Page 282 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

O my dear lord.

HAMLET
Nay, do not think I flatter,
For what advancement may I hope from thee
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, [60]
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her election,
And could of men distinguish her election,
Sh’ath seal’d thee for herself; for thou hast been [65]
As one, in suff’ring all, that suffers nothing,
A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards

Hast ta’en with equal thanks; and blest are those
Whose blood and judgement are so well commeddled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger [70]

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him
In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee. Something too much of this.
There is a play tonight before the King: [75]

One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee of my father’s death.
I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,

Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe my uncle. If his occulted guilt [80]
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen,
And my imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, [85]
And after we will both our judgments join

In censure of his seeming.

HORATIO

Well, my lord.