But for the character itself, we find it in a play, and therefore we judge it a fit subject of dramatic representation.
The play itself abounds in maxims and reflections beyond any other, and therefore we consider it as a proper vehicle for conveying moral instruction.

But Hamlet himself--what does he suffer meanwhile by being dragged forth as the public schoolmaster, to give lectures to the crowd! Why, nine parts in ten of what Hamlet does, are transactions between himself and his moral sense; they are the effusions of his solitary musings, which he retires to holes and corners and the most sequestered parts of the palace to pour forth; or rather, they are the silent meditations with which his bosom is bursting, reduced to _words_ for the sake of the reader, who must else remain ignorant of what is passing there.

These profound sorrows, these light-and-noise-abhorring ruminations, which the tongue scarce dares utter to deaf walls and chambers, how can they be represented by a gesticulating actor, who comes and mouths them out before an audience, making four hundred people his confidants at once! I say not that it is the fault of the actor so to do; he must pronounce them _ore rotundo_; he must accompany them with his eye; he must insinuate them into his auditory by some trick of eye, tone or gesture, or he fails.

_He must be thinking all the while of his appearance, because he knows that all the while the spectators are judging of it_.

And this is the way to represent the shy, negligent, retiring Hamlet! It is true that there is no other mode of conveying a vast quantity of thought and feeling to a great portion of the audience, who otherwise would never earn it for themselves by reading, and the intellectual acquisition gained this way may, for aught I know, be inestimable; but I am not arguing that Hamlet should not be acted, but how much Hamlet is made another thing by being acted.