| LAERTES | |
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, | 15 |
| | 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 unvalued persons do, | 20 |
| | Carve for himself; for on his choice depends | |
| | The safety and health of this whole state; | |
| | And therefore must his choice be circumscribed | |
| | Unto the voice and yielding of that body | |
| | Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you, | 25 |
| | 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, | 30 |
| | 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, | 35 |
| | Out of the shot and danger of desire. | |
| | The chariest maid is prodigal enough, | |
| | If she unmask her beauty to the moon: | |
| | Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes: | |
| | The canker galls the infants of the spring, | 40 |
| | Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, | |
| | 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. | 45 |
| OPHELIA | |
I shall the 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; | |
| | Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, | 50 |
| | Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, | |
| | And recks not his own rede. | |
| LORD POLONIUS | |
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! | |
| | And these few precepts in thy memory | 60 |
| | See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, | |
| | Nor any unproportioned thought his act. | |
| | Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. | |
| | Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, | |
| | Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; | 65 |
| | But do not dull thy palm with entertainment | |
| | Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware | |
| | Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, | |
| | Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. | |
| | Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; | 70 |
| | 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 | 75 |
| | Are of a 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 ownself be true, | 80 |
| | 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! | |
| LORD POLONIUS | |
Marry, well bethought: | |
| | 'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late | |
| | Given private time to you; and you yourself | 95 |
| | 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 behoves my daughter and your honour. | 100 |
| | What is between you? give me up the truth. | |
| LORD POLONIUS | |
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, | |
| | When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul | |
| | Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, | 120 |
| | Giving more light than heat, extinct in both, | |
| | Even in their promise, as it is a-making, | |
| | You must not take for fire. From this time | |
| | Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; | |
| | Set your entreatments at a higher rate | 125 |
| | Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, | |
| | Believe so much in him, that he is young | |
| | And with a larger tether may he walk | |
| | Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia, | |
| | Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, | 130 |
| | Not of that dye which their investments show, | |
| | But mere implorators of unholy suits, | |
| | Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, | |
| | The better to beguile. This is for all: | |
| | I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, | 135 |
| | Have you so slander any moment leisure, | |
| | As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. | |
| | Look to't, I charge you: come your ways. | |