_Ham._ I a Rat, dead for a Duckat. Rash intruding foole, farewell, I tooke thee for thy better. _Queene_ Hamlet, what hast thou done? _Ham._ Not so much harme, good mother, 20 As to kill a king, and marry with his brother. _Queene_ How! kill a king! _Ham._ I a King: nay sit you downe, and ere you part, If you be made of penitrable stuffe, I'le make your eyes looke downe into your heart, 25 And see how horride there and blacke it shews. _Queene_ Hamlet, what mean'st thou by these killing words? _Ham._ Why this I meane, see here, behold this picture, It is the portraiture, of your deceased husband, See here a face, to outface _Mars_ himselfe, 30 An eye, at which his foes did tremble at, A front wherin all vertues are set downe For to adorne a king, and guild his crowne, Whose heart went hand in hand euen with that vow, He made to you in marriage, and he is dead. 35 Murdred, damnably murdred, this was your husband, Looke you now, here is your husband, With a face like _Vulcan_. A looke fit for a murder and a rape, A dull dead hanging looke, and a hell-bred eie, 40 To affright children and amaze the world: And this same haue you left to change with this. What Diuell thus hath cosoned you at hob-man blinde? A! haue you eyes and can you looke on him That slew my father, and your deere husband, 45 To liue in the incestuous pleasure of his bed? _Queene_ O Hamlet, speake no more. _Ham._ To leaue him that bare a Monarkes minde, For a king of clowts, of very shreads. _Queene_ Sweete Hamlet cease. 50 _Ham._ Nay but still to persist and dwell in sinne, To sweate vnder the yoke of infamie, To make increase of shame, to seale damnation. _Queene_ Hamlet, no more. _Ham._ Why appetite with you is in the waine, 55 Your blood runnes backeward now from whence it came, Who'le chide hote blood within a Virgins heart, When lust shall dwell within a matrons breast? _Queene_ Hamlet, thou cleaues my heart in twaine. _Ham._ O throw away the worser part of it, and keepe the 60 better. _Enter the ghost in his night gowne._ Saue me, saue me, you gratious Powers aboue, and houer ouer mee, With your celestiall wings. Doe you not come your tardy sonne to chide, 65 That I thus long haue let reuenge slippe by? O do not glare with lookes so pittifull! Lest that my heart of stone yeelde to compassion, And euery part that should assist reuenge, Forgoe their proper powers, and fall to pitty. 70