further in this business," and now "he is
settled and bound up to it," and in one long perturbed soliloquy stands
before us the very picture of that irresolution which "procrastinates
from thought." Brutus thus describes his own suspense:--

"Between the action of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The genius, and the mortal instruments,
Are then in council: and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."

But what is the general course and scope of Hamlet's utterance, whether
to himself or others? We find musings and broodings on the possibility
of escape from so vile a world alternating with cool and keen analysis,
polished criticism, and petulant wit; we find a pervading ironical
bitterness, rising at times to fierce invective, and even to the frenzy
of passion when his mother is the theme, relapsing again to trance-like
meditations on the depravity of the world, the littleness of man and the
nullity of appearance; and when his mind does revert to this "great
action," this "dread command," which is supposed to haunt it, and to
keep it in a whirl of doubt and irresolution, it is because it is
forcibly recalled to it, because some incident startles him to
recollection, proves to him that he has forgotten it, and he turns upon
himself with surprise and indignation: Why is it this thing remains to
do? Am I a coward! Do I lack gall? Is it "bestial oblivion?" or is it

"some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event?"

On this text, so often quoted in support of the orthodox "irresolution"
theory, I will content myself at present with the remark, thats surely
no one before or after Hamlet ever accounted for his non-performance of
a duty by the double explanation that he had either entirely forgotten
it or had been thinking too much about it.

Looking then at the general features of Hamlet's talk, it is plain that
to make this command to revenge the clue to his mental condition, is to
make him utter a great deal of desultory talk without dramatic point or
pertinence; for if, except when surprised by the actors' tears or by the
gallant bearing of the troops of Fortinbras, he wholly forgets it, what
does he remember? What is the secret motive of this prolonged criticism
of the world which "charms all within its magic circle?"

The true centre will be