Of habits evil, is angel yet in this; I'll Bleffing beg of you. For this fame lord, [Pointing to Polonius. Thus bad begins, and worfe remains behind. Ham. Not this by no means, that I bid you do. Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, He likewife gives a Frock or Livery, · That aptly is put on.] This Paffage is left out in the two elder Folio's: It is certainly corrupt, and the Players did the difcreet part to ftife what they did not understand. Habit's Devil certainly arofe from fome conceited Tamperer with the Text, who thought it was neceffary, in Contraft to Angel. The Emendation of the Text I owe to the Sagacity of Dr. Thirlby. That Monster Custom, who all Senfe doth eat of Habits evil, is Angel, &c. i. e. Custom, which by inuring us to ill Habits, makes us lofe the Apprehenfion of their being really ill, as easily will reconcile us to the Practice of good Actions, But But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know. Queen. Be thou affur'd, if words be made of breath, Ham. I muft to England, you know that? Queen. Alack, I had forgot; 'tis fo concluded on. (Whom I will truft, as I will adders fang'd ;) Hoift with his own petar: and't fhall go hard, O, 'tis moft sweet, When in one line two crafts directly meet! I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room; [Exit Hamlet, tugging in Polonius. ACT SCENE, A Royal Apartment. Enter King and Queen, with Rofincrantz, and KING. HERE's matter in these fighs; these profound heaves TH You must tranflate; 'tis fit, we understand them. Where is your fon? Queen. Beftow this place on us a little while. [To Rof. and Guild, who go out. Ah, my good lord, what have I feen to night? King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? Queen. Mad as the feas, and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier; in his lawless fit, Behind the arras hearing fomething ftir, King. O heavy deed! It had been fo with us, had we been there : To you your felf, to us, to every one. Alas! how fhall this bloody deed be answer'd? It will be laid to us, whofe providence Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,. Among Among a mineral of metals base, Shews it felf pure. He weeps for what is done. The fun no fooner fhall the mountains touch, Friends both, go join you with fome further aid : [Ex. Rof. and Guil. Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wifeft friends, (26) (26) Gertrude, We'll call up our wifeft Friends, And let them know both what we mean to do, Whose Whisper o'er the World's Diameter, And Tranfports its poifon'd Shot, may mifs our Name, And hit the woundless Air. O, come away ;] Mr. Pope takes notice, that I replace fome Verfes that were im perfect, (and, tho' of a modern Date, feem to be genuine ;) by inferting two Words. But to fee, what an accurate and faithful Collator he is! I produc'd these Verfes in my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd, from a Quarto Edition of Hamlet printed in 1637, and happen'd to fay, that they had not the Authority of any earlier Date in Print, that I knew of, than that Quarto. Upon the Strength of this Mr. Pope comes and calls the Lines modern, tho' they are in the Quarto's of 1605 and 1611, which I had not then feen, but both of which Mr. Pope pretends to have collated. The Verfes carry the very Stamp of Shakespeare upon them. The Coin, indeed, has been clipt from our first receiving it; but it is not so diminish'd, but that with a small Affiftance we may hope to make it pafs current. We have not, 'tis true, fo much as the Footsteps, or Traces, of a cor rupted Reading, to lead us to an Emendation; nor any means of restoring what is loft, but Conjecture. I am far from af fioning, And let them know both what we mean to do, And what's untimely done. For, haply, Slander (Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank, Transports its poyfon'd fhot;) may miss our Name, My foul is full of discord and dismay. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Safely ftowed. Gentlemen within. Hamlet! lord Hamlet! Ham. What noife? who calls on Hamlet ? Oh, here they come. Enter Rofincrantz, and Guildenstern. [Exeunt. Rof. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? Ham. Compounded it with duft, whereto 'tis kin. Rof. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence, And bear it to the chappel. Ham. Do not believe it.. Rof. Believe what? Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Befides, to be demanded of a fpunge, what replication fhould be made by the fon of a King? Rof. Take you me for a fpunge, my lord? Ham. Ay, Sir, that fokes up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities; but fuch officers do the King beft service in the end; he keeps them, like an apple, in the corner of his jaw; first mouth'd, to be firming, therefore, that I have given the Poet's very Words; but the Supplement is fuch as the Sentiment naturally seems to demand. The Poet has the fame Thought, concerning the diffufive Pow'rs of Slander in another of his Plays. No, 'tis Slander; Whofe Edge is sharper than the Sword, whofe Tongue Cymbeline. laft |