Scene III. A room in Polonius's house.
[Enter Laertes and Ophelia.]
My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
Do you doubt that?
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more but so?
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
withal. Perhaps he loves you now;
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;
himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,
Carve for himself;
for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state;
And therefore must
his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the
head. Then if he says he loves you,
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
If with too
credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the
rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scopes not
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their
buttons be disclos'd:
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
Youth to itself rebels, though
none else near.
I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But, good
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of
And recks not his own read.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long:--but here my father comes.
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of
And you are stay'd for. There,--my blessing with thee!
[Laying his hand on Laertes's head.]
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul
with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd,
unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't that the
opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's
censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in
France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous chief in that.
a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,--to thine own self be true;
And it must
follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
blessing season this in thee!
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.
$BC5(Bis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
Marry, well bethought:
$BC5(Bis told me he hath very oft of late
time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous;
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 behooves my daughter and your honour.
between you? give me up the truth.
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these
tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus,--you'll tender me a fool.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy
vows of heaven.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
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 something scanter of your maiden presence;
entreatments at a higher rate
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
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,--
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
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.
I shall obey, my lord.