to flaming youth, let virtue be as wax!
Oh, Hamlet! Speak no more.
Thou turnst mine eyes into my very soul,
and there I see such black and grained spots as will not lose their stain.
Nay! But to live in the rank sweat of a lascivious bed,
stewed in corruption, honeying and making love over the nasty sty-
Speak to me no more. These words like daggers enter into mine ears!
- No more, sweet Hamlet! - A murderer and a villain!
A slave that is not twentieth part the worth of your true lord.
A cutpurse of the empire and the throne, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole!
- No more! - A king of shreds and patches!
Save me, and hover over me with your wings, you heavenly guards.
What would your gracious figure?
Alas, hes mad.
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
that lapsed in time and passion,
lets go by the important acting of your dread command?
Oh, say.
Do not forget.
This visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But look. Amazement on thy mother sits.
Oh, step between her and her fighting soul.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
How is it with you, lady?
Alas, how ist with you, that you do bend your eye on vacancy...
and with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
O gentle son. Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper...
sprinkle cool patience.
Whereon do you look?
On him. On him.
Look you how pale he glares.
His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones,
would make them sensitive.
Do not look upon me,
lest with this piteous action you convert my stern intents.
So I shed tears, not blood.
To whom do you speak this?
Do you see nothing there?
No, nothing at all.
- Yet all there is, I see. - Do you nothing hear?
No, nothing but ourselves.
Why, look you there! Look how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
This is the very coinage of your brain.
This bodiless creation, madness is very cunning in.
Madness?
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
and makes as healthful music.
Mother, for love of grace, lay not that flattering unction to your soul...
that not your trespass but my madness speaks.
Confess yourself to heaven.
Repent whats past. Avoid what is to come.
And do not spread the compost on the weeds to make them ranker.
Forgive me this my virtue.
O Hamlet. Thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
Oh.
Throw away the worser part of it,
and live the purer with the other half.
Good night.
But go not to my uncles bed.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Refrain tonight,
and that shall lend a kind of easiness to the next abstinence.
The next more easy.
For use can almost change the stamp of nature.
Once more, good night.
And when you are desirous to be blessed,
Ill blessing beg of you.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
I must to England. You know that?
Alack, I had forgot.
Tis so concluded on?
Theres letters sealed.
This man shall send me packing.
Ill lug the guts into the neighbor room.
Indeed, this counselor is now most still,
most secret and most grave,
that was in life a foolish, prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, Mother.
Now Hamlet, wheres Polonius?
- At supper. - At supper?
- Mmm. - Where?
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten.
A certain complication of politic worms are even at him.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet.
We fat all creatures else to fat us,
and we fat ourselves for worms.
Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes, but to one table.
- Thats the end. - Alas, alas.
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king,
and eat of a fish that hath fed of that worm.
- What dost thou mean by this? - Nothing.
But to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.
- Where is Polonius? - In heaven.
Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there,
seek him in the other place yourself.
But indeed, if you find him not within this month,
you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
Go, seek him there.
He will stay till you come.
Hamlet, for thine especial safety, which we do tender,
as we do deeply grieve for that which thou hast done,
this deed must send thee hence with fiery quickness.
Therefore prepare thyself. The bark is ready,
the wind sets fair and everything is bent for England.
- For England. - Aye, Hamlet.
-Good. -So is it, if thou knewst our purposes.
I see a cherub that sees them.
But come, for England.
Farewell, dear Mother.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
My mother.
Father and mother is man and wife.
Man and wife is one flesh.
And so...
my mother.
Come.
- For England. - Follow him close. Tempt him with speed aboard.
Delay it not. Ill have him hence tonight. Away!
Everything is sealed and done that else leans on the affair.
Pray you make haste.
And England, if my love thou holdst at aught,
thou mayst not coldly treat our sovereign order...
which imports at full...
the present death of Hamlet.
Do it, England,
for like the fever in my blood he rages,
and thou must cure me.
Till I know tis done, howeeer my haps, my joys, were ne´eeer begun.
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
Why, how now, Ophelia?
Say you?
Nay, pray you, mark.
He is dead and gone, lady
He is dead and gone
At his head a grass green turf
At his heels a stone
Nay, but Ophelia.
Pray you, mark!
White his shroud as the mountain snow
- Larded with sweet flowers - Alas, look here, my lord.
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love showers
How do you, pretty lady?
Well, God ild you.
They say the owl was a bakers daughter.
Lord, we know what we are, but not what we may be.
God be at your table.
Distraction for her father.
I hope all will be well.
We must be patient.
But I cannot choose but weep...
to think they should lay him in the cold ground.
My brother shall know of it.
And so I thank you for your good counsel.
Come, my coach.
Good night, ladies.
Sweet ladies, good night.
Good night.
Follow her close. Give her good watch, I pray you.
O Gertrude, Gertrude.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
but in battalions.
First, her father slain.
Next, our son gone.
The people muddied, thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers.
Poor Ophelia,
divided from herself and her fair judgment.
Last, and more dangerous than all of these,
her brother is in secret come from France...
and wants not buzzers to infect his ear with pestilent speeches of his fathers death,
while he himself not hesitates to threaten...
our own person.
O my dear Gertrude.
This like to a murdering-piece...
in many places gives me superfluous death.
How now? What news?
- Letters, my lord, from Hamlet. - From Hamlet?
This to Your Majesty. This to the queen.
- Who brought them? - Sailors, my lord, they say.
Leave us.
God bless you, sir.
- Let Him bless thee too. - He shall, sir, and it please Him.
Theres a letter for you, sir. It comes from the ambassador that was bound for England.
If your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.
Horatio.
Ere we were two days old at sea,
a pirate, a very warlike appointment, gave us chase.
Finding ourselves too slow of sail,
we put on a compelled valor.
And in the grapple I boarded them.
On the instant, they got clear of our ship.
So I alone became their prisoner.
They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy,
but they knew what they did.
I am to do a good turn for them.
Repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death.
These good fellows will bring thee where I am.
Farewell. He that thou knowest thine. Hamlet.
Quote she Before you tumbled me
You promised me to wed
So would I ha done by yonder sun
Come, that you may direct me to him from whom you brought this.
How came he dead? Ill not bejuggled with!
To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest pit!
I dare damnation, only Ill be revenged most throughly for my father.
Good Laertes, if you desire to know the certainty...
of your dear fathers death, istt writ in your revenge...
that swoopstake you will draw both friend and foe, winner and loser?
- None but his enemies! - Will you know them, then?
To his good friends thus wide Ill ope my arms.
Why, now you speak like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your fathers death and am most sensibly in grief for it...
shall appear as clearly to your judgment as day doth to your eyes.
- You must sing. - What noise is this?
A-down, a-down
Kind sister.
Sweet Ophelia.
It is the false steward that stole his masters daughter.
O heat, dry up my brains.
O rose of May.
Oh, heavens, ist possible a young maidss wits should be as mortal as an old man´sss life?
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight...
till our scale turn the beam.
Fare you well, my dove.
Theres rosemary. Thatss for remembrance.
Pray you, love, remember.
There is pansies. Thats for thoughts.
Theres fennel for you, and columbines.
Theres rue for you,
and heres some for me.
We may call it herb of grace o Sundays.
Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference.
Theres a daisy.
I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.
They say he made a good end.
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy
Do you see this, O God?
And will he not come again
No, no He is dead
Go to thy death bed
He never will come again
God have mercy
On his soul
And of all Christian souls, I pray God.
God be with you.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook...
that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There with fantastic garlands did she come,
of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples.
There on the pendent boughs...
her coronet weeds clambering to hang,
an envious sliver broke...
when down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook.
Her clothes spread wide...
and, mermaid like, a while they bore her up.
But long it could not be...
till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay...
to muddy death.
Alas,
then she has drowned.
Drowned.
In youth when I did love, did love
Methought it was very sweet
To contract Oh
The time for Ah, my behove
Methought there was nothing meet
But age with his stealing steps
That clawed me in his clutch
Whose grave is this, sirrah?
Mine, sir.
I think it be thine, indeed, for thou liest in it.
You lie out ont, sir, therefore it is not yours.
For my part I do not lie int, and yet it is mine.
Thou dost lie int, to be intt and say it is thine.
Tis for the dead, not the quick. Therefore thou liest.
Tis a quick lie, sir. TTwill go away again from me to you.
- What man dost thou dig it for? - No man, sir.
- For what woman, then? - For none neither.
Who is to be buried in it?
One that was a woman, sir, but, rest her soul, shes dead.
How absolute the knave is.
We must speak by the card or equivocation will undo us.
How long hast thou been grave maker?
Of all the days in the year, I came to it that day...
that our last King Hamlet oercame Fortinbras.
- How long is that since? - Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that.
It was the very day that young Hamlet was born.
- He that is mad and sent into England. - Aye, marry.
- Why was he sent into England? - Why? Because he was mad.
He shall recover his wits there.
- Or if he do not, tis no great matter there. - Why?
It will not be seen in him there. There the men are as mad as he.
- How came he mad? - Very strangely, they say.
How, strangely?
- Faith, een by losing his wits. - Upon what ground?
Why, here in Denmark.
How long will a man lie in the earth ere he rot?
I faith, if he be not rotten before he die, he will last some eight year, nine year.
- A tanner will last you nine year. - Why he, more than another?
Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade,
it will keep out water a great while,
and your waters a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body.
Here. Heres a skull, now.
This skull has lain in the earth three and twenty year.
- Whose was it? - Whoreson mad fellows, it was.
Whose do you think it was?
- Nay, I know not. - A pestilence on him for a mad rogue.
He poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once.
This same skull, sir, was Yoricks skull. The kingss jester.
This?
Een that.
Let me see.
Alas, poor Yorick.
I knew him, Horatio.
A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
He hath borne me on his back a thousand times.
But now how abhorred in my imagination it is. My gorge rises it.
Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.
Where be your jibes now?
Your songs? Your gambols?
Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Not one now to mock your own grinning?
Quite chop fallen.
Now get you to my ladys chamber.
Tell her. Let her paint an inch thick.
To this favor she must come.
Make her laugh at that.
But soft!
The king! The queen, the courtiers.
Who is this they follow?
And with such meager rites.
This doth betoken the corpse they follow did with desperate hand take its own life.
Mark.
- What ceremony else? - That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark!
What ceremony else?
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged as we have warranty.
Her death was doubtful.
And but that great command oer sways the order,
she should in ground unsanctified have lodged till the last trumpet.
Must there no more be done?
No more be done?
We should profane the service of the dead to sing a requiem and such rest to her...
as to peace-parted souls.
Lay her in the earth.
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh...
may violets spring.
I tell thee, churlish priest,
a ministering angel shall my sister be when thou liest howling.
What!
The fair Ophelia!
Sweets to the sweet.
Farewell.
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlets wife.
I thought thy bride bed to have decked, sweet maid.
And not have strewed thy grave.
Oh, treble woe, fall ten times treble on that cursed head...
whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense deprived thee of.
Hold off the earth a while till I have caught her once more in my arms.
Now pile your dust on the quick and dead...
till of this flat a mountain you have made!
What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis?
- This is I, Hamlet the Dane! - The devil take thy soul!
Thou prayest not well. I prithee take thy fingers from my throat! Hold off thy hands.
Pluck them asunder.
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme until my eyelids will no longer wag!
O my son, what theme?
I loved Ophelia.
4=,= brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum!
- What wilt thou do for her? - He is mad, Laertes!
Swounds, show me what thoullt do.
Would weep, would fight, would fast, would tear thyself, would drink up poison?
Eat a crocodile? Ill do it!
Dost thou come here to whine, to outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her and so will I!
Or if thou prate of mountains, let them throw millions of acres on us!
Nay, an thoult mouth, Illl rant as well as thou.
This is mere madness. And thus a while the fit will work in him.
Anon as patient as the female dove, his silence will sit drooping.
Hear you, sir. What is the reason that you use me thus?
I loved you ever.
But it is no matter.
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
the cat will mew and dog will have his day.
I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.
Good Gertrude, set some watch oer your son.
Laertes, I must commune with your grief.
Or you deny me right.
And you must put me in your heart for friend.
Where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
It shall be so.
But tell me why you have proceeded not against him.
Oh, for two special reasons,
which may to you seem much unsinewed.
Yet to me, theyre strong.
The queen, his mother, lives almost by his looks.
For myself- my virtue or my plague, be it either way-
shes so conjunctive to my life and soul,
that as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her.
The other motive is the great love the general people bear him,
who, dipping all his faults in their affections,
convert his sins to graces.
And so have I a noble father lost.
A sister driven to a desperate end.
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
stood challenger on mount of all the age for her perfections.
But my revenge will come.
Break not your sleeps for that.
You must not think that we are made of stuff so flat and dull...
that we can let our beard be shook with danger and think it pastime.
As he be now returned, Ill work him to an exploit now ripe in my device,
under the which he shall not choose but fall.
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
and even his mother shall uncharge the practice and call it accident.
My lord, I will be ruled more willingly if you devise it so that I might be the instrument.
It falls right.
You have been talked of since your travel much,
and that in Hamlets hearing, for a quality wherein they say you shine.
Two months since, here was a gentleman of Normandy.
He made confession of you, and gave you such a masterly report...
for art and exercise in your defense, and for your rapier most especially,
that he cried out twould be a sight indeed if one could match you.
Sir, this report of his did Hamlet so envenom with his envy...
that he could nothing do but beg and wish your sudden coming oer to fence with him.
Now, out of this-
What out of this, my lord?
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow: a face without a heart?
Why ask you this?
That we would do we should do when we would.
For this wwould´´´´´ changes and hath abatements and delays,
as many as there are words, are thoughts, are accidents.
And then this sshould´´´´´ is like a spendthrift sigh.
But to the quick of the ulcer.
Well put on those shall praise your excellence,
bring you in short together and wager on your heads.
Hamlet, being guileless, will not peruse the sword,
so that with ease or with a little shuffling,
you may choose a sword unbated,
and in a pass of practice requite him for your father.
I will do it.
And for that purpose Ill anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
so mortal that but dip a knife in it where it draws blood,
no medicine so rare can save the thing from death...
that is but scratched withal.
If this should fail, soft, let me see.
Well make a solemn wager on your cunning.
I have it.
When in the action you are hot and dry, and that he calls for drink,
Ill have prepared him a chalice for the nonce,
whereon but sipping if he by chance escape your venomed point,
our purpose may hold there.
Horatio, thou art een as just a man...
as eer my conversation coped withal.
- Oh, my dear lord. - Nay. Do not think I flatter.
For thou hast been as one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing.
A man that fortunes buffets and rewards has taken with equal thanks...
and blessed are those whose blood and judgment are so well commingled...
that they are not a pipe for fortunes finger to sound what stop she please.
Give me that man that is not passions slave,
and I will wear him in my hearts core.
Aye, in my heart of hearts.
As I do thee.
Something too much of this.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, that to Laertes I forgot myself,
for by the image of my cause I see the portraiture of his.
Ill court his favors.
But sure the bravery of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
Peace, who comes here?
Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.
- I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water fly? - No, my good lord.
- Thy state is the more gracious. - Sweet lord!
If your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from His Majesty.
We shall receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit.
Put your bonnet to its right use. Tis for the head.
- I thank your lordship. It is very hot. - No, it is very cold.
- The wind is northerly. - It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.
- Yet methinks it is very sultry for my complexion. - Exceedingly, my lord.
Its very sultry, as ttwere. I cannot tell how.
But my lord, His Majesty bade me signify to you...
that he has laid a great wager on your head.
- Sir, this is the matter. - I beseech you, remember.
Oh! Nay, good my lord. For mine ease in good faith.
Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes.
Who believe me an excellent gentleman...
from the differences of very soft society and great showing.
Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry.
The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rarer breath?
- Sir? - Is it not possible to understand in another tongue?
- Youll do better, sir, really. - What imports the nomination of this gentleman?
- Of Laertes? - Of him, sir.
I know you are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is.
I mean, sir, for his weapon.
- What is his weapon? - Rapier and dagger.
- Thats two of his weapons, but, well. - The king, sir,
hath wagered with him six Barbary horses, against the which he has impawned,
six French rapiers and poniards with their assigns, as girdle hanger.
Three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy,
very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages...
and of very liberal design.
- What call you the carriages? - The carriages, sir, are the...
hangers.
The praise would be more germane to the matter if we could carry a cannon by our sides.
I would it might be hangers till then. But on.
The king, sir, hath laid, sir, that in a dozen passes between yourself and him,
he shall not exceed you three hits.
He hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial...
if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.
- How if I answer no? - I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
Sir, I will walk here in the hall.
If it please His Majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me.
Let the swords be brought, the gentleman willing...
and the king hold his purpose, I will win for him if I can.
If not, I shall gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.
Shall I redeliver you even so?
To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will.
I commend my duty to your lordship.
Yours. Yours.
You will lose this wager, my lord.
I do not think so.
Since he went into France I have been in continual practice.
I shall win at the odds.
But thou wouldst not think how ill allss here about my heart.
- But it is no matter. - Nay, good my lord.
It is but foolery. But it is just such a kind of misgiving...
as would perhaps trouble a woman.
If your mind dislike anything, obey it.
- Ill forestall their coming hither, and say you are not fit. - Not a whit!
We defy augury.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
If it be now, tis not to come.
If it be not to come, it will be now.
If it be not now, yet it will come.
The readiness is all.
Theres a divinity that shapes our ends,
rough hew them how we will.
Let be.
Come, Hamlet, come. And take this hand from me.
Give me your pardon, sir. Ive done you wrong.
But pardon it, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have heard,
how I am punished with a sore distraction.
What I have done, that might your nature, honor and exception roughly awake,
I here proclaim was madness.
Wast Hamlet wronged, Laertes?
Never Hamlet. If Hamlet from himself be taken away...
and when hes not himself does wrong Laertes,
then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it then? His madness?
If it be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged.
His madness is poor Hamlets enemy.
Sir, in this audience let my disclaiming from a purposed evil...
free me so far in your most generous thoughts...
that I have shot my arrow oer the house...
and hurt my brother.
- Give us the foils. Come on. - Ill be your foil, Laertes.
In my ignorance your skills shall, like a star in the darkest night,
- shine fiery indeed. - You mock me, sir.
- No, by this hand. - Give them the foils, young Osric.
- Cousin Hamlet, you know the wager? - Very well, my lord.
- Your Grace has laid the odds on the weaker side. - I do not fear it.
I have seen you both. But since he is bettered, we have therefore odds.
This is too heavy. Let me see another.
This likes me well. These swords have all a length.
Aye, my good lord.
Set me the stoups of wine upon that table.
If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
let all the battlements their ordnance fire.
The king shall drink to Hamlets better breath,
and in the cup a jewel shall he throw,
richer than that which four successive kings...
in Denmarks crown have worn.
Give me the cup.
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
the trumpet to the cannoneer without,
the cannons to the heavens,
the heavens to earth.
Now the king drinks to Hamlet!
Come, begin. And you the judges, bear a wary eye.
- Come on, sir. - Come, my lord.
- One! Judgment. - No!
A hit. A very palpable hit.
Well, again.
Stay.
Give me drink.
Hamlet, this pearl is thine.
Heres to thy health.
Give him the cup.
Ill play this bout first. Set it by a while.
Come.
Another hit, what say you?
A touch, a touch. I do confess.
Our son shall win.
Hes hot and scant of breath.
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin. Rub thy brows.
Good Gertrude, do not drink!
I will, my lord. I pray you pardon me.
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Good, madam.
- Its too late. - My lord, Illl hit him now.
I do not think it.
It is almost gainst my conscience.
Let me wipe thy face.
Come, for the third, Laertes. You do but dally!
I pray you, pass with your best violence. I am afeared you make a wanton of me.
Say you so? Come on.
Nothing. Neither way.
Have at you now!
Part them. They are incensed!
- Stay! - Nay, come again!
- How is it, Laertes? - Im justly killed,
with mine own treachery.
- How is it, my lord? - How does the queen?
- She swoons to see them bleed. -No.
No. The drink.
The drink.
O my dear Hamlet.
Oh, villainy.
Oh, let the door be locked!
Treachery! Seek it out!
It is here, Hamlet.
Hamlet, thou art slain.
In thee there is not half an hour of life.
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
unbated and envenomed.
The foul practice hath turned itself on me.
Lo, here I lie, never to rise again.
Thy mothers poisoned.
I can no more.
The king. The kings to blame.
The point envenomed too.
Then, venom, to thy end!
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.
Mine and my fathers death come not upon thee.
Nor thine on me.
Heaven make thee free of it.
I follow thee.
I am dead, Horatio.
Wretched queen.
Adieu.
You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
that are but mutes or audience to this act,
had I but time-
As this fell sergeant, Death, is strict in his arrest-
Oh, I could tell you.
But let it be.
I die, Horatio.
The potent poison quite oer grows my spirit.
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
absent thee from felicity a while.
And in this harsh world,
draw thy breath in pain,
to tell my story.
The rest...
is silence.
Let four captains bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage.
For he was likely, had he been put on,
to have proved most royal.
And for his passage,
the soldiers music and the rites of war...
speak loudly for him.
Go.
Bid the soldiers shoot.
Good night, sweet prince.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.