Who's there? - Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
Long live the king! - Barnardo?
He.
You come most carefully upon your hour.
'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
Have you had quiet guard? - Not a mouse stirring.
Well, good night.
H@H[I@ U
Say, what, is Horatio there? - A piece of him.
Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcella.
What, has this thing appear'd again tonight?
I have seen nothing.
Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy. - Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
Well let us once again assail your ears, that are so fortified against our story
what we have two nights seen.
Last night of all
when yond same star that's westward from the pole
had made his course t'illume that part of heaven
where now it burns, Marcella and myself
the bell then beating one -
Peace, break thee off.
Look where it comes again!
In the same figure like the King that's dead.
Ma mum,“
Looks he not like the king? Mark it, Horatio.
Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.
It would be spoke to. - Question it, Horatio.
What art thou that usurp'st this time of night
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark did sometimes march?
Mama;
It is offended.
See, it stalks away. - Stay, speak, speak, I charge thee speak!
'Tis gone, and will not answer.
How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than fantasy?
Before my God, I might not this believe
without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes.
Is it not like the King? - As thou art to thyself. 'Tis strange.
In what particular thought to work, I know not.
But in the gross and scope of my opinion, this bodes some strange eruption to our state.
But soft, behold. Lo, where it comes again.
I'll cross it though it blast me.
W“ nun:
if thou hast any sound, or use of voice, speak to me.
If there be any good thing to be done
that may to thee do ease, and grace to me, speak to me.
If thou art privy to thy country's fate
which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
O stay and speak! Stop it, Marcella.
Shall I strike at it with my partisan? - Do if it will not stand.
'Tis here. - 'Tis here. - 'Tis gone!
We do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it the show of violence
for it is as the air, invulnerable, and our vain blows malicious mockery.
It was about to speak when the cock crew.
And then it started like a guilty thing upon a fearful summons.
I have heard the cock, that is the trumpet to the morn
doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat awake the god of day;
and, at his warning, whether in sea or fire, in earth or air
th' extravagant and erring spirit hies to his confine;
and of the truth herein this present object made probation.
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated
this bird of dawning singeth all night long;
and then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad
m m: m 5
then no planets strike, no fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
so hallow'd and so gracious is that time.
But look, the morn in russet mantle clad walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
Break we our watch up
and by my advice let us impart what we have seen tonight
unto young Hamlet
for by my life this spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it as needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
Let's do't, I pray. I this morning know where we shall find him most convenient.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green
and that it us befitted to bear our hearts in grief
and our whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of woe
yet so far hath discretion fought with nature that we with wisest sorrow think on him
together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen
th' imperial jointress to this warlike state
have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy
with one auspicious and one dropping eye
with mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage
in equal scale weighing delight and dole, taken to wife.
Nor have we herein barr'd your better wisdoms?
Which have freely gone with this affair along.
For all, our thanks.
Hear, hear!
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?
Um...
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, and lose your voice.
What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, that shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart, the hand more instrumental to the mouth
than is the throne of Denmark to thy mother.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes? - My dr...
My dread lord, your leave and favour to return to France
from whence though willingly I came to Denmark to show my duty in your coronation
yet now I must confess, that duty done
my thoughts mail mm
and bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
Have you your mother's leave? What says Polonia?
He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave by laboursome petition.
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
Take thy fair hour, Laertes;
time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will.
Yes!
But now, my cousin Hamlet
and my son -
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off
and let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailéd lids seek for thy noble father in the dust.
"A: “Us mm:
all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.
Ay, madam, it is common.
If it be, why seems it so particular with thee?
Seems, madam?
Nay it is. I know not 'seems.'?
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother
nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath
no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected haviour of the visage
together with all moods, forms, shapes of grief, that can denote me truly.
For these indeed seem, for they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of woe.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet
to give these mourning duties to your father?
But you must know your father lost a father;
that father lost, lost his -
and the survivor bound in filial obligation for some term
iii) obsequious sorrow
But to persever in obstinate condolement is a course of impious stubbornness;
“Us mmmmflgy
a fault against the dead, a fault to nature, to reason most absurd
whose common theme is death of fathers
and who still hath cried from the first corpse till he that died today
'This must be so.'
Now, we pray you throw to earth this unprevailing woe
and think of us as of a father;
for let the world take note you are the most immediate to our throne
and with no less nobility of love than that which dearest father bears his son
do I impart toward you.
For your intent in going back to school in Wittenberg
It is most retrograde to our desire
and we beseech you bend you to remain here in the cheer and comfort of our eye
our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply, Be as ourself in Denmark.
E MEW-
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt thaw, and resolve itself into a dew
or that the Everlasting had not fix'd his canon 'gainst self-slaughter!
O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Lib mm
Fie
'tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed;
things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.
That it should come to this!
But two months dead - nay, not so much, not two -
so excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr;
gammy
that he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.
O, heaven and earth, must I remember?
Why, she would hang on him
as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on;
and yet, within a month - let me not think on't.
Frailty, thy name is woman -
a little month, and ere those shoes were old
with which she follow'd my poor father's body
like Niobe, all tears -
why she, even she -
O, God, a beast that wants discourse of reason would have mourn'd longer!
Married with my uncle, my father's brother?
But no more like my father than I to Hercules:
Within a month
and ere the salt of most unrighteous tears had left the flushing in her galléd eyes
She married - O, most wicked speed!
To post with such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
Hail to your lordship.
I am glad to see thee well.
Horatio, or I do forget myself.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
Sir, my good friend, I'll change that name with you:
But what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcella. - My good lord.
I am very glad to see you.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
A truant disposition, good my lord.
I would not hear your enemy say so, I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
I prithee, fellow-student, do not mock me.
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio.
The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Had I met my dearest foe in heaven ere I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father!
Methinks I see my father - - Where, my lord?
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Saw? Who? - My lord, the king your father.
The king my father?
Two nights together had Marcella, on her watch
in the dead vast and middle of the night been thus encounter'd:
a figure like your father appears before her;
This to rne in dreadful secrecy impart she did
and I with her the third night kept the watch
where, as she had deliver'd, both in time, form of the thing
each word made true and good, the apparition comes.
But where was this? - My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
Did you not speak to it?
My lord, I did, but even then the morning cock crew loud
and at the sound it shrunk in haste away and vanish'd from our sight.
'Tis very strange. - As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true.
Hold you the watch tonight? - We do, my lord.
And saw you its face? - O yes, my lord.
Well how look'd it, frowningly? - A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Pale, or red? - Nay, very pale.
And fix'd his eyes upon you? - Most constantly.
I would I had been there. - It would have much amaz'd you.
Very like.
Stay'd it long?
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Longenlongen - Not when I saw't.
I will watch tonight.
Perchance 'twill walk again. - I war'nt it will.
If it assume my noble father's person
I will speak to it though hell itself should gape and bid rne hold my peace.
I pray you both, if you have hitherto conceal'd this sight
let it be tenable in your silence still;
I will requite your loves.
So, fare you well.
Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve I'll visit you.
Our duty to your honour.
Your loves as mine to you. Farewell. - Farewell. - Farewell.
My father's spirit.
All is not well.
I doubt some foul play.
Would the night were come.
Till then sit still, my soul.
Foul deeds will rise, though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
My m amw.
Farewell:
and, sister, as the winds give benefit and convoy is assistant
do not sleep, but let me hear from you. - Do you doubt that?
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour
hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, a violet in the youth of primy nature
forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting
the perfume and suppliance of a minute, no more.
No more but so? - Think it no more.
Perhaps he loves you now
and now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch the virtue of his will;
but you must fear, his greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own.
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do, carve for himself
for on his choice depends the sanity and health of the whole state;
and weigh what loss your honour may sustain
if with too credent ear you list his songs
or you lose your heart
or your chaste treasure open to his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister
and keep you in the rear of your affection
out of the shot and danger of desire.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear.
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart.
But good my brother, do not, as some ungracious pastors do
show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine
himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
and recks not his own rede. - O fear me not. I stay too long.
[man w? a? . =V@fi time, Maxim?
Aboard, aboard, for shame.
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, and you are stay'd for.
There
my blessing with thee.
And these few precepts in thy memory look thou character.
Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Manna?“ m by m) maxim w
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried?
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel
but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade.
Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but being in
beafl that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Cos-My thy hub“ as thy purse can buy, but not express“ 'm fancy',
Mum
for the apparel oft proclaims the man
and they in France of the best rank and station
are of all most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend
and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true
and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee.
Most humbly do I take my leave, mother.
The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well what I have said to you.
'Tis in my memory lock'd, and you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Farewell.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
Marry, well bethought.
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late given private time to you
and you yourself have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
What is between you? Give me up the truth.
He hath, madam, of late made many tenders of his affection to me.
Affection?
Affection? Pooh, you speak like a green girl, unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
I do not know, my lady, what I should think.
Marry, I'll teach you.
Tender yourself more dearly or -
not to crack the wind of the poor phrase running it thus -
WWI] m m a .
Madam, he hath importun'd me with love in honourable fashion.
Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to, go to.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lady, with almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks.
I do know, when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.
This is for all;
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth have you so slander any moment leisure
as to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you. Come your ways.
I shall obey, mother.
What hour now? - I think it lacks of twelve.
No, it is struck. - Indeed? I heard it not.
It then draws near the season wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
What does this mean, my lord?
The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse
wasaaflfl, {he “mm Mm Fwlél;
and, as he drains his draughts of Flhenish down
the kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out the triumph of his pledge.
Is it a custom? - Ay, marry, it 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 in the observance.
Look, my lord, it comes.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd
bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell
be thy intents wicked or charitable
thou com'st in such a questionable shape that I will speak to thee:
I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane.
O, answer me.
Let me not burst in ignorance;
but tell why thy canoniz'd bones, hearséd in death, have burst their cerements;
why the sepulchre, wherein we saw thee quietly interred
hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, to cast thee up again.
What may this mean?
Say, why is this? Wherefore?
What should we do?
It beckons you to go away with it
as if it some impartment did desire to you alone.
But do not go with it. - No, by no means.
It will not speak.
Then I will follow it. - Do not, my lord.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee
and as for my soul, what can it do to that, being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again. Go on. I'll follow thee.
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord
or to the dreadful summit of the cliff that beetles o'er his base into the sea
and there assume some other horrible form
which might deprive your sovereignty of reason and draw you into madness.
Still I am called. Go on, I'll follow thee.
You shall not go, my lord. - Hold off your hands.
Be rul'd; you shall not go. - My fate cries out
and makes every petty artery in this body as hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Now, unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
I say, away.
Go on, I'll follow thee.
He waxes desperate with imagination.
Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.
Have after. To what issue will this come?
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Heaven will direct it. - Nay, let's follow him.
Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I'll go no further.
Mark me.
I wlll.
My hour is almost come
when I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames must render up myself.
Alas, poor ghost. - Pity me not
but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold.
Speak; I am bound to hear.
So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear.
What'?
I am thy father's spirit
doom'd for a certain term to walk the night
and for the day confin'd to fast in fires
till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purg'd away.
But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul
freeze thy young blood
make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres
{my knot-ted {m
and each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood.
List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love -
O God!
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
Murder! - Murder most foul, as in the best it is
but this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Haste me to hear't
that I with wings as swift as meditation or the thoughts of love
may swoop to my revenge. - I find thee apt;
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, a serpent stung me -
so the whole ear of Denmark is by a forgéd process of my death rankly abus'd
but know, thou noble youth
the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown.
O my prophetic soul! Mine uncle!
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast
with witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts -
O wicked wit, and gifts that have the power so to seduce! -
won to his shameful lust the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, from me
whose love was of that dignity
that it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage
and to decline upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine.
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd
though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven
so lust, though to a radiant angel link'd
will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey on garbage.
But soft, methinks I scent the morning air;
Mm.
Sleeping within my orchard, my custom always in the afternoon
upon my secure hour thy uncle stole with juice of cursed hebenon in a vial
and in the porches of mine ears did pour the leperous distilment
whose effect holds such an enmity with blood of man
that swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body
and with a sudden vigour it doth posset and curd, like eager droppings into milk
the thin and wholesome blood.
So did it mine
and a most instant tetter bark'd about most lazar-like
with vile and loathsome crust all my smooth body.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd
cut off even in the blossoms of my sin
mud, disappointed Mmmwd
no reck'ning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
O, horrible! O, horrible! Most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not
let not the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for luxury and damned incest.
But howsoever thou pursuest this act, taint not thy mind
nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught.
Leave her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her.
Fare thee well at once:
the glow-worm shows the matin to be near and gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
('M
adieu.
Am m.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?
And shall I couple hell? Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory I will wipe away all trivial fond records
all saws of books, all pressures past, that youth and observation copied there
and thy commandment all alone shall live within the book and volume of my brain
unmix'd with baser matter.
Yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damnéd villain!
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain -
at least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.
So, uncle, there you are.
Now to my word.
[Iii Us “g g ma.“
I have sworn 't.
My lord, my lord. - Lord Hamlet.
So be it!
How is't, my noble lord?
What news, my lord? - O, wonderful!
Good my lord, tell it. - You will reveal it.
Not I, my lord, by heaven. - Nor I, my lord.
How say you, then, would heart of man once think it - but you'll be secret?
Ay, by heaven, my lord.
There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark but he's an arrant knave.
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily - yes, 'faith heartily.
There's no offence, my lord.
Yes by Saint Patrick but there is, Horatio, and much offence too.
Touching this vision here, it is an honest ghost, that let rne tell you.
For your desire to know what is between us, o'ermaster 't as you may.
So, friends, as you are friends, scholar and soldier?
Give rne one poor request. - What is't, my lord? We will.
Never make known what you have seen tonight.
My lord, we will not. - Never, my Lord.
NEW» Mamet-ME.
In faith, my lord, not I. - Nor I, my lord, in faith.
Upon my arm.
We have sworn, my lord, already. - Indeed, upon my arm, indeed.
Propose the oath, my lord. - Never to speak of this that you have seen, swear.
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange.
Then as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come, here, as before, never, so help you mercy
how strange or odd some'er I bear myself -
as I hereafter perchance shall think meet to put an antic disposition on -
that you, at such times seeing me
never shall, with arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake
or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase
as 'We know,' or 'We could and if we would,'
or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be and if they might,'
or such ambiguous giving out, to note that you know aught of me
this do swear, so grace and mercy at your most need to help you.
Rest, rest, perturbéd spirit.
So, friends, with all my love I do commend me to you;
and what so poor a man as Hamlet is may do t' express his love and friending to you
God willing, shall not lack.
Let us go in together; and still your fingers on your lips, I pray you.
The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right.
Nay, come, let's go together.
Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.
I will, my lady.
You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo
before you visit him, to make inquire of his behaviour.
Madam, I did intend it. - Marry, well said; very well said.
Look you, sir, inquire me first what Danes there are in Paris
If they do know my son, come you more nearer.
As thus, 'I know his mother and his friends, But, if't be he I mean, he's very wild
addicted so and so' -
and there lay on him what forgeries you please.
As gaming, my ladY?
Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, drabbing - you may go so far.
But, my good lady - - Wherefore should you do this?
Ay, my lady, I would know that.
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: and thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
with windlasses and with assays of bias, by indirections find directions out.
You have me, have you not? - My lady, I have.
Observe his inclination in yourself. - I shall my lady.
And let him ply his music. - Well, my lady.
Farewell.
How now, Ophelia, what's the matter?
O, mother, mother, I have been so affrighted.
With what, I' th' name of God?
My lady, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd;
pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other;
and with a look so piteous in purport as if he had been looséd out of hell
to speak of horrors, he comes before me.
WW?
My lady, I do not know, but truly I do fear it.
What said he?
He...
He took me by the wrist and held me hard.
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow
he falls to such perusal of my face as he would draw it.
Long stay'd he so.
At last, a little shaking of mine arm, and thrice his head thus waving up and down,
he rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
as it did seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being.
Come, go with me, I will go seek the King.
This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property fordoes itself
and leads the will to desperate undertakings as oft as any passion under heaven
that does afflict our natures.
I am sorry -
what, have you given him any hard words of late?
No, my good madam, but, as you did command
I did repel his letters and denied his access to me.
That hath made him mad.
I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him.
I fear'd he did but trifle and meant to wrack thee.
Come, go we to the King.
This must be known
which, being kept close, might move more grief to hide than hate to utter love.
Come.
, MU.
Moreover that we much did long to see you
the need we have to use you did provoke our hasty sending.
Something have you heard of Hamlet's transformation -
so I call it, sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man resembles that it was.
What it should be, more than his father's death
that thus hath put him so much from th' understanding of himself I cannot dream of:
I entreat you both that, being of so young days brought up with him
and since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour
that you vouchsafe your rest here in our court some little time
so by your companies to draw him on to pleasures
and to gather, so much as from occasions you may glean, whether aught to us unknown
afflicts him thus that, open'd, lies within our remedy.
Good friends, he hath much talk'd of you
and sure I am, two fellows there are not living to whom he more adheres.
If it will please you to show us so much gentry and good will
as to expend your time with us a while for the supply and profit of our hope
your visitation shall receive such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.
Both your Majesties might, by the sovereign power you have of us
put your dread pleasures more into command than to entreaty.
But we both obey, and here give up ourselves in the full bent
to lay our service freely at your feet to be commanded.
Tlhmkza, and MU.
Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.
And I beseech you instantly to visit my too much changed son.
Heavens make our presence and our practises pleasant and helpful to him!
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Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, are joyfully return'd.
Thou still hast been the mother of good news.
Have I, my lord?
I assure my good liege I hold my duty as I hold my soul
both to my God and to my gracious king
and I do think -
or else this brain of mine hunts not the trail of policy so sure as it hath used to do -
that I have found the very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
O speak of that: that do I long to hear.
She tells us my dear Gertrude, she hath found the head and source of all your son's distemper.
I doubt it is no other but the main, his father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage.
Well, we shall sift her.
My liege and madam, to expostulate what majesty should be, what duty is
why day is day, night night, and time is time
were nothing but to waste night, day and time.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes
I will be brief.
Your noble son is mad.
Mad call I it, for to define true madness, what is't but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go. - More matter with less art.
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true 'tis pity; and pity 'tis 'tis true:
a foolish figure - but farewell it, for I will use no art.
I have a daughter - have while she is mine -
who in her duty and obedience, mark, hath given rne this
Now gather and surmise.
'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,' -
That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile phrase.
But you shall hear thus -
'these; In her excellent white bosom, these -'
mm, (at?
Came these from Hamlet to you?
Good madam, stay awhile, I will be faithful.
"Doubt the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.'
'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers.
I have not art to reckon my groans.
But that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. Hamlet.'
But how hath she receiv'd his love?
What do you think of me?
As of a woman faithful and honourable. - I'd fain prove so.
But what might you think, if I had seen this hot love on the wing -
and look'd upon this love with idle sight - what might you think?
No, I went round to work, and my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. This must not be:'
and then I precepts gave her that she should lock herself from his resort
And he, repelled - a short tale to make -
fell into a sadness, then into a fast, thence into a lightness, and, by this declension
into the madness wherein now he raves and all we mourn for.
Do you think 'tis this? - It may be, very like.
Hath there been such a time - I'd fain know that -
that I have positively said 'Tis so,' and it prov'd otherwise?
Not that I know. - Take this from this if this be otherwise.
How may we try it further?
You know sometimes he walks four hours together here in the lobby.
So he does indeed.
At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him.
Be you and I behind an arras then, mark the encounter.
If he love her not and be not from his reason fall'n thereon
Let me be no assistant for a state. But keep a farm and carters.
“Nun
We will try it.
But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
Away, I do beseech you both, away, I'll board him presently. O give me leave.
How does my good Lord Hamlet? - Well, God-a-mercy.
Do you know me, my lord?
Excellent well.
You are a fishmonger.
Not I, my lord. - Then I would you were so honest a woman.
Honest, my lord? - Ay, madam.
To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one woman picked out of ten thousand.
That's very true, my lord.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion -
have you a daughter?
I have, my lord.
Then let her not walk I' the sun.
Conception is a blessing, but as your daughter may conceive -
friend, look to 't.
How say you by that?
Still harping on my daughter.
Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger.
He is far gone, far gone.
And truly, in my youth I suffered much extremity for love, very like this.
What do you read, my lord? - Words, words, words.
What is the matter, my lord?
Wm?
I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
Slanders madam
for the satirical rogue says here that old women have gray beards
that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging amber and plum-tree gum
and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams -
all which I most powerfully and potently believe
though hold it not honesty to have it thus set down.
For your lady shall grow old as I am, if like a crab she could go backward.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
Into my grave? - Indeed, that's out o' the air.
How pregnant sometimes his replies are.
My lord, I will take my leave of you.
You cannot, madam, take from me anything I will more willingly part withal:
Wm?
Except my life.
Fare you well, my lord.
These tedious old fools!
You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is.
God save you, madam, thank you.
Boo!
Mine honoured lord. - My most dear lord.
My excellent good friends.
May g @ ma“ .
Good fellows, how do you both? - As the indifferent children of the earth.
Happy, in that we are not over-happy. On Fortune's cap we are not the very button.
Nor the sole of her shoe? - Neither, my lord.
Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours.
“FEM Wm.
In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet.
But what news?
None, but that the world's grown honest.
Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true.
Let me question you more in particular.
What have you, dear friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither?
May
Denmark's a prison. - Then is the world one.
A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons
Denmark being one o' the worst.
Well, we think not so, my lord. - Nay then, 'tis none to you;
for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
To me it is a prison.
Why then, your ambition makes it one; 'tis too narrow for your mind.
O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and still count myself a king of infinite space -
were it not that I have bad dreams.
Which dreams indeed are ambition;
for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
A dream itself is but a shadow.
Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes our beggars' shadows.
But, in the beaten way of friendship
what make you to Elsinore? - To visit you, my lord, no other occasion.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you.
And I'm sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a h'apenny.
Were you not sent for?
Is it a free visitation?
Is it your own inclining?
Nay, come, deal justly with me.
Nay, come. Speak.
What should we say, my lord? - Why, anything but to th' purpose.
You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks
which your modesties have not craft enough to colour.
I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.
To what end, my lord? - That, you must teach me.
But let me conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship
by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love
be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no.
Nay, then I have an eye of you.
If you love me, hold not off.
My lord, we were sent for.
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery
and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather.
I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth forgone all custom of exercises;
and indeed it goes so heavy with my disposition
that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory;
{his mam , em air, [am
this brave o'er-hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire
why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties
Em and mg [hm fie
in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god:
the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals -
and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me -
no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
Then why did ye laugh, when I said man delights not me?
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man
what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you.
We coted them on the way, hither thou come to offer you service.
What players are they?
Even those you were wont to take delight in, the tragedians of the city.
Friends, come. Your hands. You are welcome to Elsinore.
But my aunt-mother and uncle-father are deceived.
In what, my dear lord?
I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
The players are come hither, my lord.
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral
g , Magical-historical
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral.
Welcome, masters. You are welcome. I am glad to see thee well.
O, my good friends. O, my old friend, you are welcome.
We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at anything we see.
Come. We'll have a speech straight.
Come, a taste of your quality. A passionate speech.
Whammy
I heard thee speak rne a speech once, but it was never acted;
or, if it was, not above the once;
for the play, I remember, pleased not the million, 'twas caviare to the general.
One speech in it I chiefly loved -
'twas Aeneas' tale to Dido -
and thereabouts especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter.
If it live in your memory, begin at this line - let me see...
'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast,'
Ah, “s not so:
it begins with Pyrrhus:
"m ma...
he whose sable arms, black as his purpose
did the night resemble when he lay couched in the ominous horse.'
'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion.
'Head to foot now is he total gules
horridly trick 'd with the blood of fathers, mothers, sons, daughters
baked and encased in the roasting streets and thus o'ersized with coagulate gore
with eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus old grandsire Priam seeks.'
'Anon he finds him striking too short at Greeks.
His antique sword, rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, repugnant to command.
Unequal match 'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
but with the whiff and wind of his fell sword th' unnerved father falls.
Then senseless iiium, seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top stoops to his base
and with a hideous crash takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear.
For, lo, his sword, which was declining on the milky head of reverend Priam
seem 'd I' th ' air to stick;
so, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood
and like a neutral to his will and matter, did nothing.
But, as we often see against some storm, a silence In the heavens, the rack stand still
the bold winds speechless, and the orb below as hush as death
anon the dreadful thunder doth rend the region
so, after Pyrrhus ' pause, a roused vengeance sets him new awork
and never did the Cyclops' hammers fall on Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne
with less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune!
All you gods, in general synod take away her power
break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel
and bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven as low as to the fiends.'
Whisk.
It shall to the barber's with your beard.
Mm.
She's for a jig or a tale of bawdy, or she sleeps.
Say on, come to Hecuba.
'But who - ah! Woe! - had seen the mobbled queen.
'The mobbled queen...' - That's good, 'mobbled queen' is good.
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'But who - ah! Woe! - had seen the mobbled queen.
Run barefoot up and down, threaflning the flames with bisson rheum;
a clout upon that head where late the diadem stood
and for a robe, about her lank and all o 'erteeméd loins, a blanket
in th ' alarm of fear caught up -
who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep 'd
"game mm
but if the gods themselves did see her then
when she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport in mincing with his sword her husband's limbs
the instant burst of clamour that she made, unless things mortal move them not at all
would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven
and passion in the gods.'
Look whe'er she has not turned her colour, and has tears in her eyes. I prithee no more.
'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon.
Good my lady, will you see the players well bestowed?
Do you hear me, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of our time.
After your death you had better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Follow her, friends. We'll hear a play tomorrow.
Dost thou hear me, old friend?
Can you play The Murder of Gonzago?
Ay, my lord. - We'll ha't tomorrow night.
You could, for a need study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines
that I would set down and insert in't, could you not?
Ay, my lord. - Very well.
Follow that lady, and look you, mock her not.
Friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcome to Elsinore.
Good my lord!
Ay, God bye to you.
Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion?
Could force her soul so to her own conceit that from her working all her visage wann'd
Tears in her eyes, distraction in her aspect, a broken voice
and her whole function suiting with forms to her conceit?
And all for nothing! For Hecuba!
For what's Hecuba to her, or she to Hecuba, that she should weep for her?
What would she do, had she the motive and the cue for passion that I have?
She would drown the stage with tears, and cleave the general ear with horrid speech
make mad the guilty and appal the free, confound the ignorant
and amaze indeed the very faculties of eyes and ears.
And yet I
a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, like John-a-dreams
unpregnant of my cause, and can say nothing
no, not for a king, upon whose property and most dear life
a damn'd defeat was made.
Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate across, plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose?
Gives me the lie I' th' throat as deep as to the lungs - who does me this? Ha!
“GE, H Ed m; flit:
for it cannot be but I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall to make oppression bitter
or ere this I should ha' fatted all the region kites with this slave's offal.
Bloody, bawdy villain!
, iirwsthu, H, mam wfiflflatlmfl
Oh, vengeance.
Why, what an ass am I!
This is most brave, that I, the son of a dear father murder'd
prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell
must like a whore unpack my heart with words
and fall a-cursing, like a very drab, a scullion!
Lib mm
H)“!
g my ma.
I have heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play
have, by the very cunning of the scene, been struck so to the soul
that presently they have proclaim'd their malefactions;
for though murder hath no tongue, it will speak with miraculous organ.
I'll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle.
I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick.
If he but blench, I'll know my course.
The spirit I have seen may be the devil
and the devil hath power t' assume a pleasing shape
yea, and maybe, perhaps, out of my weakness and my melancholy
as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses rne to damn me:
I'll have grounds more relative than this.
The s {he
...wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
And can you by no drift of circumstance get from him why he puts on this confusion
grating so harshly all his days of quiet with turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
He does confess he feels himself distracted, but from what cause he will by no means speak.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, but with a crafty madness he keeps aloof
when we would bring him on to some confession of his true state.
Did he receive you well? - Most like a gentleman.
But with much forcing of his disposition. - Of our demands most free in his reply.
Did you assay him? To any pastime?
Madam, it so fell out that certain players we o'erraught on the way.
Of these we told him, and there did seem in him a kind of joy to hear of it.
They are about the court
and, as I think, they have already order this night to play before him.
'Tis most true, and he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties to hear and see the matter.
With all my heart; and it doth much content me to hear him so inclin'd.
Good fellows, give him a further edge, and drive his purpose on to these delights.
We shall, my lord.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too, for we have closely sent for Hamlet hither?
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here affront Ophelia.
Her mother and myself, lawful espials, we'll so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen
we may of their encounter frankly judge, and gather from him, as he is behav'd
if 't be th' affliction of his love or no that thus he suffers for.
I shall obey you.
And for your part, Ophelia
I do wish that your good beauties be the happy cause of Hamlet's wildness;
so shall I hope your virtues will bring him to his wonted way again
to both your honours.
Madam, I wish it may. - Ophelia, walk you here.
Gracious, so please you, we will bestow ourselves.
Read on this book; that show of such an exercise may colour your loneliness.
We are oft to blame in this, 'tis too much prov'd
that with devotion's visage and pious action
we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
O, 'tis too true! - I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord.
The fair Ophelia!
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd.
Good my lord, how does your honour this many a day?
I humbly thank you, well, well, well.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longéd long to redeliver.
I pray you now receive them.
No, not I.
I never gave you aught.
My honour'd lord, you know right well you did
And, with them words of so sweet breath compos'd as made the things more rich.
Their g mm {mm a
for to the noble mind rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Wm my.
Are you honest? - My lord?
Are you fair? - What means your lordship?
That if you be honest and fair?
Then your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
Ay, truly;
for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd
than the power of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness.
I did love you once.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
You should not have believed me;
I loved you not.
I was the more deceived.
Get thee to a nunnery.
Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?
I am myself indifferent honest
and yet I could accuse me of such things it were better my mother had not borne me.
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
We are arrant knaves, all, believe none of us.
Go thy ways to a nunnery.
Where's your mother?
At home, my lord.
Then let the doors be shut upon her?
That she may play the fool nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
O, help him, you sweet heavens!
If thou dost marry
I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry:
be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow
thou shalt not escape calumny.
Farewell.
O heavenly powers, restore him! - I have heard of your paintings well enough.
God hath given you one face
and you make yourselves another.
You jig, you amble, and you lisp
and you nick-name God's creatures, and you make your wantonness your ignorance.
I'll have no more on't. Go to! It hath made me mad.
I say, we will have no more marriage.
Those that are married already - all but one - shall live;
the rest shall keep as they are.
To a nunnery, go.
O...
...what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword
th' expectancy and rose of the fair state
the glass of fashion and the mould of form
the observ'd of all observers, quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched
that suck'd the honey of his music vows
now see that noble and most sovereign reason like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh
that unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth blasted with ecstasy.
O, woe is me t' have seen what I have seen
see what I see.
Love? His affections do not that way tend
nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, was not like madness.
There's something in his soul o'er which his melancholy sits on brood
and I do doubt the hatch and the disclose will be some danger;
which for to prevent I have in quick determination thus set it down:
he shall with speed to England for the demand of our neglected tribute.
Haply the seas and countries different
with variable objects shall expel this something settled matter in his heart
whereon his brains still beating puts him thus from fashion of himself. What think you on't?
It shall do well.
But yet do I believe the origin and commencement of his grief sprung from neglected love.
May mm, am
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said, we heard it all.
My lord, do as you please
but if you hold it fit
after the play let his queen-mother all alone entreat him to show his grief
let her be round with him, and I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear of all their conference.
If she find him not, to England send him;
or confine him where your wisdom best shall think.
It shall be so.
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue;
but if you mouth it, as some of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus
but use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion,
you must acquire and beget a temperance which may give it smoothness.
I warrant your honour.
Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor.
Suit the action to the word, and the word to the action
and with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the mark of modesty;
for anything so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing
whose end is, as 'twere, to hold a mirror up to nature
to show virtue her own image, scorn her own feature
and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.
I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us, sir.
Mmmmm.
Mum.
Will the King hear this piece of work?
And the Queen too, and that presently.
Bid the players make haste.
Will you two help to hasten them? - Ay, my lord.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man as e'er my conversation coped withal.
O, my dear lord. - Nay, do not think I flatter?
For what advancement may I hope from thee
that no revenue hast but thy good spirits to feed and clothe thee?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, and could of men distinguish her election
sh'hath sealed thee for herself
whose blood and judgment are so well oommeddled
that they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger to sound what stop she please.
Give me that man that is not passion's slave
and I will wear him in my heart's core
ay, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
Something too much of this.
Mm ['9 Q tonight {he a
one speech of it comes near the circumstance which I have told thee of my father's death.
I prithee, when thou seest the act afoot, observe mine uncle.
If his occulted guilt do not itself unkennel in one speech
then it is a damnéd ghost that we have seen
and my imaginations are as foul as Vulcan's stithy.
Well, my lord.
If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, and 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
I hear them coming to the play; I must be idle. Get you a place.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Excellent, I' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air, promise-crammed.
You cannot feed capons so.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.
No, nor mine now.
Lady, you played once I' th' university, you say?
That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
What did you enact? - I did enact Julius Caesar.
I was killed I' th' Capitol. Brutus killed me.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.
Be the players ready? - Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience.
Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit by me.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
O, ho! Do you mark that?
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
No, my lord. - I meant my head upon your lap?
Av. my lord.
Did you think I meant country matters?
H mum m, my .
That's a fair thought to lie between a maid's legs.
What is, my lord? - Nothing.
You are merry, my lord. - Who, I?
Av. my lord. - Whv- Your only jig-maker!
And what should a fellow do but be merry?
For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
So mug?
By heaven!
Died two months, and not forgotten yet?
Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year.
What means this, my lord? - It means mischief.
Belike this show imparts the argument of the play.
We shall know by these fellows. The players can't keep council. They'll tell all.
For us and for our tragedy
here stooping to your clemency
we beg your hearing patiently.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
'Tis brief, my lord. - As a woman's love.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground
and thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen about the world have times twelve thirties been
since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands unite commutual in most sacred bands.
So many journeys may the sun and moon make us again count o'er ere love be done.
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, so far from cheer and from your former state.
Wormwood Wormwood
The instances that second marriage move are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
A second time I kill my husband dead, when second husband kisses me in bed.
I do believe you think what now you speak, but what we do determine, oft we break.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light, sport and repose lock from me day and night
both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, if, once a widow, ever I be wife.
If she should break it now.
'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.
WWW mum
Sleep rock thy brain, and never come mischance between us twain.
How like you the play, madam?
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
O, but she'll keep her word.
Have you heard the argument? ls there no offence in 't?
They do but jest-poison in jest. No offence I' th' world.
What do you call the play?
The .
It is the image of a murder done in Vienna -
Gonzago is the Duke's name, his wife Baptista - you shall see anon.
'Tis a knavish piece of work, but what o' that?
Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not.
Here's Lucianus, one nephew to the king.
You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
U m.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing
confederate season, else no creature seeing
thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, with Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected
thy natural magic and dire property, on wholesome life usurps immediately.
Give me some light. Away. - Lights, lights, lights!
Why, let the stricken deer go weep, the hart ungalled play;
for some must watch, while some must sleep: so runs the world away.
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pounds.
Didst perceive? - Very well, my lord.
Upon the act of the poisoning? - I did very well note him.
Ah, ha! Come, some music; come, the recorders.
Why, if the king like not the comedy, why then, he'd like it not, perdie.
Come, some music!
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
S?“ Q h.
The King, sir - - What of him, sir?
Is in his retirement marvellous distempered. - With drink?
No, my lord, rather with choler.
Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
I am tame, sir. Pronounce.
The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
You are welcome, sir.
Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed.
If it shall please you to give me a wholesome answer?
I shall do your mother's commandment:
if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business.
Sir, I cannot.
What, my lord? - Give you a wholesome answer.
My wit's diseased.
But such answer as I can give, you shall command -
or rather, as you say, my mother.
Therefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, you say -
Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother!
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother.
Have you any further trade with us? - My lord, you once did love me.
So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Good my lord, what is the cause of your distemper?
You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs...
The U w: me §@@ ma...
To withdraw with you
why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive rne into a toil?
My lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
My lord, I cannot. - I pray you. - Believe me, I cannot.
I do beseech you. - I know no touch of it, my lord.
It is as easy as lying.
Govern the ventages with your finger and thumb
with your mouth give it breath, and it will discourse most eloquent music.
Look you, these are the stops.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony
I have not the skill. - Why, look you then
how unworthy a thing you would make of me.
You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops
you would pluck out the heart of my mystery
you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass;
and yet there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ
yet cannot you make it speak.
Sblood
...do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me
you cannot play upon me.
My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
God save you, madam!
Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
By th' mass and 'tis - like a camel indeed.
Methinks it is like a weasel. - It is backed like a weasel.
Or like a whale? - Very like a whale.
Then I will come to my mother by and by.
They fool me to the top of my bent.
I will come by and by.
I will say so. - 'By and by' is easily said.
Leave me, friends.
"Tis now the very Witching time of night
when churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world.
Now could I drink hot blood
and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on.
But soft, now to my mother.
O heart, lose not thy nature.
Let not ever the soul of Nero enter this firm bosom;
Let me be cruel, not unnatural.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites:
however in my words she be shent, to give them seals never my soul consent.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
it hath the primal eldest curse upon't - a brother's murder.
Pray can I not, though inclination be as sharp as will
my stronger guilt defeats my strong intent
and, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin
and mam.
What if this curséd hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood
is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow?
Whereto serves mercy but to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer but this twofold force
to be forestalléd ere we come to fall, or pardon'd being down?
Then I'll look up. My fault is past.
But O, what form of prayer can serve my turn?
“ Me my m?
That cannot be, since I am still possess'd of those effects for which I did the murder -
my crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
Maw we “cfl and vakaflm m?
In the corrupted currents of this world offence's gilded hand may shove by justice
and oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself buys out the law.
But 'tis not so above: there is no shuffling
there the action lies in his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd
even to the teeth and forehead of our faults to give in evidence.
What then? What rests? Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O liméd soul, that struggling to be free art more engag'd!
He"), angels!
Make assay.
Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel
be soft as sinews of the new-born babe.
All may be well.
Now might I do it pat
now he is a-praying. And now I'll do't
and so he goes to heaven; and so am I reveng'd.
This would be scann'd:
a villain kills my father, and for that I, his sole son
do this same villain send to heaven.
Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He took my father grossly, full of bread, with all his crimes broad blown, flush as May;
and how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
But in our circumstance and course of thought 'tis heavy with him.
And am I then reveng'd to take him in the purging of his soul
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
No.
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed
at a-gaming, or a-swearing, or about some act that hath no relish of salvation in't
then trip him so his heels may kick to heaven
and that his soul may be as damn'd and black as hell, whereto it goes.
My mother stays.
This physio but prolongs thy siokly days.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
He will come straight. Look you, lay home to him
tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with
and that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between much heat and him.
I'll silence me even here. Pray you, be round with him.
I'll war'nt you, fear me not.
Mother, mother, mother! - Withdraw, I hear him coming.
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Why, how now, Hamlet! - What's the matter now?
Have you forgot me? - No, not by the rood, not so.
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife
and, would it were not so, you are my mother.
Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge.
You go not till I set up a glass where you may see the inmost part of you.
What wilt thou do?
Thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho!
What, ho! Help! - How now? A rat!
{Mai
O, I am slain!
O me, what hast thou done?
Nay, I know not.
Us Di: em m?
O what a rash and bloody deed is this!
A bloody deed. Almost as bad, good mother, as kill a king and marry with his brother.
As kill a king? - Ay, lady, it was my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell.
I took thee for thy better.
Take thy fortune: thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
O peace. Leave wringing of your hands and sit you down
and let me wring your heart;
for so I shall if it be made of penetrable stuff;
if damnéd custom have not braz'd it so, that it is proof and bulwark against sense.
What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue in noise so rude against me?
Such an act that blurs the grace and blush of modesty
calls virtue hypocrite, takes the rose from the fair forehead of an innocent love
and sets a blister there, makes marriage vows as false as dicers' oaths.
Ay me, what act that roars so loud and thunders in the index?
Look you here, the counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was seated on this brow
Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself
an eye like Mars to threaten and command
a station like the herald Mercury new-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill
a combination and a form indeed
which every god did seem to set his seal to give the world assurance of a man.
This was your husband. Now look you what follows.
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear blasting his wholesome brother.
Have you eyes?
Could you from this fair mountain leave to feed and batten on this moor?
Ha, have you eyes?
You cannot call it love;
for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame, is humble
and it waits on the judgment, and what judgment would step from this to this?
O shame, where is thy blush?
O Hamlet, speak to me no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul
and there I see such black and grained spots as will not leave their tinct.
Nay, but to live in the rank sweat of an enseaméd bed
stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love over the nasty sty!
O, speak to me no more.
These words like daggers enter in my ears. No more, sweet Hamlet.
A murderer and a villain
a slave that is not twentieth part the tithe of your precedent lord, a vice of kings?
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule
that from a shelf the precious diadem stole and put it in his pocket -
No more! - A king of shreds and patches -
O save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, you heavenly guards!
What wouldst thou gracious figure?
Alas, he's mad.
Do you not come your tardy son to chide
that, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by th' important acting of your dread command?
O, Say!
Do not forget.
This visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But look, amazement on thy mother sits.
O, step between her and her fighting soul.
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
How is it with you, lady?
Alas, how is't with you, that you do bend your eye on vacancy
and with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth from your eyes, your spirits wildly peep.
And as the sleeping soldiers on the alarm.
Your bedded hair, like in excrements, starts up and stands on end.
O gentle son.
Whereon do you look? - On him, on him.
Look you how pale he glares.
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, would make them capable.
Do not look upon me, lest with this piteous action you shall convert my stern effects.
Then what I have to do will want true colour - tears perohance for blood.
To whom do you speak this?
Do you see nothing there?
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
Nor did you nothing hear? - No, nothing but ourselves.
Why, look you now, look how it steals away. My father, in his habit as he liv'd!
Look even now out at the portal.
This the very coinage of your brain.
This bodiless creation ecstasy is very cunning in.
Ecstasy?
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, and makes as healthful music.
It is not madness that I have utter'd.
Marmara?
Iay not that flattering unction to your soul?
Mm Emmy.
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place
while rank corruption, mining all within, infects unseen.
Confess yourself to heaven, repent what's past, avoid what is to come;
and do not spread the compost on the weeds to make them ranker.
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
Then throw away the worser part of it and live the purer with the other half.
Good night.
But go not to my uncle's bed.
Assume a virtue if you have it not.
What shall I do?
Refrain tonight.
That will lend a kind of easiness to th' next abstinence - the next more easy.
But do not let, for a pair of reechy kisses or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers
make you to ravel all this matter out that I essentially am not in madness
but mad in craft.
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath and breath of life
I have no life to breathe what thou hast said to me.
Once more, good night, and when thou are desirous to be blest
I will blessing beg of you.
For this same lady I do repent;
but heaven hath pleas'd it so to punish me with this and this with me
that I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow the body, and answer well the death I gave her.
Mother, again, good night. I must be cruel only to be kind.
Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind.
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother...
...B.
This counsellor is now most still, most silent, and most grave
who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, madam...
...to draw toward an end with you.
G .
Bestow this place on us a little while.
Ah, mine own lord, what have I seen tonight!
What, Gertrude, how does Hamlet?
Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend which is the mightier.
In his lawless fit, behind the arras hearing something stir
cries, 'A rat, a rat, dead for a ducat'
and, in this brainish apprehension kills the unseen good wise counsellor.
O heavy deed!
It had been so with us had we been there.
His liberty is full of threats to all - to you yourself, to us, to everyone.
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence should have kept short
restrain'd, and out of haunt this mad young man. Where is he gone?
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd, he weeps for what he's done.
O Gertrude, come away.
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch but we will ship him hence;
and this vile deed we must with all our majesty and skill both countenance and excuse.
He»), fl
Friends both, go join you with some further aid.
Hamlet in madness hath Polonia slain, and from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd her.
Go seek him out - speak fair - and bring the body into the chapel.
I pray you, haste in this.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends
and let them know both what we mean to do and what's untimely done.
O, come away. My soul is full of discord and dismay.
To be, or not to be:
that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.
To die - to sleep, no more;
and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache
and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to:
“Us a m devout-ly {b wflghficfl.
To die, to sleep;
to sleep: perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub:
for in that sleep of death what dreams may come
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil
must give us pause -
there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time
th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
the pangs of despiz'd love, the law's delay
the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes
when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life
but that the dread of something after death
the undiscover'd country, from whose bourn no traveller returns
puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have
than to fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought
and enterprises of great pith and moment
with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.
Hamlet! - Lord Hamlet.
O, here they come.
Bang!
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
Compounded it with dust, where 'tis kin.
Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence and bear it to the chapel.
Mum.
Believe what?
That I can keep your counsel and not mine own.
Besides, to be demanded of a sponge -
what replication should be made by the son of a King?
Take you me for a sponge, my lord? - Ay, madam
that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities.
But such officers do the King best service in the end:
he keeps you, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw -
first mouthed, to be last swallowed.
When he needs what you have gleaned
it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again.
I understand you not, my lord.
I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.
My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the King.
The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body.
The King is a thing -
A thing, my lord? - Of nothing.
Bring me to him.
I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!
Yet must not we put the strong law on him:
he's lov'd of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgment but their eyes
and where 'Us so, th' ofiender's scourge is weigh“, but never the ofience.
To bear all smooth and even
this sudden sending him away must seem deliberate pause.
Diseases desperate grown by desperate appliance are reliev'd or not at all.
How now! What hath befall'n?
Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, we cannot get from him.
Now, Hamlet, where's Polonia?
At supper. - At supper? Where?
Not where she eats, but where she is eaten.
There's a certain convocation of politic worms e'en at her.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet:
we fat all creatures else to fat ourselves, and we fat ourselves for maggots.
Your fat king and your lean beggar are but variable service -
nae, we .
That's the end.
Alas, alas!
A man may fish with the worm that hath fed of a king
and eat of that fish that hath fed of that worm.
What meanst thou by this?
Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.
Where is Polonia? - In heaven.
Send hither to see.
If your messenger find her not there
then seek her yourself I' th' other place.
And indeed if you find her not within the month
you shall nose her as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
Go seek her there.
She will stay till you come.
Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety -
which we do grieve, as we dearly grieve for that which thou hast done
must send thee hence with fiery quickness.
Therefore prepare thyself. The bark is ready, the wind at help
th' associates tend, and everything is bent for England.
For England? - Ay, Hamlet.
Good.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
I see a cherub that sees them.
But come, for England.
Farewell, dear mother.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
My .
Father and mother is man and wife, man and wife is one flesh;
therefore...
MW .
Come, for England.
Follow him at foot. Tempt him with speed aboard, delay it not - I'll have him hence tonight.
Away, for everything is seal'd and done that else leans on th' affair.
Pray you make haste.
And England, if my love thou hold'st at aught - effect the present death of Hamlet.
Do it, England; for like the hectic in my blood he rages, and thou must cure me.
Till I know 'tis done, howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.
I will not speak to her.
She is importunate, indeed distract. Her mood will needs be pitied.
What would she have? - She speaks much of her mother;
says she hears there's tricks I' th' world
speaks things in doubt that carry but half sense.
Her speech is nothing.
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move the hearers to collection.
They aim at it, and botch the words up fit to their own thoughts.
'Twere good she were spoken with.
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, each toy seems prologue to some great amiss.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Let me come in.
May mm am
Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
How should I your true love know from another one?
By his cockle hat and staff...
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
Say you? Nay, pray you, mark.
Was ml?
At her head a grass-green turf, at her heels a stone.
Nay, but Ophelia - - Pray you mark.
White her shroud as the mountain snow...
Mas, my, Imam.
...larded with sweet flowers
which bewept to the grave did go with true-love showers.
may m, pretty
Well, good dild you.
They say the owl was a baker's daughter.
Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
God be at your table! - Conceit upon her mother.
Pray, let's have no words of this, but when they ask you what it means, say you this.
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day, all in the morning betime
and I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
then up he rose, and donn'd his clo'es, and dupp'd the chamber-door;
let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.
Pretty Ophelia - - Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.
By Gis and by Saint Charity, alack, and fie for shame
young men will do 't, if they come to 't - by Cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she 'Before you tumbled me, you promised me to wed.'
He answers 'So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, an thou hadst not come to my bed.'
How long hath she been thus? - I hope all will be well.
We must be patient.
But I cannot choose but weep to think they lay her I' th' cold ground.
My brother shall know of it.
And so I thank you for your good counsel.
, my.
U“.
Sweet ladies, good night, good night.
Give her good watch, I pray you.
O, this is the poison of deep grief: it springs all from her mother's death.
And now behold -
O Gertrude, Gertrude, when sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions.
First, her mother slain; next, your son gone
and he most violent author of her own just remove;
{Exam
thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers for good Polonia's death
and we have done but greenly in hugger-mugger to inter her.
O thou vile king, give me my mother. - Calmly, good Laertes.
That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard.
Tell me, Laertes, why thou art thus incens'd.
Speak, man. - Where is my mother?
Dead. - But not by him. - Let him demand his fill.
How came she dead? I'll not be juggled with. To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation.
To this point I stand, that both the worlds I give to negligence, let come what comes;
only I'll be reveng'd most thoroughly for my mother.
Who shall stay you? - My will, not all the world's.
Good Laertes, if you desire to know the certainty of your dear mother's death
is't writ in your revenge that, swoopstake
you will draw both friend and foe, winner and loser?
None but her enemies. - Will you know them then?
To her good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;
and, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, repast them with my blood.
Why, now you speak like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your mother's death, and am most sensibly in grief for it
it shall as level to your judgment appear as day does to your eye.
How now, what noise is that?
O, heat, dry up my brains.
Tears seven times salt burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye.
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight till our scale turn the beam.
O rose of May!
Dear maid - kind sister - sweet Ophelia -
O heavens, is't possible a young maid's wits should be as mortal as an old woman's life?
Mm? "dim
and in her grave rain 'd many a tear...
Fare you well, my dove.
Hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge, it could not move thus.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance - pray you, love, remember.
And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
A document in madness: thoughts and remembrance fitted.
There's fennel for you, and columbines.
There's rue for you.
And here's some for me.
We may call it a herb of a grace a Sundays.
You must wear your rue with a difference.
Mama a .
I would give you some violets
but they withered all when my mother died.
They say she made a good end.
And will a not come again?
No, no, she is dead
go to thy death-bed
she never will come again.
Do you see this, O God?
Laertes, I must commune with your grief, or you deny me right.
Go but apart, make choice of whom your wisest friends you will
and they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.
If by direct or by collateral hand they find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give
our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, to you in satisfaction;
but if not, be you content to lend your patience to us
and we shall jointly labour with your soul to give it due content.
Let this be so.
Her means of death, her obscure funeral -
no trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er her bones
no noble rite, nor formal ostentation cry to be heard
as 'twere from heaven to earth, that I must call't in question.
So you shall. and where th' offence is, let the great axe fall.
Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the King.
They have letters for him.
Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase.
Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour
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.
Let the King have the letters I have sent
and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldest fly death.
I have words to speak in thine ear that will make thee dumb;
and yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter.
Hosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England;
of them I have much to tell thee.
Farewell.
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal
and you must put me in your heart for friend
since you have heard, and with a knowing ear
that he which hath your noble mother slain pursu'd my life.
It well appears. But tell rne why you proceeded not against these feats?
O, for two special reasons, which may to you perhaps, seem much unsinew'd
but yet to me th'are strong.
The Queen his mother lives almost by his looks
and for myself, she is 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 gender bear him.
And so have I a noble mother lost, a sister driven into desp'rate terms
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.
You shortly shall hear more.
I lov'd your mother, and we love ourself, and that, I hope, will teach you to imagine -
How now what news? - Letters my lord from Hamlet.
From Hamlet! Who brought them?
Sailors, my lord, they say. I saw them not.
Laertes, you shall hear them.
Leave us.
High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your kingdom.
Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes
when I shall, first asking your pardon
thereunto recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return.
Hamlet.
What should this mean?
Are all the rest come back? Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
Know you the hand? - 'Tis Hamlet's character.
'Naked' - And in a postscript there he says 'Alone.'
Can you advise me? - I am lost in it, my lord.
But let him come. It warms the very sickness in my heart
that I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 'Thus diest thou.'
Laertes, was your mother dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
Why ask you this? - Hamlet comes back.
What would you undertake to show yourself your mother's son indeed?
More than in words. - To cut his throat in t'church.
No place indeed should murder sancturize.
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes. Will you be rul'd by me?
Ay, my lord, So you will not o'errule me to a peace.
To thine own peace. I will work him to an exploit, now ripe in my device.
Under the which he shall not choose but fall.
You have been talked of since your travels much.
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality wherein they say you shine.
What is that my lord? - The art and exercise of your defence,
and for your rapier most especial.
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, and wager o'er your heads.
He, being remiss, most generous, and free from all contriving
will not peruse the foils, so that with ease - or with a little shuffling -
you may choose a sword unbated
and in a pass of practise, requite him for your mother.
I will do't. And for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I'll touch my point with a contagion, that if I gall him slightly, it may be death.
Let's further think on this.
This project should have a back or second that might hold, if this did blast in proof.
W: me
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings -
I have it.
When in your motion you are hot and dry - as make your bouts more violent to that end -
and that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him a chalice for the nonce
whereon but sipping, if he by chance escape your venom'd stuck
our purpose may hold there.
Mum
One woe doth tread upon another's heel, so fast they follow.
WM sbfiafla “d, mam.
“Cflfl
O, where?
There is a willow grows askant a brook, that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
therewith fantastic garlands did she make, of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
that liberal shepherds give a grosser name, but our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
there, on the pendent bough 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, awhile they bore her up:
which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
as one incapable of her own distress
or like a creature native and indued unto that element:
but long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink
pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.
Then she is drown'd?
“D, "d.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears.
W, my .
I have a speech 0' fire that fain would blaze, but that this folly drowns it.
Let's follow, Gertrude.
How much I had to do to calm his rage.
Now fear I this will give it start again; therefore let's follow.
Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation?
She is, and therefore make her grave straight.
The coroner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.
How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?
Why, 'tis found so.
It must be se offendendo, it cannot be else.
For here lies the point:
if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act
and an act hath three branches -
it is, to act, to do, to perform; argal, she drowned herself wittingly.
Nay, but hear you. - Give me leave.
Give me leave.
Here lies the water - good.
Here stands the man - good.
If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes, mark you that.
Yeah.
But if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself.
Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
But is this law? - Ay, marry, is't; coroner's quest law.
Will you ha' the truth an't?
If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out 0' Christian burial.
Why, there thou swish.
And the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world
to drown or hang themselves more than their even Christian.
I'll put another question to thee.
What is she that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?
The gallows-maker, for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.
I like thy wit well, in good faith, the gallows does well.
But how does it well?
It does well to those that do ill.
Now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church;
argal, the gallows may do well to thee.
To't again, come.
Who builds stronger than the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. - Marry, now I can tell.
To't. - Mass, I cannot tell.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating.
And when you are asked this question next, say 'A gravemaker'.
The houses she builds lasts till doomsday.
Go on, get thee to Yaughan; and fetch us a stoup of liquor.
That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once.
Might that not be the pate of a politician which this ass now o'er-offices.
It might, my lord.
There's another. May not that be the skull of a lawyer?
Here's fine revolution. I will speak to this fellow.
Whose grave's this, sirrah?
Whose grave's this, ma'am?
Mine, sir.
I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.
You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours.
For my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.
Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine. 'Tis for the dead, not for the quick.
'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.
What man dost thou dig it for? - For no man, sir.
What woman, then? - For none neither.
Who is to be buried in't?
One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
How absolute the knave is.
Mm a
I came to't that day that our last King, Hamlet, o'ercame Norway.
And how long is that since?
Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that.
It was that very day that young Hamlet was born -
he that is mad and sent into England.
Ay, 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? - 'Twill 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, e'en with losing his wits.
Upon what ground? - Why, here in Denmark.
How long may a man lie I' th' earth ere he rot?
Faith, if he be not rotten before he die -
as we have many poxy corpses nowadays that will scarce hold the laying in -
he will last you some eight year or nine year.
A tanner will last you nine year.
Why he more than another? - Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade
that he will hold out water a great while
and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body.
Here's a skull now hath lien you I' th' earth three-and-twenty years.
Whose was it? - A whoreson mad fellow's 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 Flhenish on my head once.
This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the King's jester.
This? - E'en that.
Mme m.
Ale-as, V
I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
He hath borne me on his back a thousand times
and now - in my imagination how abhorred it is.
My gorge rises at it.
Here hung those lips I have kissed I know not how oft.
Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Quite chap-fallen? Not one to mock your own grinning?
Get thee to my lady's chamber, and tell her?
Let her paint an inch thick, for to this favour she must come.
Make her laugh at that.
But soft, but soft awhile.
Mme as {he u {he g m mart-s.
Who is that they follow? And with such maiméd rites?
This doth betoken the corpse they follow did with desp'rate hand fordo its own life.
'Twas of some estate. Couch we awhile, and mark.
Mam?
That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.
Mam?
Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd as we have warranty.
Her death was doubtful;
and but that great command o'ersways the order
she should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd till the last trumpet:
for charitable prayers shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, her maiden strewments
and the bringing home of bell and burial.
Must there no more be done? - No more be done.
We should profane the service of the dead to sing sage requiem
and such rest to her as to peace-parted souls.
Then from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring.
I'll tell thee, churlish priest
a minist'ring angel shall my sister be when thou liest howling.
What, the fair Ophelia! - Sweets to the sweet.
Farewell.
I thought thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife:
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid
and not have strew'n thy grave.
O, treble woe fall ten times treble on that curséd head
whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense depriv'd thee of
hold off the earth a while, till I have caught her once more in mine arms.
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead
till of this flat a mountain you have made t' o'ertop old Pelion
or the skyish head of blue Olympus.
What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis
whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wand'ring stars
and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers?
This is I, Hamlet the Dane. - The devil take thy soul!
I prithee take thy fingers from my throat, hold off thy hand.
Hamlet, Hamlet! - Good my lord, be quiet.
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme until my eyelids will no longer wag.
O my son, what theme?
L] G] ©phelia
Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
What wilt thou do for her? - O, he is mad, Laertes.
For love of God, forbear him. - 'Swounds...
...what wilt thou do?
Won't weep, won't fight, won't fast, won't tear 'chysefi
“it mt: up m“ @213 a He?
I'll d0't.
Dost thou come here to whine, to outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and so will I.
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw millions of acres on us
till our ground, his pate singeing the burning zone, make Ossa like a wart.
Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
This is mere madness, and thus a while the fit will work on him.
Her-an? m, sir.
What is the reason you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever.
But it is no matter.
Let Hercules himself do what he may
the cat will mew, the dog will have his day.
I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech:
we'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living monument.
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; till then in patience our proceeding be.
Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting that would not let rne sleep.
Methought I lay worse than the mutines in the bilboes.
Flashly and praise'd be rashness for it:
for let us know our indiscretions serve us well when our deep plots do pall;
and that should teach us there's a divinity shapes our ends
Rough-hew them how we will - - That is most certain.
Up from my cabin, my sea-gown scarf'd about me
in the dark grop'd I to find out them
my ma, fifld ma? M:
and in fine withdrew to mine own room
making so bold, my fears forgetting manners, to unseal their grand commission;
where I found, Horatio -
royal knavery! -
an exact command, that on the supervise, no leisure bated
no, not to stay the grinding of the axe
my head should be struck off.
M: rm?
Here's the commission, read it at more leisure.
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? - I beseech you.
I sat me down, devis'd a new commission, wrote it fair
an earnest conjuration from the King, how England is his faithful tributary
how love between them like the palm should flourish
that without debatement further, more or less
he should the bearers put to sudden death, no shriving-time allow'd.
How was this seal'd? - Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.
I had my father's signet in my purse
which was the model of that Danish seal
Folded the writ up in form of th' other, subscrib'd it, made th'impression, plac'd it safely
the Changeling never known.
Now the next day was our sea-fight
and to what this was sequent, thou know'st already.
8a: MD and m .
Why, man, they did make love to this employment.
They are not near my conscience
their defeat does by their own insinuation grow.
'Us dangerous when the base: nature comes
between the pass and fell incensed points of mighty opposites.
Why, what a king is this!
Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon -
he that kill'd my king, whor'd my mother
popp'd in between th' election and my hopes
thrown out his angle for my proper life and with such coz'nage
is't not perfect conscience to quit him with this arm?
And is't not to be damn'd, to let this canker of our nature come in further evil?
It must be shortly known to him from England what is the issue of the business there.
It will be short.
But the interim is mine
and a man's life's no more than to say 'one.'
but I am sorry, good Horatio, that to Laertes I did forget myself;
for, in the image of my cause, I see the portraiture of his.
Peace, who comes here?
Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.
I humbly thank you.
Dost know this water-fly? - No, my good lord.
Thy state is the more gracious, for 'tis a vice to know him.
Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his majesty.
Sir, I will receive it, with all diligence of spirit.
Put your bonnet to his right use:
'tis for the head. - I thank your lordship, it is very hot.
No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.
It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.
Yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.
Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, - as 'twere - I cannot tell how.
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 do beseech you, remember -
Nay, good my lord, for mine ease, in good faith.
Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes -
believe me, an absolute gentleman
full of most excellent differences, of very soft society, and great showing.
The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath?
GP?
Refit m: Me m» [and Em a? ?
You will to't, sir, really.
What imports the nomination of the gentleman?
Of Laertes? - His purse is empty already, all's golden words are spent.
Of him, sir.
I know you are not ignorant - - I would you did, sir.
You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is -
I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence;
but to know a man well is to know himself.
I mean, sir, for his weapon.
What's his weapon? - Rapier and dagger.
That's two of his weapons. But, well.
The King, sir, hath wagered, sir?
That in a dozen passes between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits.
And it would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.
And what if I answer no?
I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
If it please his Majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me.
Let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose
I will win for him and can;
and if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.
Shall I deliver you so?
To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will.
I commend my duty to your lordship.
Yours, yours.
He does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for's turn.
You will lose, my lord.
I do not think so.
I will win at the odds.
Thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart;
but it is no matter. - Nay, good my lord.
It is but foolery; it is but a kind of gaingiving that might perhaps trouble a woman.
If your mind dislike anything, obey it.
I will forestall their repair 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.
Since no man knows aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?
ME.
Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.
Sir, I have done you wrong.
But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have heard
how I am punish'd with sore distraction.
What I have done that might your honour, exception and nature roughly awake
I here proclaim was madness.
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet.
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, and when he's not himself does wrong Laertes
then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it, then? His madness.
And if't be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
his madness is poor Hamlet's 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 mine arrow o'er the house and hurt my brother.
I am satisfied in nature
whose motive in this case should stir me most to my revenge;
but in my terms of honour I stand aloof
and will no reconcilement, till by some elder masters of known honour
I have a voice and precedent of peace to keep my name ungor'd.
But till that time I do receive your offer'd love like love
and will not wrong it.
I will embrace it freely, and will this brother's wager frankly play.
Come, the foils. - Come, one for me. - I'll be your foil, Laertes.
For in mine ignorance your skill shall, like a star I' th' darkest night stick fiery off indeed.
You mock me, sir. - No, sir, by this hand.
Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, you know the wager?
Very well, my lord.
Your Grace hath laid the odds at th' weaker side.
I do not fear it; I have seen you both, but since he's better'd, we have therefore odds.
This is too heavy. Let me see another.
This likes me well. The foils have all a length?
Ay, my good lord. - Set me the stoops of wine upon that table.
If Hamlet give the first or second hit, or quit in answer of the third exchange
the King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath, and in the cup an union shall he throw
richer than that which four successive kings in Denmark's crown have worn -
give me the cup -
and let the kettle to the trumpet speak, the trumpet to the cannoneer without
the cannon to the heavens, the heavens to earth
'Now the King drinks to Hamlet.'
Come, begin. And you, the judge, bear a wary eye.
Come. - Come, my lord.
One.
Judgement. - A hit, a very palpable hit.
Well, again.
Stay. Hamlet, this pearl is thine.
Here's to thy health. - I'll play this bout first.
Set it by a while.
Come.
Another hit, what say you? - A touch, a touch, I do confess't.
Our son shall win. - Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows.
Good madam.
The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Mew“ m? m.
I will, my lord...
---| PraY YOU pardon me.
It is the poison'd cup. It is too late. - I dare not drink yet, madam - by and by.
My lord, I'll hit him now. - I do not think't.
And yet it is almost against my conscience.
Let me wipe thy face.
Come, Laertes, for the third. You do but dally.
I prithee, pass with your best violence.
I am afeard you make a wanton of me. - Say you so? Come on.
Nothing neither way. - Have at you now.
Nay then, come.
Part them; they are incensed.
Look to the Queen there, ho!
They bleed on both sides.
How is it, my lord? - How is't, Laertes?
Why, as a Woodcock to mine own springe, Osrio. I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
How does the Queen? - She swoons to see them bleed.
No, no, the drink, the drink!
O my dear Hamlet!
The drink, the drink! I am poison'd.
Villany! Ho! Close the doors. Treachery! Seek it out!
It is here, Hamlet, Hamlet, thou art slain.
No medicine in the world can do thee good; in thee there is not half an hour of life.
The fimwmzam was Em {my , rm and "d.
The foul practise hath turned itself on me.
Lo, here I lie, never to rise again.
Thy mother's poison'd. I can no more.
The King - the King's to blame.
The point envenom'd too!
Then, venom, to thy work.
O yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt.
H, mm“, , mt: w? {his .
Is thy union here?
My.
He is justly serv'd; it is a poison temper'd by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.
Mine and my mother's 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 time -
as this fell sergeant, Death, is strict in his arrest -
O, I could tell you -
but let it be.
I am dead, Horatio, thou livest.
Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.
Never believe it.
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Here's yet some liquor left.
As th'art a man, let go of the cup. By Heaven I'll ha't.
O God, Horatio, what a wounded name
things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me.
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
absent thee from felicity awhile
and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, to tell my story.
O, I die, Horatio.
The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit.
The rest is silence.
Now cracks a noble heart.
Good night, sweet prince
flight-s