Hamlet | Page 5

me
hear from you.
Oph.
Do you doubt that?
Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion,
and a toy in blood:
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward,
not permanent, sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a
minute;
No more.
Oph.
No more but so?
Laer.
Think it no more:
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone

In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of
the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now;

And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but
you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he
himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,

Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and health of
this whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd

Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head.
Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which
is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then
weigh what loss your honour may sustain
If with too credent ear you
list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To
his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;

And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Out of the shot and danger

of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her
beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes:

The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons
be disclos'd:
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious
blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:

Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph.
I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my
heart. But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd
and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads

And recks not his own read.
Laer.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long:--but here my father comes.
[Enter Polonius.]
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second
leave.
Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in
the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for. There,--my blessing
with thee!
[Laying his hand on Laertes's head.]
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy
thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be
thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and
their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd,
unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear,
but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy;

rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in
France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous chief
in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both
itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This
above all,--to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night
the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my
blessing season this in thee!
Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol.
The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
Laer.
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to
you.
Oph.
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the
key of it.
Laer.
Farewell.
[Exit.]
Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
Oph.
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
Pol.
Marry, well bethought:
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late

Given private time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience
been most free and bounteous;
If it be so,--as so 'tis put on me,
And
that in way of caution,--I must tell you
You do not understand
yourself so clearly
As it behooves my daughter and your honour.

What is between you? give me up the truth.
Oph.
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection
to me.

Pol.
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such
perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph.
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Pol.
Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have
ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender
yourself more dearly;
Or,--not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,

Wronging it thus,--you'll tender me a fool.
Oph.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable
fashion.
Pol.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
Oph.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With
almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood
burns,