The Tragedy of Hamlet — Act 5 Scene 1

Enter two Clownes.

Clown.Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, thatwilfully seeks her owne saluation?

Other.I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Grauestraight. the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds itChristian buriall.

Clo.How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe inher owne defence?

Other.Why 'tis found so.

Clo.It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else: forheere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it arguesan Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is anAct to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfewittingly.

Other.Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer.

Clown.Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this waterand drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes;marke you that? But if the water come to him & drownehim; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is notguilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life.

Other.But is this law?

Clo.I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law.

Will you ha the truth on't: if this had notbeene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buriedout of Christian Buriall.

Clo.Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty thatgreat folke should haue countenance in this world todrowne or hang themselves, more then their euen Christian.Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they hold vpAdams Profession.

Other.Was he a Gentleman?

Clo.He was the first that euer bore Armes.

Other.Why he had none.

Clo.What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou vnderstandthe Scripture? the Scripture sayes Adam dig'd;could hee digge without Armes? Ile put another questionto thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose,confesse thy selfe———

Other.Go too.

Clo.What is he that builds stronger then either theMason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?

Other.The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues athousand Tenants.

Clo.I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowesdoes well; but how does it well? it does well to thosethat doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes isbuilt stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowesmay doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come.

Other.Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright,or a Carpenter?

Clo.I, tell me that, and vnyoake.

Other.Marry, now I can tell.

Clo.Too't.

Other.Masse, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.

Clo.Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for yourdull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and whenyou are ask't this question next, say a Graue-maker: theHouses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get theeto Taughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.Sings.In youth when I did loue, did loue,me thought it was very sweete:To contract O the time for a my behoue,O me thought there was nothing meete.

Ham.Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, thathe sings at Graue-making?

Hor.Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse.

Ham.Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment haththe daintier sense.

Clowne sings.But Age with his stealing stepshath caught me in his clutch:And hath shipped me intill the Land,as if I had neuer beene such.

Ham.That Scull had a tongue in it, and could singonce: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if itwere Caines Iaw-bone, that did the first murther: Itmight be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o'reOffices: one that could circumuent God, might it not?

Hor.It might, my Lord.

Ham.Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrowsweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? thismight be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord sucha ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not?

Hor.I, my Lord.

Ham.Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes,Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a SextonsSpade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke tosee't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, butto play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't.

Clowne sings.A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade.for and a shrowding‐Sheete:O a Pit of Clay for to be made,for such a Guest is meete.

Ham.There's another: why might not that bee theScull of of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? hisQuillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? whydoe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him aboutthe Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him ofhis Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in'stime a great buyer of Land, with his statutes, hisRecognizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of hisRecoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will hisVouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and doubleones too, then the length and breadth of a paire ofIndentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands willhardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfehaue no more? ha?

Hor.Not a iot more, my Lord.

Ham.Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes?

Hor.I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too.

Ham.They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurancein that. I will speake to this fellow; whose Graue'sthis Sir?

Clo.Mine Sir:O a Pit of Clay for to be made,for such a Guest is meete.

Ham.I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't.

Clo.You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours:for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine.

Ham.Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine:'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thoulyest.

Clo.'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me to you.

Ham.What man dost thou digge it for?

Clo.For no man Sir.

Ham.What woman then?

Clo.For none neither.

Ham.Who is to be buried in't?

Clo.One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule, shee's dead.

Ham.How absolute the knaue is? wee must speakeby the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by theLord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it,the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesantcomes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls hisKibe. How long hast thou been a Graue-maker?

Clo.Of all the dayes i'th yeare, I came too't that daythat our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras.

Ham.How long is that since?

Clo.Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that:It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, heethat was mad, and sent into England.

Ham.I marry, why was he sent into England?

Clo.Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer hiswits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Ham.Why?

Clo.'Twill not beseene in him, there the men are asmad as he.

Ham.How came he mad?

Clo.Very strangely they say.

Ham.How strangely?

Clo.Faith e'ene with loosing his wits.

Ham.Vpon what ground?

Clo.Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteeneheere, man and Boy thirty yeares.

Ham.How long will a man lie'ith'earth ere he rot?

Clo.Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we hauemany pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce holdthe laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nineyeare. A Tanner will last you nine year e.

Ham.Why he, more then another?

Clo.Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, thathe will keepe out water a great while. And your water,is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scullnow: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years.

Ham.Whose was it?

Clo.A whorson mad Fellowes it was;Whose doe you think it was?

Ham.Nay, I know not.

Clo.A pestlence on him for a mad Rogue, a pou'rd aFlaggon of Renish on my head once. This same ScullSir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester.

Ham.This?

Clo.E'ene that.

Ham.Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio,a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, hehath borne me on his backe a thousand times. And howabhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heerehung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.VVhere be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? YourSongs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont toset the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your ownIeering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my LadiesChamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to thisfauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prytheeHoratio tell me one thing.

Hor.What's that my Lord?

Ham.Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'thisfashion i'th'earth?

Hor.E'ene so.

Ham.And smelt so? Puh.

Hor.E'ene so, my Lord.

Ham.To what base vses we may returne Horatio.Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust ofAlexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole.

Hor.'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so.

Ham.No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thetherwith modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexanderreturneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we makeLome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted)might they not stopp a Beere-barrell?Imperiall Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away.Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw.But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King.

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a Coffin,with Lords attendant.

The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow,And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken,The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand,Fore do it owne life; 'twas fome Estate.Couch we a while, and mark.

Laer.What Cerimony else?

Ham.That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke.

Laer.What Cerimony else?

Priest.Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd.As we haue warrantis, her death was doubtfull,And but that great Command, o're-swaies the order,She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd,Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier,Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, I should be throwne on her:Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites,Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing homeOf Bell and Buriall.

Laer.Must there no more be done?

Priest.No more be done:We should prophane the seruice of the dead,To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to herAs to peace-parted Soules.

Laer.Lay her i'th'earth,And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh,May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest)A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be,When thou liest howling?

Ham.What, the faire Ophelia?

Queene.Sweets, to the sweet farewell.I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife:I thought thy Bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid)And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue.

Laer.Oh terrible woer,Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed headWhose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious senceDepriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while,Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:Leaps in the graue.Now pile your dust, vpon the quick, and dead,Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made,To o're top old Pelion, or the skyish headOf blew Olympus.

Ham.What is he, whose griefesBeares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of SorrowConiure the wandrinig Starres, and makes them standLike wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,Hamlet the Dane.

Laer.The deuill take thy soule.

Ham.Thou prai'st not well,I prythee take thy fingers from my throat;Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash,Yet haue I fomething in me dangerous,Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand.

King.Pluck them asunder.

Qu.Hamlet, Hamlet.

Gen.Good my Lord be quiet.

Ham.Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme,Vntill my eielids will no longer wag.

Qu.Oh my Sonne, what Theame?

Ham.I lou'd Ophelia; fortie thousand BrothersCould not (with all there quanitie of Loue)Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her?

King.Oh he is mad Laertes,

Qu.For loue of God forbeare him.

Ham.Come show me what thou'lt doe.Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe?Woo't drinke vp Esile, eate a Crocodile?Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine;To outface me with leaping in her Graue?Be buried quicke with her, and so will I.And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throwMillions of Akers on vs; till our groundSindging his pate against the burning Zone,Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth,Ile rant as well as thou.

Kin.This is meere Madnesse;And thus awhile the fit will worke on him:Anon as patient as the female Doue,When that her golden Cuplet are disclos'd;His silence will sit drooping.

Ham.Heare you Sir:What is the reason that you vse me thus?I loud' you euer; but it is no matter:Let Hercules himselfe doe what he may,Exit.The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.

Kin.I pray you good Horatio wait vpon him,Strengthen you patience in our last nights speech,Wee'l put the matter to the present push:Good Gertrude set some watch ouer your Sonne,This Graue shall haue a liuing Monument:An houre of quiet shortly shall we see;Exeunt.Till then, in patience our proceeding be.