George Bernard Shaw - Man and Superman [extracts]

[source: simpsonswiki.com]

MAN AND SUPERMAN

by George Bernard Shaw

extracts

From the Epistle Dedicatory to Arthur Bingham

The Don Juan play, however, is to deal with sexual attraction, and not with nutrition, and to deal with it in a society in which the serious business of sex is left by men to women, as the serious business of nutrition is left by women to men. That the men, to protect themselves against a too aggressive prosecution of the women's business, have set up a feeble romantic convention that the initiative in sex business must always come from the man, is true; but the pretence is so shallow that even in the theatre, that last sanctuary of unreality, it imposes only on the inexperienced. In Shakespear's plays the woman always takes the initiative. In his problem plays and his popular plays alike the love interest is the interest of seeing the woman hunt the man down. She may do it by blandishment, like Rosalind, or by stratagem, like Mariana; but in every case the relation between the woman and the man is the same: she is the pursuer and contriver, he the pursued and disposed of. When she is baffled, like Ophelia, she goes mad and commits suicide; and the man goes straight from her funeral to a fencing match. No doubt Nature, with very young creatures, may save the woman the trouble of scheming: Prospero knows that he has only to throw Ferdinand and Miranda together and they will mate like a pair of doves; and there is no need for Perdita to capture Florizel as the lady doctor in All's Well That Ends Well (an early Ibsenite heroine) captures Bertram. But the mature cases all illustrate the Shakespearian law. The one apparent exception, Petruchio, is not a real one: he is most carefully characterized as a purely commercial matrimonial adventurer. Once he is assured that Katharine has money, he undertakes to marry her before he has seen her. In real life we find not only Petruchios, but Mantalinis and Dobbins who pursue women with appeals to their pity or jealousy or vanity, or cling to them in a romantically infatuated way. Such effeminates do not count in the world scheme: even Bunsby dropping like a fascinated bird into the jaws of Mrs MacStinger is by comparison a true tragic object of pity and terror. I find in my own plays that Woman, projecting herself dramatically by my hands (a process over which I assure you I have no more real control than I have over my wife), behaves just as Woman did in the plays of Shakespear.



ACT I

TANNER

 Quite unscrupulous. The true artist will let his wife starve, his children go barefoot, his mother drudge for his living at seventy, sooner than work at anything but his art. To women he is half vivisector, half vampire. He gets into intimate relations with them to study them, to strip the mask of convention from them, to surprise their inmost secrets, knowing that they have the power to rouse his deepest creative energies, to rescue him from his cold reason, to make him see visions and dream dreams, to inspire him, as he calls it. He persuades women that they may do this for their own purpose whilst he really means them to do it for his. He steals the mother's milk and blackens it to make printer's ink to scoff at her and glorify ideal women with. He pretends to spare her the pangs of childbearing so that he may have for himself the tenderness and fostering that belong of right to her children. Since marriage began, the great artist has been known as a bad husband. But he is worse: he is a child-robber, a bloodsucker, a hypocrite and a cheat. Perish the race and wither a thousand women if only the sacrifice of them enable him to act Hamlet better, to paint a finer picture, to write a deeper poem, a greater play, a profounder philosophy! For mark you, Tavy, the artist's work is to show us ourselves as we really are. Our minds are nothing but this knowledge of ourselves; and he who adds a jot to such knowledge creates new mind as surely as any woman creates new men. In the rage of that creation he is as ruthless as the woman, as dangerous to her as she to him, and as horribly fascinating. Of all human struggles there is none so treacherous and remorseless as the struggle between the artist man and the mother woman. Which shall use up the other? that is the issue between them. And it is all the deadlier because, in your romanticist cant, they love one another.


ACT III

MENDOZA

[to Tanner, becoming more confidential as he finds himself virtually alone with a sympathetic listener in the still starlight of the mountains; for all the rest are asleep by this time] 

It was just so with her, sir. Her intellect reached forward into the twentieth century: her social prejudices and family affections reached back into the dark ages. Ah, sir, how the words of Shakespear seem to fit every crisis in our emotions! 

I loved Louisa: 40,000 brothers 

Could not with all their quantity of love 

Make up my sum.
And so on. I forget the rest. Call it madness if you will—infatuation. I am an able man, a strong man: in ten years I should have owned a first-class hotel. I met her; and you see! I am a brigand, an outcast. Even Shakespear cannot do justice to what I feel for Louisa. Let me read you some lines that I have written about her myself. However slight their literary merit may be, they express what I feel better than any casual words can. 

[He produces a packet of hotel bills scrawled with manuscript, and kneels at the fire to decipher them, poking it with a stick to make it glow].

"NOTHING" Hamlet Act III Scene 2

HAMLET
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

OPHELIA
No, my lord.

HAMLET
I mean, my head upon your lap?

OPHELIA
Ay, my lord.

HAMLET
Do you think I meant country matters?

OPHELIA
I think nothing, my lord.

HAMLET
That’s a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. 

OPHELIA
What is, my lord?

HAMLET
Nothing.

OPHELIA
You are merry, my lord.

HAMLET
Who, I? 

OPHELIA
Ay, my lord. 

[HAMLET, Act III Scene 2]

Now, reread the scene, knowing that in the Elizabethan Era, “nothing” (pronouced as "noting") was a slang term for the female genitalia. And that when Hamlet says "country matters", Ophelia hears the "cunt" inside the "country". That tells a lot about the characters, doesn't it? 

+ check out the thing with another Shakespeare's title, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

Hamlet Act III Scene 2

Scene II. A hall in the Castle.
[Enter Hamlet and cartain Players.]

Ham.
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 lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you avoid it.
I Player.
I warrant your honour.
Ham.
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own image, 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 unskilful laugh, cannot but make the
judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play,--and heard others praise, and that highly,--not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
I Player.
I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir.
Ham.
O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than 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 meantime some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.
[Exeunt Players.]

[Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.]
How now, my lord! will the king hear this piece of work?
Pol.
And the queen too, and that presently.
Ham.
Bid the players make haste.
[Exit Polonius.]
Will you two help to hasten them?
Ros. and Guil.
We will, my lord.
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.]

Ham.
What, ho, Horatio!

[Enter Horatio.]

Hor.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.
Hor.
O, my dear lord,--
Ham.
Nay, do not think I flatter;
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bles'd are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--
There is a play to-night before the king;
One scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death:
I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot,
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen;
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And, after, we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming.
Hor.
Well, my lord:
If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Ham.
They are coming to the play. I must be idle:
Get you a place.

[Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others.]

King.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Ham.
Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.
King.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.
Ham.
No, nor mine now. [To Polonius.] My lord, you play'd once i' the university, you say? 
Pol.
That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
Ham.
What did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' the Capitol; Brutus killed me.
Ham.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.--Be the players ready?
Ros.
Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.
Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Ham.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
Pol.
[To the King.]
O, ho! do you mark that? 
Ham.
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.]
Oph.
No, my lord.
Ham.
I mean, my head upon your lap?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Do you think I meant country matters?
Oph.
I think nothing, my lord.
Ham.
That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.
Oph.
What is, my lord?
Ham.
Nothing.
Oph.
You are merry, my lord.
Ham.
Who, I?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
O, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry?
for look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within 's two hours.
Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
Ham.
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot!'

[Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.]
[Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her
neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the king's ears, and exit. 
The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love.]
[Exeunt.]

Oph.
What means this, my lord?
Ham.
Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.
Oph.
Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

[Enter Prologue.]

Ham.
We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all.
Oph.
Will he tell us what this show meant?
Ham.
Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
Oph.
You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.
Pro.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
[Exit]
Ham.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
Oph.
'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham.
As woman's love.

[Enter two players, King and Queen.]

P. King.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen
About the world have times twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
P. Queen.
So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state.
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women's fear and love holds quantity;
In neither aught, or in extremity.
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so:
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
P. King.
Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;
My operant powers their functions leave to do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou,--
P. Queen.
O, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second but who kill'd the first.
Ham.
[Aside.] Wormwood, wormwood!
P. Queen.
The instances that second marriage move
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
A second time I kill my husband dead
When second husband kisses me in bed.
P. King.
I do believe you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory;
Of violent birth, but poor validity:
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree;
But fall unshaken when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis that we forget
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy
Their own enactures with themselves destroy:
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his favourite flies,
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies;
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend:
For who not needs shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But, orderly to end where I begun,--
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
P. Queen.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
Sport and repose lock from me day and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite that blanks the face of joy
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!
Ham.
If she should break it now!
P. King.
'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.]
P. Queen.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
[Exit.]
Ham.
Madam, how like you this play?
Queen.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
Ham.
O, but she'll keep her word.
King.
Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?
Ham.
No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world.
King.
What do you call the play?
Ham.
The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what o' that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the
gall'd jade wince; our withers are unwrung.

[Enter Player, as Lucianus.]

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
Oph.
You are a good chorus, my lord.
Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.
Oph.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham.
It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
Oph.
Still better, and worse.
Ham.
So you must take your husbands.--Begin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come:--'The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.'
Luc.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;
Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property
On wholesome life usurp immediately.
[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears.]
Ham.
He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian; you shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
Oph.
The King rises.
Ham.
What, frighted with false fire!
Queen.
How fares my lord?
Pol.
Give o'er the play.
King.
Give me some light:--away!
All.
Lights, lights, lights!
[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.]

Ham.

Why, let the strucken deer go weep,

The hart 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 fortunes turn Turk with me,--with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?
Hor.
Half a share.
Ham.
A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very--pajock.

Hor.
You might have rhymed.
Ham.
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound! Didst perceive?
Hor.
Very well, my lord.
Ham.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?--
Hor.
I did very well note him.
Ham.
Ah, ha!--Come, some music! Come, the recorders!--

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.

Come, some music!

[Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

Guil.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Ham.
Sir, a whole history.
Guil.
The king, sir--
Ham.
Ay, sir, what of him?
Guil.
Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered.
Ham.
With drink, sir?
Guil.
No, my lord; rather with choler.
Ham.
Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far more choler.
Guil.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham.
I am tame, sir:--pronounce.
Guil.
The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham.
You are welcome.
Guil.
Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business.
Ham.
Sir, I cannot.
Guil.
What, my lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: but, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: my mother, you say,--
Ros.
Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into
amazement and admiration.
Ham.
O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother!--But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?
Ros.
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?
Ros.
My lord, you once did love me.
Ham.
And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Ros.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do, surely, bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.
Ham.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?
Ham.
Ay, sir, but 'While the grass grows'--the proverb is something musty.

[Re-enter the Players, with recorders.]

O, the recorders:--let me see one.--To withdraw with you:--why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?
Guil.
O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
Ham.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
Guil.
My lord, I cannot.
Ham.
I pray you.
Guil.
Believe me, I cannot.
Ham.
I do beseech you.
Guil.
I know, no touch of it, my lord.
Ham.
'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
Guil.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.
Ham.
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 sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

[Enter Polonius.]
God bless you, sir!
Pol.
My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently.
Ham.
Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
Pol.
By the mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.
Ham.
Methinks it is like a weasel.
Pol.
It is backed like a weasel.
Ham.
Or like a whale.
Pol.
Very like a whale.
Ham.
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.
Pol.
I will say so.
[Exit.]

Ham.
"By-and-by" is easily said. --Leave me, friends.

[Exeunt Ros, Guil., Hor., and Players.]

'Tis now the very witching time of night,

When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out

Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot 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 somever she be shent,

To give them seals never, my soul, consent!

[Exit.]

Hamlet Act III Scene 1

ACT III.
Scene I. A room in the Castle.

[Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and
Guildenstern.]

King.
And can you, by no drift of circumstance,
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
Ros.
He does confess he feels himself distracted,
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.
Queen.
Did he receive you well?
Ros.
Most like a gentleman.
Guil.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
Ros.
Niggard of question; but, of our demands,
Most free in his reply.
Queen.
Did you assay him
To any pastime?
Ros.
Madam, it so fell out that certain players
We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him,
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court,
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.
Pol.
'Tis most true;
And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
To hear and see the matter.
King.
With all my heart; and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclin'd.--
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose on to these delights.
Ros.
We shall, my lord.
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

King.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia:
Her father and myself,--lawful espials,--
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
If't be the affliction of his love or no
That thus he suffers for.
Queen.
I shall obey you:--
And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.
Oph.
Madam, I wish it may.
[Exit Queen.]

Pol.
Ophelia, walk you here.--Gracious, so please you,
We will bestow ourselves.--[To Ophelia.] Read on this book; That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness.--We are oft to blame in this,--
'Tis too much prov'd,--that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The Devil himself.
King.
[Aside.] O, 'tis too true!
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word:
O heavy burden!
Pol.
I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord.
[Exeunt King and Polonius.]

[Enter Hamlet.]

Ham.
To be, or not to be,--that is the question:--
Whether 'tis 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 heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;--
To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled 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 oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,--
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,--puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia!--Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Oph.
Good my lord,
How does your honour for this many a day?
Ham.
I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
Oph.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours
That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.
Ham.
No, not I;
I never gave you aught.
Oph.
My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd
As made the things more rich; their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
Ham.
Ha, ha! are you honest?
Oph.
My lord?
Ham.
Are you fair?
Oph.
What means your lordship?
Ham.
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
Oph.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
Ham.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform
honesty from what it is to a bawd than 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.
Oph.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
Ham.
You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so
inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.
Oph.
I was the more deceived.
Ham.
Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother
had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck than 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 earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?
Oph.
At home, my lord.
Ham.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
Oph.
O, help him, you sweet heavens!
Ham.
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry,-- be thou as chaste 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. Farewell.
Oph.
O heavenly powers, restore him!
Ham.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath
given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, 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.
[Exit.]

Oph.
O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observ'd of all observers,--quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

[Re-enter King and Polonius.]
King.
Love! his affections do not that way tend;
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness. There's something in his soul
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger: which for to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down:--he shall with speed to England
For the demand of our neglected tribute:
Haply the seas, and countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
Pol.
It shall do well: but yet do I believe
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love.--How now, Ophelia!
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;
We heard it all.--My lord, do as you please;
But if you hold it fit, after the play,
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief: let her be round with him;
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not,
To England send him; or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.
King.
It shall be so:
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
[Exeunt.]