Franco Zeffirelli: The Art of Entertainment Page #5

---

I was killed in the Capitol.

Brutus killed me.

It was a brute part of him

to kill so capital a calf there.

How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Excellent, in faith, of the chameleon's dish.

I eat the air, promise-crammed.

Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

No, good mother,

here's metal more attractive.

- Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

- No, my lord.

I mean, my head upon your lap?

- Ay, my lord.

- Do you think I meant country matters?

I think nothing, my lord.

That's a fair thought

to lie between maids' legs.

- What is, my lord?

- Nothing.

- You are merry, my lord.

- Who, I?

- Ay, my lord.

- Oh, God.

What should a man do but be merry?

For, look you,

how cheerfully my mother looks...

and my father died within's two hours.

Nay, it is twice two months, my lord.

So long?

O heavens, die two months ago,

and not forgotten yet?

There's hope a great man's memory

may outlive his life half a year.

Get thee to a nunnery.

Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?

I am myself indifferent honest,

but yet I could accuse me of such things...

it were better

my mother had not borne me.

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious,

with more offenses at my beck...

than I have thoughts to put them in,

imagination to give them shape...

or time to act them in.

What should such fellows as I do

crawling between earth and heaven?

Believe none of us.

For us, for our tragedy...

here stooping to your clemency...

we beg your hearing patiently.

- Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

- Indeed, 'tis brief, my son.

As woman's love.

'Tis 30 years since Hymen

did our hands unite commutual...

in most sacred bands.

So many journeys

may the sun and moon...

make us again count over

ere love be done.

But should I die before a new sun shine...

you might another husband soon entwine.

Nay, should you die...

I should confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason

in my breast.

In second husband let me be accurst.

None wed the second

but who killed the first.

Wormwood.

I do believe you think

what now you speak.

But what we do determine, oft we break.

This world is not for aye,

nor is it strange...

that even our loves

should with our fortunes change.

If she should break it now.

Both here and hence

pursue me lasting strife...

if, once a widow, ever I be wife.

Madam, how like you this play?

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

- But she'll keep her word.

- Have you heard the argument?

- Is there no offense in it?

- No, they do but jest...

poison in jest. No offense in the world.

- What do you call the play?

- The Mousetrap.

'Tis a knavish piece of work,

but what of that?

Your majesty and I have free souls,

it touches us not.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.

- You are as good as a chorus, Cousin.

- His name is Gonzago.

Wait, you shall see anon...

how the murderer

gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

How fares my lord?

Give me some...

Give me some light!

Lights! Give over the play!

What, frighted with false fire?

Why, let the stricken deer go weep!

Why, let the stricken deer go weep

The hart ungalled play

For some must watch

while some must sleep

Thus runs the world away

O good Horatio...

I'll take the ghost's word

for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?

- Very well.

- Upon the talk of the poisoning?

I did very well...

Believe none of us.

We are arrant knaves, all.

To a nunnery, go. And quickly, too.

Farewell.

Good my lord,

vouchsafe me a word with you.

- Sir, a whole history.

- The King, sir.

Ay, sir, what of him?

Is in his retirement

marvelous distempered.

- With drink, sir?

- No, my lord, rather with choler.

Your wisdom should show itself

more richer to signify this to the doctor.

Put your discourse into some frame,

and make me a wholesome answer.

- Sir, I cannot.

- What, my lord?

Make you a wholesome answer.

My wit's diseased.

- The Queen, your mother, sent us to you.

- You are welcome.

Your behavior hath struck her

into amazement.

O wonderful son,

that can so astonish a mother!

My lord, what is your cause of distemper?

You do surely bar the door

upon your own liberty...

if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Will you play upon this pipe?

I cannot, my lord.

I do beseech you.

Come, it is as easy as lying.

I have not the skill.

Why, look you now,

how unworthy a thing you make of me!

You would play upon me.

You would pluck out

the heart of my mystery...

sound me from my lowest note

to the top of my compass.

God's blood, do you think

I am easier to be played on than a pipe?

I will come to my mother by and by.

- We will say so.

- "By and by" is easily said.

'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.

Soft, now to my mother.

My offense is rank, it smells to heaven.

It hath the primal eldest curse upon it.

A brother's murder.

Now might I do it pat, now he is praying.

And now I'll do it.

And so he goes to heaven,

and so am I revenged.

That would be scanned.

A villain kills my father.

And for that I, his sole son,

do this same villain send to heaven...

when he is fit

and seasoned for his passage.

Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge.

O wretched state!

O bosom black as death!

No. When he is drunk asleep,

or in his rage...

or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed...

then trip him,

that his heels may kick at heaven...

and that his soul may be as damned

and black as hell, whereto it goes.

Now to my mother.

'Tis meet that some more audience

than a mother should overhear.

- Mother!

- Withdraw, I hear him coming.

Mother.

- Pray you, be round with him.

- Fear me not.

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, 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 you up a glass...

where you may see the inmost part of you.

What wilt thou do?

Thou wilt not murder me?

- Help!

- Help!

How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat!

Dead!

- O me, what hast thou done?

- Nay, I know not. Is it the king?

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?

- Aye, lady, it was my word.

Thou wretched, rash,

intruding fool, farewell.

I took thee for thy better.

Take thy fortune.

Thou findest to be too busy

is some danger.

Leave wringing of your hands.

Peace, sit you down,

and let me wring your heart.

For so I shall,

if it be made of penetrable stuff.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes