reason good or
bad, often not without presumption, substituted for that which they
received, I have given the text, letter for letter, point for point, of
the First Folio, with the variations of the Second Quarto in the margin
and at the foot of the page.

Of HAMLET there are but two editions of authority, those called the
Second Quarto and the First Folio; but there is another which requires
remark.

In the year 1603 came out the edition known as the First Quarto--clearly
without the poet's permission, and doubtless as much to his displeasure:
the following year he sent out an edition very different, and larger in
the proportion of one hundred pages to sixty-four. Concerning the former
my theory is--though it is not my business to enter into the question
here--that it was printed from Shakspere's sketch for the play, written
with matter crowding upon him too fast for expansion or development, and
intended only for a continuous memorandum of things he would take up and
work out afterwards. It seems almost at times as if he but marked
certain bales of thought so as to find them again, and for the present
threw them aside--knowing that by the marks he could recall the thoughts
they stood for, but not intending thereby to convey them to any reader.
I cannot, with evidence before me, incredible but through the eyes
themselves, of the illimitable scope of printers' blundering, believe
_all_ the confusion, unintelligibility, neglect of grammar,
construction, continuity, sense, attributable to them. In parts it is
more like a series of notes printed with the interlineations horribly
jumbled; while in other parts it looks as if it had been taken down from
the stage by an ear without a brain, and then yet more incorrectly
printed; parts, nevertheless, in which it most differs from the
authorized editions, are yet indubitably from the hand of Shakspere. I
greatly doubt if any ready-writer would have dared publish some of its
chaotic passages as taken down from the stage; nor do I believe the play
was ever presented in anything like such an unfinished state. I rather
think some fellow about the theatre, whether more rogue or fool we will
pay him the thankful tribute not to enquire, chancing upon the crude
embryonic mass in the poet's hand, traitorously pounced upon it, and
betrayed it to the printers--therein serving the poet such an evil turn
as if a sculptor's workman took a mould of the clay figure on which his
master had be