, severed from
the billow, which a breath disperses, such is the character of the delicate
and sanctified Ophelia."

In December, 1601, the ban of disgrace was taken from the Globe Theatre,
and Burbage and William were permitted to continue their dramatic
exhibitions.

"Hamlet" was played the night before Christmas. The house was packed closer
than grass on an English lawn, and the applause was almost continuous, like
the moan or roar of a distant sea.

Shakspere played the Ghost, Burbage acted Hamlet, Jo Taylor played Horatio,
Heminge played Ophelia, Peele played Polonius, Condell acted Claudius,
Kempt played Gertrude, Cooke acted Laertes, and the other parts were taken
by the best stock actors.

The play opens up on a platform before the castle at "Elsinore,"
Copenhagen, Denmark.

Bernardo and Francisco are soldiers on night duty. Bernardo says: "Who's
there?" Francisco says: "Nay, answer me; stand and unfold yourself."

The ghost of Hamlet's father appears to the night officers, and also to
Horatio and Marcellus, but will not speak. They reveal the wonderful story
to Hamlet, who makes ready to see and talk to the Ghost the next night at
twelve o'clock.

In the meantime, the king, queen and courtiers gather at the grand throne
of the castle and talk of the late king.

Hamlet is moody and sad, and will not be comforted, although persuaded by
King Claudius and his mother.

Claudius addressing Hamlet, says:

_"But, now my nephew Hamlet, and my son
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?"_

Hamlet says (aside):

_"A little more than kin and less than kind.
Not so, my lord; I am too much in the sun."_

Hamlet's mother rebukes him about grieving for his father, and says:

_"Do not forever with thy veiled lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust;
Thou knowest 'tis common, all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity!"_

Hamlet says:

_"Ay, madam, it is common."_

Queen says:

_"If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?"_

And then surcharged with suspicion of her secret villainy Hamlet exclaims:

_"Seems, madam! Nay it is; I know not 'seems;'
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief
That ca