Hamlet Page #13

These words are not mine.

No, nor mine now.

[PEOPLE LAUGHING]

My lord.

You played once i' th' university, you say.

That did I, my lord,

and was accounted a good actor.

And what did you enact?

-I did enact Julius Caesar.

-Oh.

I was killed i' th' Capitol.

Brutus killed me.

It was a brute part of him

to kill so capital a calf there.

[LAUGHING]

-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.

Do you mark that?

-Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

-No, my lord.

-I mean, my head upon your lap?

-ay.

-You think I meant country matters?

-I think nothing.

-A fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

-What is?

-Nothing.

-You are merry, my lord.

Who, I? Your only jig-maker.

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, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

So long?

Nay then, let the devil wear black,

for Ill have a suit of sables.

Heavens, die two months ago

and not forgotten yet.

Then there's hope a great man's memory

may outlive his life haIf a year.

By'r lady, a must build churches then...

...or else shall a suffer

not thinking on, with the hobbyhorse...

...whose epitaph is,

"For O, for O, the hobbyhorse is forgot."

What means this?

This is miching mallecho.

It means mischief.

Belike this show

imports the argument of the play.

We shall know by this fellow.

The players cannot keep counsel,

they'll tell all.

-Will he tell us what this meant?

-Any show you'll show him.

Be not you ashamed to show,

he'll not shame to tell you.

You are naught, you are naught.

Ill mark the play.

For us and for our tragedy...

...here stooping to your clemency...

...we beg your hearing patiently.

Is this the prologue,

or the posy of a ring?

-'Tis brief, my lord.

-As woman's love.

Full 30 times hath Phoebus' cart

gone round...

...Neptune's salt wash...

...and Tellus' orbed ground...

...and 30 dozen moons

with borrowed sheens...

...about the world

have times 12 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...

...that I distrust you.

Yet, though I distrust...

...discomfort you, my lord,

it nothing must.

For women's fear and love

hold quantity...

...in either naught, or in extremity.

Now what my love is,

proof hath made you know...

...and as my love is sized, my fear is so.

Where love is great,

the littlest doubts are fear.

Where little fears grow great,

great love grows there.

Faith, I must leave thee, love,

and shortly too.

My operant powers

their functions leave to do...

...and thou shalt live

in this fair world behind...

...honored, beloved.

And haply one as kind

for husband shalt thou--

ACTRESS:

O, 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.

That's 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.

ACTOR:
I do believe you think

what now you speak...

...but what we do determine

oft we break.

Purpose is but the slave to memory...

...of violent birth but poor validity...

...which now like fruit unripe

sticks on the tree...

...but falls unshaken

when they mellow be.

Most necessary 'tis that we forget

to pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.

What to ourselves

in passion we propose...

...the passion ending,

doth the purpose lose.

The violence of either grief or joy...

...their own enactures

with themselves destroy:

Where joy most revels,

grief doth most lament.

Grief joys, joy grieves,

on slender accident.

[ACTOR GRUNTS]

This world is not for aye...

...and 'tis not strange...

...that even our loves

should with our fortunes change.

For 'tis a question left us yet to prove...

...whether love leads fortune

or else fortune love.

The great man down,

you'll mark his favorite flies.

Poor men advanced

make friends of enemies.

And hitherto does love on fortune tend...

...for who not needs

shall never lack a friend...

...and who in want

a hollow friend doth try...

...directly seasons him his enemy.

But orderly to end where I begun...

...our wills and fates do so contrary run

that our devices still are overthrown.

Our thoughts are ours,

their ends none of our own:

So think thou wilt

no second husband wed...

...but die thy thoughts

when thy first lord is dead.

ACTRESS:
Nor earth to me

give food, nor heaven light...

...sport and repose

lock from me day and night...

...to desperation

turn my trust and hope...

...an anchor's cheer in prison

be my scope.

Each opposite that blanks

the face of joy...

...meet what I would have well

and it destroy...

...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.

My spirits grow dull...

...and fain I would beguile...

...the tedious day with sleep.

Sleep rock thy brain...

...and never come mischance

between us twain.

[APPLAUDING]

Madam, how like you this play?

-The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

-O, but she'll keep her word.

Have you heard the argument?

ls there no offense in't?

No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest.

No offense i' th' world.

-What do you call the play?

-The Mousetrap.

Marry, how? Tropically. This play

is the image of a murder done in Vienna:

Gonzago is the duke's name,

his wife, Baptista.

You shall see. 'Tis a knavish piece of work.

But what of that?

Your Majesty, and we

that have free souls, it touches us not.

Let the galled jade wince,

our withers are unwrung.

This is one Lucianus,

nephew to the king.

You are as good as a chorus.

I could interpret between you and your love

if I could see the puppets.

-You are keen, my lord.

-Cost you a groaning to take off mine edge.

-Still better, and worse.

-So you mistake your husbands.

Begin, murderer!

Pox, leave thy damnable faces and begin.

Come. The croaking raven

doth bellow for revenge.

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 usurp immediately.

He poisons him i' th' garden

for his estate.

His name's Gonzago.

The story is extant,

and written in choice Italian.

You shall see anon how the murderer

gets the love of Gonzago's wife!

[GASPS]

OPHELIA:

The king rises.

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