Margot Spellman

“Dog will have his day”:
Contagion Personified in Hamlet

           The word “dog” only appears twice in the text of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark: Lines 181-182 in Act II, Scene 2, “For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, / being a good kissing carrion” and Lines 294-295 in Act V, Scene 1, “Let Hercules himself do what he may, / The cat will mew, and dog will have his day,” (Bevington Shakespeare).

            The word “dog” had long existed in the English language before the time of Shakespeare, and yet the word is spoken so very few times through the course of the play,  (OED, 2nd ed., s.v. "dog," 1a).   In both instances, the word is part of alliteration - implying a deliberate and intentional word choice.  The sound and meaning of the word both carry significance.  “Dog” is the reverse of “God,” perhaps Shakespeare was aware of this.  The sounds of the letters D and G are forceful and brash.  The word is of Anglo-Saxon origin, neither French nor Latin, and so it tends toward the sharp and forceful sounds often found in that Germanic language. 

            The image of a dog is very concrete and listener-specific.  Two different people often imagine two different dogs in their minds when they hear the same word “dog.”  Hamlet’s rhetorical strategy when he speaks the word in Act II, Scene 2 is intriguing: the image is at once particular and personal and yet at the same time grotesque.  The idea of the sun’s rays penetrating the rotting corpse of a dog and spawning maggots is utterly revolting.  Some versions of the text replace the word “good” with “god,” personifying the sun and adding a forced action to the scene.  If the word choice is “good,” then the flesh of the dog is pleasing and worthy of a kiss by the sun.  A decaying, wretched dog, baking in the sun and filled with maggots, is the most tangible representation of the corruption and pollution in Denmark.  The rot is a sensory experience; the dog smells and frightens the eyes.  The maggots feasting on the corpse give a sense of the texture of the dog’s carcass.  From the sickness of Elsinore Castle, contagion spreads outwards and afflicts the entire nation of Denmark.  The entire image is quite simply disgusting.

            The word “dog” returns several acts later, in Act II, Scene 2.  This time, the dog is the antithesis to the demigod, Hercules.  Not the mighty Hercules, but instead the lowly dog will be victorious.  Not lofty heralds of the heavens, but the cat will proclaim him.  In this role reversal, the underdog (quite literally) will vanquish those above him.  Of course, this parallels the plot of the play.  The prince, underneath the king, will overthrow him by killing him.  Then he will have his day in glory.  Unfortunately, this “day” turns out to be little more than a bloodbath.  That same dog lies dead, decaying, nothing but feed for maggots baking in the sun.