第6章(1/3)
Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. Ham. What hour now? Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. Mar. No, it is struck. Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off. What does this mean, my lord? Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels, And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. Hor. Is it a custom? Ham. Ay, marry, is't; But to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations; They clip us drunkards and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and indeed it takes From our achievements, though perform'd at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute. So oft it chances in particular men That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As in their birth,- wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin,-By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens The form of plausive manners, that these men Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, Their virtues else- be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo- -->>