Grating so harshly all his days of quiet

With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
GUIL. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded;
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Rosencrantz adds, that when the arrival of the players was mentioned to Hamlet, "there did seem in him a kind of joy to hear of it," but that he had in nothing else manifested a disposition to be cheered or amused. The king, however, hears of this slight indication with some content, and entreats them to drive Hamlet's purpose on to those delights; which they promise to do. When they quit the presence, the king begs the queen to leave him also, telling her that he has sent for Hamlet, in order that he may meet Ophelia, as if by accident, so that himself and Polonius, listening unseen to the conversation between them, may judge whether or no Hamlet is really but suffering from the agitations of love. Polonius has directed Ophelia to remain, and to read a book which he has put into her hand. The queen goes away; and Polonius,

hearing Hamlet approaching, also withdraws with the king.

In this part of the scene, when performed, the actors, who assume the feigning of Hamlet throughout, are accustomed to take great liberties, productive of general misconception in their audiences: they direct significant looks towards the side-scenes, and sometimes even draw up the arras for a moment to show who are listening, with other perfectly unlawful demonstrations of what is their own interpretation of Hamlet's position and meaning. The text justifies none of these liberties.

Hamlet has, apparently, seen none of those so hastily withdrawn; he does not even, at first, observe Ophelia, who is left behind. Those who would account for his rough language to her by assuming that he knows every word he utters is overheard by concealed listeners, an assumption to which even Coleridge lends his authority,-seem to forget that if Hamlet knew this, he must have known it before he addressed Ophelia; and, if so, must have deliberately and unaccountably uttered the reflections in

the intervening soliloquy he utters, before he addresses her, and which is marked by undisturbed and consecutive thought. This would be to consider the soliloquy as a mere rhapsody, meaningless and affected; and really to make any further attempt to understand Hamlet's character hopeless. The play tells us that the conversation carrying on by the king and the queen and Polonius is broken off, not by their seeing Hamlet coming, but by Polonius hearing his approaching step. Hamlet's senses and thoughts are preoccupied; he is pursuing a train of reflections arising out of a mind troubled with dreadful suggestions. Some calmness has now succeeded to the excitement and suffering disclosed to us by Ophelia's description of the last interview between them, when neither spoke. But he has been dwelling on the oft-recurring subject of self-destruction; he has considered it in every point of view,its facility, its prompt relief from all the griefs and shocks that flesh is heir to, but also its possible consequences. The question is still revolving in his troubled mind as a mere question of living and of

not living; of existence and the extinction of existence, and of sense and feeling. He is intently occupied, even now, with this important theme, and his words gravely and strongly express his doubts and perplexity, whilst his disposition to evade rather than to overcome difficulties is yet perceptible. It is agreeable to him to think that death is no more formidable than sleep; especially as it ends the heart-ach, and closes the gate on all the natural shocks incidental to life: but, pursuing the analogy of death and sleep, he comes upon the difficulty that in that sleep of death some dreams may come, dreams surpassing in woe or in terror all waking afflictions, and all the ills of life itself. He has conjured up, in his wonted reflective manner, and has passionately recounted, many of life's ordinary grievances, which no one, he thinks, would bear, and which he himself would certainly not bear but for those possible dreams the apprehension of which constitutes

the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

His thoughts seem to travel from the subject of suicide to his long-promised vengeance, which, as an enterprise of great pith and moment, has too truly had its current turned awry, so that the name of action has been lost. After this reasonable soliloquy, full of serious meditation, the abrupt change of his manner and language which ensues seems at first sight inconsistent. His philosophic calmness deserts him, and he soon becomes excited and unfeeling. For a few moments, indeed, after descrying Ophelia, a gentler influence prevails over him, and he breaks off with words of kind recognition:

Soft you, now!

The fair Ophelia :-nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

After some mutual salutations, when, to Ophelia's question, as to how he has been "this many a day?" Hamlet has answered, somewhat mockingly, somewhat sadly,-"I humbly thank you; well, well, well," the conversation thus proceeds :

OPH. My lord, I have remembrances of your's,