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From “Hamlet,” Act III. Sc. 3.
The King. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; | |
| It hath the primal eldest curse upon ’t, | |
| A brother’s murder. Pray can I not, | |
| Though inclination be as sharp as will: | |
| My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; | 5 |
| And, like a man to double business bound, | |
| I stand in pause where I shall first begin, | |
| And both neglect. What if this cursèd hand | |
| Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood, | |
| Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens | 10 |
| To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy | |
| But to confront the visage of offence? | |
| And what ’s in prayer but this twofold force, | |
| To be forestallèd ere we come to fall, | |
| Or pardoned being down? Then I ’ll look up; | 15 |
| My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer | |
| Can serve my turn? “Forgive me my foul murder?” | |
| That cannot be: since I am still possessed | |
| Of those effects for which I did the murder, | |
| My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. | 20 |
| May one be pardoned and retain the offence? | |
| In the corrupted currents of this world | |
| Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice, | |
| And oft ’t is seen the wicked prize itself | |
| Buys out the law: but ’t is not so above; | 25 |
| There is no shuffling, there the action lies | |
| In his true nature; and we ourselves compelled, | |
| Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, | |
| To give in evidence. What then? what rests? | |
| Try what repentance can: what can it not? | 30 |
| Yet what can it when one cannot repent? | |
| O wretched state! O bosom black as death! | |
| O limèd soul, that, struggling to be free, | |
| Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! | |
| Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, | 35 |
| Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe! | |
| All may be well. [Retires and kneels.] * * * * * | |
| King (rising). My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; | |
| Words without thoughts never to heaven go. | |
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