y depriued of sence and, reasonable understanding, bycause
I am well assured that he that hath made no conscience to kill his owne
brother (accustomed to murthers, and allured with desire of gouernement
without controll in his treasons) will not spare to saue himselfe with the
like crueltie, in the blood and flesh of the loyns of his brother, by him
massacred: and therefore it is better for me to fayne madnesse then to use
my right sences as nature hath bestowed them upon me. The bright shining
clearnes therof I am forced to hide vnder this shadow of dissimulation, as
the sun doth hir beams vnder some great cloud, when the wether in summer
time ouercasteth: the face of a mad man serueth to couer my gallant
countenance, and the gestures of a fool are fit for me, to the end that,
guiding my self wisely therin, I may preserue my life for the Danes and
the memory of my late deceased father, for that the desire of reuenging
his death is so ingrauen in my heart, that if I dye not shortly, I hope to
take such and so great vengeance, that these Countryes shall for euer
speake thereof. Neuerthelesse I must stay the time, meanes, and occasion,
lest by making ouer great hast I be now the cause of mine owne sodaine
ruine and ouerthrow, and by that meanes end, before I beginne to effect my
hearts desire: hee that hath to doe with a wicked, disloyall, cruell, and
discourteous man, must vse craft, and politike inuentions, such as a fine
witte can best imagine, not to discouer his interprise: for seeing that by
force I cannot effect my desire, reason alloweth me by dissimulation,
subtiltie, and secret practises to proceed therein."

But to put the matter out of all question, my communicative Friend
above-mentioned, Mr. Capell (for why should I not give myself the credit
of his name?), hath been fortunate enough to procure from the Collection
of the Duke of Newcastle a _complete_ Copy of the _Hystorie of Hamblet_,
which proves to be a translation from the French of Belleforest; and he
tells me that "all the chief incidents of the Play, and all the capital
Characters, are there in _embryo_, after a rude and barbarous manner:
sentiments indeed there are none that Shakespeare could borrow; nor any
expression but _one_, which is, where Hamlet kills Polonius behind the
arras: in doing which he is made to cry out, as in the Play, '_a rat, a
rat!_' "--So much for _Saxo Grammaticus_!

It is scarcely conceivable how industriously the puritanical