of gaiety, like that which comes over a man who suddenly has some great doubt or scruple resolved, he swore to Horatio that he would take the ghost’s word for a thousand pounds.  But before he could make up his resolution as to what measures of revenge he should take, now he was certainly informed that his uncle was his father’s murderer, he was sent for by the queen, his mother, to a private conference in her closet.

It was by desire of the king that the queen sent for Hamlet, that she might signify to her son how much his late behaviour had displeased them both; and the king, wishing to know all that passed at that conference, and thinking that the too partial report of a mother might let slip some part of Hamlet’s words, which it might much import the king to know, Polonius, the old counsellor of state, was ordered to plant himself behind the hangings in the queen’s closet, where he might unseen hear all that passed.  This artifice was particularly adapted to the disposition of Polonius, who was a man grown old in crooked maxims and policies of state, and delighted to get at the knowledge of matters in an indirect and cunning way.

Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to tax him in the roundest way with his actions and behaviour, and she told him that he had given great offence to his father, meaning the king, his uncle, whom, because he had married her, she called Hamlet’s father.  Hamlet, sorely indignant that she should give so dear and honoured a name as father seemed to him, to a wretch who was indeed no better than the murderer of his true father, with some sharpness replied, “Mother, you have much offended my father.”  The queen said that was but an idle answer.  “As good as the question deserved,” said Hamlet.  The queen asked him if he had forgotten who it was he was speaking to?  “Alas!” replied Hamlet, “I wish I could forget.  You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife; and you are my mother:  I wish you were not what you are.”  “Nay, then,” said the queen, “if you shew me so little respect, I will set those to you that can speak,” and was going to send the king or Polonius to him.  But Hamlet would not let her go, now he had her alone, till he had tried if his words could not bring her to some sense of her wicked life; and, taking her by the wrist, he held her fast, and made her sit down.  She, affrighted at his earnest manner, and fearful lest in his lunacy he should do her a mischief, cried out:  and a voice was heard from behind the hangings, “Help, help the queen;” which Hamlet hearing, and verily thinking that it was the king himself there concealed, he drew his sword, and stabbed at the place where the voice came from, as he would have stabbed a rat that ran there, till the voice ceasing, he concluded the person to be dead.  But when he dragged forth the body, it was not the king, but Polonius, the old officious counsellor, that had planted himself as a spy behind the hangings.  “Oh me!”