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| Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play\ |
| ACT I\ |
| \ |
| SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle.\ |
| \ |
| FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Who's there?\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Long live the king!\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| Bernardo?\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| He.\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| You come most carefully upon your hour.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,\ |
| And I am sick at heart.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Have you had quiet guard?\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| Not a mouse stirring.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Well, good night.\ |
| If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,\ |
| The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?\ |
| Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS\ |
| \ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Friends to this ground.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| And liegemen to the Dane.\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| Give you good night.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| O, farewell, honest soldier:\ |
| Who hath relieved you?\ |
| FRANCISCO\ |
| Bernardo has my place.\ |
| Give you good night.\ |
| Exit\ |
| \ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Holla! Bernardo!\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Say,\ |
| What, is Horatio there?\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| A piece of him.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| I have seen nothing.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,\ |
| And will not let belief take hold of him\ |
| Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:\ |
| Therefore I have entreated him along\ |
| With us to watch the minutes of this night;\ |
| That if again this apparition come,\ |
| He may approve our eyes and speak to it.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Sit down awhile;\ |
| And let us once again assail your ears,\ |
| That are so fortified against our story\ |
| What we have two nights seen.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Well, sit we down,\ |
| And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Last night of all,\ |
| When yond same star that's westward from the pole\ |
| Had made his course to illume that part of heaven\ |
| Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,\ |
| The bell then beating one,--\ |
| Enter Ghost\ |
| \ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| In the same figure, like the king that's dead.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| It would be spoke to.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Question it, Horatio.\ |
| 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? by heaven I charge thee, speak!\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| It is offended.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| See, it stalks away!\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!\ |
| Exit Ghost\ |
| \ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| 'Tis gone, and will not answer.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:\ |
| Is not this something more than fantasy?\ |
| What think you on't?\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Before my God, I might not this believe\ |
| Without the sensible and true avouch\ |
| Of mine own eyes.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Is it not like the king?\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| As thou art to thyself:\ |
| Such was the very armour he had on\ |
| When he the ambitious Norway combated;\ |
| So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,\ |
| He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.\ |
| 'Tis strange.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,\ |
| With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| 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.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,\ |
| Why this same strict and most observant watch\ |
| So nightly toils the subject of the land,\ |
| And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,\ |
| And foreign mart for implements of war;\ |
| Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task\ |
| Does not divide the Sunday from the week;\ |
| What might be toward, that this sweaty haste\ |
| Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:\ |
| Who is't that can inform me?\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| That can I;\ |
| At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,\ |
| Whose image even but now appear'd to us,\ |
| Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,\ |
| Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,\ |
| Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--\ |
| For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--\ |
| Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,\ |
| Well ratified by law and heraldry,\ |
| Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands\ |
| Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:\ |
| Against the which, a moiety competent\ |
| Was gaged by our king; which had return'd\ |
| To the inheritance of Fortinbras,\ |
| Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,\ |
| And carriage of the article design'd,\ |
| His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,\ |
| Of unimproved mettle hot and full,\ |
| Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there\ |
| Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,\ |
| For food and diet, to some enterprise\ |
| That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--\ |
| As it doth well appear unto our state--\ |
| But to recover of us, by strong hand\ |
| And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands\ |
| So by his father lost: and this, I take it,\ |
| Is the main motive of our preparations,\ |
| The source of this our watch and the chief head\ |
| Of this post-haste and romage in the land.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| I think it be no other but e'en so:\ |
| Well may it sort that this portentous figure\ |
| Comes armed through our watch; so like the king\ |
| That was and is the question of these wars.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.\ |
| In the most high and palmy state of Rome,\ |
| A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,\ |
| The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead\ |
| Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:\ |
| As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,\ |
| Disasters in the sun; and the moist star\ |
| Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands\ |
| Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:\ |
| And even the like precurse of fierce events,\ |
| As harbingers preceding still the fates\ |
| And prologue to the omen coming on,\ |
| Have heaven and earth together demonstrated\ |
| Unto our climatures and countrymen.--\ |
| But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!\ |
| Re-enter Ghost\ |
| \ |
| I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!\ |
| 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:\ |
| Cock crows\ |
| \ |
| If thou art privy to thy country's fate,\ |
| Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!\ |
| Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life\ |
| Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,\ |
| For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,\ |
| Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Shall I strike at it with my partisan?\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| Do, if it will not stand.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| 'Tis here!\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| 'Tis here!\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| 'Tis gone!\ |
| Exit Ghost\ |
| \ |
| 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.\ |
| BERNARDO\ |
| It was about to speak, when the cock crew.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| 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,\ |
| The extravagant and erring spirit hies\ |
| To his confine: and of the truth herein\ |
| This present object made probation.\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| It faded on the crowing of the cock.\ |
| Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes\ |
| Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,\ |
| The bird of dawning singeth all night long:\ |
| And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;\ |
| The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,\ |
| No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,\ |
| So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.\ |
| HORATIO\ |
| So have I heard and do in part believe it.\ |
| 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 to-night\ |
| Unto young Hamlet; for, upon 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?\ |
| MARCELLUS\ |
| Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know\ |
| Where we shall find him most conveniently.\ |
| Exeunt\ |
| \ |
| SCENE II. A room of state in the castle.\ |
| \ |
| Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| 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,\ |
| The imperial jointress to this warlike state,\ |
| Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--\ |
| With an auspicious and a 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.\ |
| Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,\ |
| Holding a weak supposal of our worth,\ |
| Or thinking by our late dear brother's death\ |
| Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,\ |
| Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,\ |
| He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,\ |
| Importing the surrender of those lands\ |
| Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,\ |
| To our most valiant brother. So much for him.\ |
| Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:\ |
| Thus much the business is: we have here writ\ |
| To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,--\ |
| Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears\ |
| Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress\ |
| His further gait herein; in that the levies,\ |
| The lists and full proportions, are all made\ |
| Out of his subject: and we here dispatch\ |
| You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,\ |
| For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;\ |
| Giving to you no further personal power\ |
| To business with the king, more than the scope\ |
| Of these delated articles allow.\ |
| Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.\ |
| CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND\ |
| In that and all things will we show our duty.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.\ |
| Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS\ |
| \ |
| And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?\ |
| You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?\ |
| You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,\ |
| And loose 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 father.\ |
| What wouldst thou have, Laertes?\ |
| LAERTES\ |
| 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 and wishes bend again toward France\ |
| And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?\ |
| LORD POLONIUS\ |
| He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave\ |
| By laboursome petition, and at last\ |
| Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:\ |
| I do beseech you, give him leave to go.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,\ |
| And thy best graces spend it at thy will!\ |
| But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,--\ |
| HAMLET\ |
| [Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| How is it that the clouds still hang on you?\ |
| HAMLET\ |
| Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.\ |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE\ |
| Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,\ |
| And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.\ |
| Do not for ever with thy vailed lids\ |
| Seek for thy noble father in the dust:\ |
| Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,\ |
| Passing through nature to eternity.\ |
| HAMLET\ |
| Ay, madam, it is common.\ |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE\ |
| If it be,\ |
| Why seems it so particular with thee?\ |
| HAMLET\ |
| 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 forced breath,\ |
| No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,\ |
| Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,\ |
| Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,\ |
| That can denote me truly: 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.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| '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\ |
| To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever\ |
| In obstinate condolement is a course\ |
| Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;\ |
| It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,\ |
| A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,\ |
| An understanding simple and unschool'd:\ |
| For what we know must be and is as common\ |
| As any the most vulgar thing to sense,\ |
| Why should we in our peevish opposition\ |
| Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,\ |
| 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 corse till he that died to-day,\ |
| 'This must be so.' 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.\ |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE\ |
| Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:\ |
| I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.\ |
| HAMLET\ |
| I shall in all my best obey you, madam.\ |
| KING CLAUDIUS\ |
| Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:\ |
| Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;\ |
| This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet\ |
| Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,\ |
| No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,\ |
| But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,\ |
| And the king's rouse the heavens all bruit again,\ |
| Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.\ |
| Exeunt all but HAMLET\ |
| \ |
| HAMLET\ |
| 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!\ |
| Fie on't! ah 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; so loving to my mother\ |
| That he might not beteem the winds of heaven\ |
| Visit her face too roughly. 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, or 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:\ |
| Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears\ |
| Had left the flushing in her galled 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.\ |
| Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO"; |
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