Page:Hamlet - The Arden Shakespeare - 1899.djvu/70

 Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels; And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettle-drum 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 honoured in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations; They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and indeed it takes From our achievements, though performed at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute. So, oft it chances in particular men,