasting his wholesome breath. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair Mountain leave to feed, And batten on this More? Would? Have you eyes? You cannot call it Love: For at your age, The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the Judgement: and what Judgement Would step from this, to this? What devil was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde? Oh Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutiny in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame, When the compulsive Ardure gives the charge, Since Frost it self, as actively does burn, As Reason panders Will. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of and enseamed bed, Stewed in Corruption; honying and making love Over the nasty Stye. A Murderer, and a Villain: A Slave, that is not twentieth partly the tithe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelf the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket. A King of shreds and patches. Save me; and hover over me with your wings You heavenly Guards. What would you gracious figure? Do you not come your tardy Son to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by the important acting of your dread command? O say. How is it with you Lady? On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look upon me, Least with this piteous Actium you convert My stern effects: then what I have to do, Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. Do you see nothing there? Nor did you nothing hear? Why look you there: look how it steals away: My Father in his habit, as he lived, Look where he goes even now out at the Portal. Ecstasy? My Pulse as yours does temperately keep time, And makes as healthful Music. It is not madness That I have uttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will reword: which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of Grace, Lay not a flattering Unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the Ulcerous place, Whilst rank Corruption mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess your self to Heaven, Repent what's passed, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the Compost or the Weeds, To make them rank. Forgive me this my Virtue, For in the fatness of this pursy times, Virtue it self, of Vice must pardon beg, Yea courb, and woe, for leave to do him good. Oh throw away the worse partly of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night, but go not to mine Uncles bed, Assume a Virtue, if you have it not, refrain to night, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence. Once more goodnight, And when you are desirous to be blessed, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same Lord, I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their Scourge and Minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him: so again, good night I must be cruel, only to be kind; Thus bade begins, and worse remains behind. Not this by no means that I bid you do: Let the blunt King tempt you again to bed, Pinch Wanton on your cheek, call you his Mouse, And let him for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damned Fingers, Make you to rauell all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But made in craft. 'Twere good you let him know, For who that's but a Queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a Paddock, from a Bat, a Gibbet, Such deer concernings hide, Who would do so, No in despite of Sense and Secrecy, Vnpegge the Basket on the houses top: Let the Birds fly, and Like the famous Ape To try Conclusions in the Basket, creep And break your own neck down. I must to England, you know that? This man shall set me packing: I'll lug the Guts into the Neighbour room, Mother goodnight. Indeed this Counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most graven, Who was in life, a foolish prating Knave. Come sir, to draw towards and end with you. Good night Mother. Safely stowed. What noise? Who calls on Hamlet ? O here they come. Compounded it with dust, whereto it's Kin. Do not believe it. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Beside, to be demanded of a Spundge, what re plication should be made by the Son of a King. I sir, that sokes up the Kings Countenance, his Rewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the King best service in the end. He keeps them Like and Ape in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed to be last swallowed, when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squee zing you, and Spundge you shall be dry again. I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King, is a thing — Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all after. At Supper. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a cer taine convocation of worms are e'ne at him. Your worm is your only Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat our self for Maggots. Your fat King, and your lean Beggar is but variable service to dishes, but to one Table that's the end. Nothing but to show you how a King may go a Progress through the guts of a Beggar. In heaven, send thither to see. If your Messen her find him not there, seek him in that other place your self: but indeed, if you find him not this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the Lobby. He will stay till you come. For England? Good. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for England. Farewell deer Mother. Ha this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at Graue-making? It's ee'n so; the hand of little Employment hath the daintier sense. But Age with his stealing steps hath caught me in his clutch: And hath shipped me until the Land, as if I had never been such. That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground as if it were Cain's Jawbone, that did the first murder: It might be the Pate of a Politician which this Ass over Of fices: one that could circumvent God, might it not? Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Mor row sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this might be my Lord such a one, that praised my Lord such a ones Horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not? Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Worms, Chaplesse, and knocked about the Mazzard with a Sextons Spade; here's fine Revolution, if we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at Loggets with they? mine ache to think on't. A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade, for and a shrouding-sheet: Oh a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meet. There's another: why might not that be the Scull of of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his Quillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why doe's he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the Sconce with a dirty Shovel, and will not tell him of his Actium of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recog nizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoveries: Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recovery of his Reco ueries, to have his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will his Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and dou ble ones too, then the length and breadth of a pair of Indentures? the very Conveyances of his Lands will hardly lie in this Box; and must the Inheritor himself have no more? would? Is not Parchment made of Sheepskins? They are Sheep and Calves that seek out assum rance in that. I will speak to this fellow: whose Grave's this Sir? I think it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it's thine: it's for the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou liest. What man dost thou dig it for? What woman then? Who is to be buried in't? How absolute the knave is? we must speak by the Card, or equivocation will undo us: by the Lord Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it, the Age is grown so picked, that the toe of the Peasant comes so near the heals of our Courtier, he galls his Kibe. How long hast thou been a Gravemaker? How long is that since? I marry, why was he sent into England? Why? How came he mad? How strangely? Upon what ground? How long will a man lie i the earth ere he rot? Why he, more then another? Whose was it? Nay, I know not. This? Let me see. Alas poor Yorick, I knew him Ho ratio, a fellow of infinite Jest; of most excellent fancy, he hath born me on his back a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your libes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Roar? No one now to mock your own Jeering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint and inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that: pry thee Horatio tell me one thing. Dost thou think Alexander looked of this fa shion in the earth? And smelled so? Puh. To what base uses we may return Horatio. Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of A lexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole. No faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither with modesty enough, & likelihood to led it; as thus. Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander re turns into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make Loom, and why of that Loom (whereto he was conuer ted) might they not stop a Beer-barrel? Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hold to keep the wind away. O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a Wall, to expel the winter's flaw. But soft, but soft, aside; here comes the King. The Queen, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow, And with such maimed rites? This does betoken, The Coarse they follow, did with desperate hand, Before do it own life; 'twas some Estate. Couch we a while, and mark. That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Mark. What, the fair Ophelia ? What is he, whose griefs Bears such and Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow Conjure the wandering Stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. Thou prayest not well, I prithee take thy fingers from my throat; Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash, Yet have I something in me dangerous, Which let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand. Why I will fight with him upon this Theme. Until my eielids will no longer wag. I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand Brother's Could not (with all there quantity of Love) Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? Come show me what thou'lt do. Wilt weep? Wilt fight? Wilt tear thy self? Wilt drink up Esile, eat a Crocodile? I'll doo'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 Millions of Akers on us; till our ground Singing his pate against the burning Zone, Make Ossa Like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth, I'll rant as well as thou. Hear you Sir: What is the reason that you use me thus? I loud you ever; but it is no matter: Let Hercules himself do what he may, The Cat will Mew, and Dog will have his day. So much for this Sir; now let me see the other, You do remember all the Circumstance. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, That would not let me sleep; me thought I lay Worse then the mutines in the Bilboes, rashly, (And praise be rashness for it) let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well, When our deer plots do Paul, and that should teach us, There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. Up from my Cabin My sea-gowne scarft about me in the dark, Groped I to find out them; had my desire, Fingered their Packet, and in fine, withdrew To mine own room again, making so bold, (My fears forgetting manners) to unseal Their grand Commission, where I found Horatio, O royal knavery: And exact command, Larded with many several sorts of reason; Importing Denmarks health, and England's too, With ho, such Bugs and Goblins in my life, That on the superuize no leisure bated, No not to stay the grinding of the Axe, My head should be struck off. Here's the Commission, read it at more leisure: But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? Being thus benetted round with Villains, Ere I could make a Prologue to my brains, They had begun the Play. I sat me down, Devised a new Commission, wrote it fair, I once did hold it as our Statists do, A baseness to write fair; and laboured much How to forget that learning: but Sir now, It did me Yeomans service: wilt thou know The effects of what I wrote? And earnest Conjuration from the King, As England was his faithful Tributary, As love between them, as the Palm should flourish, As Peace should still her wheaten Garland wear, And stand a Comma between their amities, And many such Like Assis of great charge, That on the view and know of these Contents, Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearer put to sudden death, Not shriving time allowed. Why, even in that was Heaven ordinate; I had my father's Signet in my Purse, Which was the Model of that Danish Seal: Folded the Writ up in form of the other, Subscribed it, gau't the impression, placed it safely, The changeling never known: Now, the next day Was our Sea Fight, and what to this was sement, Thou knowest already. Why man, they did make love to this employment They are not near my Conscience; their debate Does by their own insinuation grow: It's dangerous, when the baser nature comes Between the pass, and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites. Does it not, thinkest thee, stand me now upon He that hath killed my King, and whored my Mother, Popped in between the election and my Hope's, Thrown out his Angle for my proper life, And with such cozenage; is't not perfect conscience, To quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damned To let this Canker of our nature come In further evil. It will be short, The interim's mine, and a men life's no more Then to say one: but I am very sorry good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgotten my self; For by the image of my Cause, I see The Portraiture of his; I'll count his favours: But sure the bravery of his grief did put me Into a Towering passion. I humbly thank you Sir, dost know this waterflie? Thy state is the more gracious; for it's a vice to know him: he hath much Land, and fertile; let a Beast be Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall stand at the Kings Mess; it's a Chowgh; but as I saw spacious in the pos session of dirt. I will receive it with all diligence of spirit; put your Bonnet to his right use, it's for the head. No, believe me it's very cold, the wind is Northerly. Me thinks it is very sultry, and hight for my Complexion. I beseech you remember. What's his weapon? That's two of his weapons; but well. What call you the Carriages? The phrase would be more Germane to the matter: If we could carry Cannon by our sides; I would it might be Hangers till then; but on six Barbary Hor ses against six French Swords: their Assigns, and three liberal conceited Carriages, that's the French but a gainst the Danish; why is this impon'd as you call it? How if I answer no? Sir, I will walk here in the Hall; if it please his Majesty, it's the breathing time of day with me; let the Foils be brought, the Gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose; I will win for him if I can: if not, I'll gain nothing but my shame, and the odd hits. To this effect Sir, after what flourish your nam ture will. Yours, yours; he does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for's tongue. He did Comply with his Dug before he sucked it: thus had he and mine more of the same Beauy that I know the drossy age dotes on; only God the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter, a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through & through the most found and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trials: the Bubbles are out. I do not think so, since he went into France, I have been in continual practice; I shall win at the odds: but thou wouldst not think how all here a bout my heart: but it is no matter. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giuing as would perhaps trouble a woman. Not a whit, we defy Augury; there's a special Providence in the fallen of a sparrow. If it be now, it's not to come: if it be not to come, it will be now: if it be not now; yet it will come; the readiness is all, since no man ha ought of what he leaves. What is't to leave be times? Give me your pardon Sir, I've done you wrong, But pardon't as you are a Gentleman. This presence knows, And you must needs have herd how I am punished With soar distraction? What I have done That might your nature honour, and exception Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness: Was to Hamlet wronged Laertes ? Never Hamlet. If Hamlet from himself be taken away: And when he's not himself, do's wrong Laertes, Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it: Who does it then? His Madness? If't be so, Hamlet is of the Faction that is wronged, His madness is poor Hamlets Enemy. Sir, in this Audience, Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil, Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, That I have shot mine Arrow over the house, And hurt my Mother. I do embrace it freely, And will this Brother's wager frankly play. Give us the Foils: Come on. I'll be your foil Laertes, in mine ignorance, Your Skill shall Like a Star in the darkest night, Stick fiery off indeed. No by this hand. Very well my Lord, Your Grace hath laid the odds of the weaker side. This likes me well, These Foils have all a length. Come on sir. One. Judgement. I'll play this bout first, set by awhile. Come: Another hit; what say you? Good Madam. I dare not drink yet Madam, By and by. Come for the third. Laertes, you but daily, I pray you pass with your best violence, I am affeared you make a wanton of me. Nay come, again. How does the Queen? O Villainy! How? Let the door be locked. Treachery, seek it out. The point envenomed too, Then venom to thy work. Here thou incestuous, murderous, Damned Dane, Drink off this Potion: Is thy Union here? Follow my Mother. Heaven make thee free of it, I follow thee. I am dead Horatio, wretched Queen adieu, You that look pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes or audience to this act: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is strick'd in his Arrest) o I could tell you. But let it be: Horatio, I am dead, Thou livest, report me and my causes right. To the unsatisfied. As the art a man, give me the Cup. Let go, by Heaven I'll haue't. O good Horatio, what a wounded name, (Things standing thus unknown) shall live behind me. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my Story. What warlike noise is this? Oh I die Horatio: The potent poison quite ore-crowes my spirit, I cannot live to hear the News from England, But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras, he ha my dying voice, So tell him with the occurrents more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence. Nay, but swear't. How comes it? do they grow rusty? It shall to 'th Barbars, with your beard. Pry thee say on: He's for a Jig, or a tale of Baudry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba. Do the Boys carry it away? Why, As by lot, God wot: and then you know, It came to pass, as most Like it was: The first row of the Pons Chans n will show you more. For look where my Abridgements come. you are welcome Master's, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well: Welcome good Friends. Oh my old Friend? Thy face is valiant since I saw thee last: Comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young Lady and Mi stris? Byrlady your Ladyship is nearer Heaven then when I saw you last, by the altitude of a Choppine. Pray God your voice Like a piece of vncurrant Gold be not cracked within the ring. Master's, you are all welcome: we'll e'ne to't Like French Faulconers, fly at any thing we see: we'll have a Speech straight. Come give us a taste of your quam lity: come, a passionate speech. No good Mother, here's Mettle more attractive. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for England. Mother, mother, mother.