Shakespeare's Prose [pp. 506-514]

SHAKSPEARE'S PROSE.
HAM. [ To Ofhelia]. If she should break it now?
After the King has broken off the play,
and Hamlet is left alone with Horatio,
it might be expected that he would express his exultation to his friend in verse.
But it is like a real madman now that he
speaks. Half- frenzied with excitement
by the suspense and then by the success
of his plot, he breaks out into hysterical
gaiety, in scraps of rhyme, mingled with
disjointed prose. Just so, afterward,
does the crazed Ophelia.
Then with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern he talks again, at first bantering,
then sharply reproving them; but both
moods are of the cool mind, not of the
earnest heart, and are therefore expressed in prose:
[Re-enter the filayers, wi/lh recorders.]
HAM. 0, the recorders; let me see one. To withdraw with you?-why do you go about to recover the
wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil a
GUIL. 0. my lord, if my duty be too bold, my
love is too unmannerly.
HAM. I do not well understand that. Will you
play upon this pipe?
GULL. My lord, I can not.
HAM. I pray you.
GUIL. Believe me, I can not.
HAM. I do beseech you.
Ros. I know no touch of it, my lord.
HAM.'Tis as easy as lying; govern these ventages
with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your
mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music.
Look you, these are the stops.
GUIL. But these can not I command to any utter ance of harmony; I have not the skill.
HAM. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing
you make of me. You would play upon me; you
would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out
the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from
my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there
is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ;
yet can not you make it speak?'Sblood! do you
think that I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Call me what instrument you will, though you can
fret me, you can not play upon me.
When Polonius comes in to summon
him to the Queen, Hamlet "plays upon"
him in this wise:
HAM. Do you see that cloud, that's almost in
shape like a camel?
POL. By the mass, and'tis like a camel, indeed.
HAM. Methinks it is like a weasel?
PoL. It is backed like a weasel.
HAM. Or, like a whale!
POI.. Very like a whale.
HAM. Then will I come to my mother by and bye
[Aside]. They fool me to the top of my bent. I
will come by and by.
But, as in every other case, when he
has said, "Leave me, friends," and he
is left alone, his own thought expresses
itself in rhythm.
There is no more prose till Scene 2 of
Act IV. Here in his character of madman he speaks concerning the body of
Polonius, whom he has slain by mistake
for the King. So, in the next scene:
KING. Now, Hamlet, where is Polonius?
HAM. At supper.
KING. At supper? Where?
HAM. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten;
a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at
him.
* * * * * *
KING. Where is Polonius?
HAM. In heaven. Send thither to see. If your
messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other
place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not
within this month, you shall nose him as you go up.
stairs into the lobby.
KING. Go seek him there. [ To some atsendants.]
HAM. He will stay till ye come.
In Act IV., Scene 5, occurs the most
piteous passage in all Shakspeare, that
of Ophelia's madness; yet it is in prose:
QUEEN. Nay, but Ophelia
OPH. Pray you, mark.
[Sings]. "White his shroud as the mountain snow."
QUEEN. Alas! look here, my lord.
OPH. [Sings]. " Larded with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go,
With true-love showers."
KING. How do you, pretty lady?
OPH. Well, God'ield you! They say, the owl
was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we
are, but know not what we may be. God be at your
table.
KING. Conceit upon her father.
OPH. Pray you, let us have no words of this, but
when they ask you what it means, say you this:
[Sings]. "To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your valentine."
* * * * * *
KING. How long hath she been thus?
OPH. I hope all will be well. We must be pa.
tient, but I can not choose but weep to think they
should lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall
know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel.
Come, my coach! Good-night, ladies —good-night,
sweet ladies; good-night-good-night.
In such scenes as this there is no
I 875S]
5 I I