Page 235 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

GHOST

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts −
O wicked wit, and gifts that have the power

So to seduce! − won to his shameful lust [45]
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.
O Hamlet, what a falling off was there,
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow

I made to her in marriage, and to decline [50]
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine.

But virtue, as it never will be mov’d,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, [55]
Will sate itself in a celestial bed
And prey on garbage.

But soft, methinks I scent the morning air:
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon, [60]

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leperous distilment, whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man [65]

That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset

And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine, [70]
And a most instant tetter bark’d about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand
Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d, [75]
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d,
No reck’ning made, but sent to my account