t father lost, lost his;[37] and the survivor bound,
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow:[38] But to persever[39]
In obstinate condolement,[40] is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven.[41]
We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing[42] woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

_Queen._ Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.

_Ham._ I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

_King._ Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark.--Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart:[43] in grace whereof,[44]
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,[45]
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
Re-speaking earthly thunder.

[_Trumpet March repeated. Exeunt_ KING _and_ QUEEN,
_preceded by_ POLONIUS, Lords, Ladies, LAERTES, _and_
Attendants, R.H.]

_Ham._ O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself[46] into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon[47] 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world![48]
Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.[49] That it should come to this!
But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr:[50] so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem[51] 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 follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears;--she married with my uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!

_Enter_ HORATIO, BERNARDO, _and_ MARCELLUS (R.H.)

_Hor._ Hail to your lordship!

_Ham._ I am glad to see you well:
Horati