Hamlet Page #22

Here's a skull, sir, now.

This skull has lain in the 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.

Ooh, a pestilence

on him for a mad rogue.

He poured a flagon of Rhenish

on my head once.

This same skull, sir,

was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

-This?

-E'en that.

Let me see.

Alas...

...poor Yorick.

I knew him, Horatio.

A fellow of infinite jest,

of most excellent fancy.

He hath borne me on his back

a thousand times.

HAMLET:
And now, how abhorred

in my imagination it is.

My gorge rises at it.

Here hung those lips that 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?

Not one now to mock your own grinning?

Quite chop-fallen?

Now, get you to my lady's chamber...

...tell her, let her paint an inch thick,

to this favor she must come.

HAMLET:

Make her laugh at that.

-Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

-What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander looked

o' this fashion i' th' earth?

E'en so.

And smelt so? Pfft.

E'en so, my lord.

To what base uses

we may return, Horatio.

Why may not imagination

trace the noble dust of Alexander...

...till a find it stopping a bunghole?

'Twere to consider too curiously

to consider so.

No, faith, not a jot, but to follow him

thither with modesty enough...

...and likelihood to lead it, as thus.

HAMLET:

Alexander died, Alexander was buried.

Alexander returneth to dust,

the dust is earth...

...of earth we make loam,

and why of that loam...

...whereto he was converted,

might they not stop a beer-barrel?

HAMLET:
Imperious Caesar,

dead and turned to clay...

...might stop a hole

to keep the wind away.

O, that that earth...

...which kept the world in awe...

...should patch a wall

t' expel the winter's flaw.

[BIRD SCREECHING

AND THEN RUSTLING]

HAMLET:

But soft.

But soft, aside.

Here comes the king,

the queen, the courtiers.

HAMLET:
Who is this they follow,

and with such maimed rites?

This doth betoken the corpse they follow

did with desp'rate hand fordo its own life.

HAMLET:

'Twas of some estate.

Couch we a while, and mark.

What ceremony else?

That is Laertes, a very noble youth.

Mark.

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

as we have warrantise.

Her death was doubtful...

...and but that great command

o'ersways the order...

...she should in ground unsanctified

have lodged till the last trumpet.

For charitable prayers, shards, flints,

and pebbles should be thrown on her.

Yet here she has her virgin rites,

her maiden strewments...

...and the bringing home

of bell and burial.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done.

PRIEST:
We should profane

the service of the dead...

...to sing sage requiem and such rest to her

as to peace-parted souls.

Lay her i' th' earth.

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

may violets spring.

I tell thee, churlish priest...

...a minist'ring angel shall my sister be

when thou liest howling.

What?

Fair Ophelia.

GERTRUDE:

Sweets to the sweet.

Farewell.

I hoped thou shouldst have been

my Hamlet's wife.

l thought thy bridebed

to have decked, sweet maid...

...and not t' have strewed thy grave.

O, treble woe...

...fall 10 times treble

on that cursed head...

...whose wicked deed

thy most ingenious sense...

...deprived thee of.

[SHOUTS]

Hold off the earth awhile...

...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

to o'ertop old Pelion...

...or the skyish head of blue Olympus!

HAMLET:
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.

[GRUNTING]

Thou pray'st not well.

I prithee take thy fingers from my throat...

...for though

I am not splenitive and rash...

...yet have I something in me

which let thy wisdom fear.

-Hold off thy hand.

-Pluck them asunder.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet.

Ill fight with him upon this theme

until my eyelids no longer wag.

O my son, what theme?

I loved Ophelia.

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, show me what a thou'lt do.

Woo't weep, woo't fight, huh...

...woo't fast, woo't tear thyself,

woo't drink up eisel, eat a crocodile?

Ill do 't.

Dost thou come here to whine,

to outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her, and so will l.

And if thou prate of mountains...

...let them throw

millions of acres on us, till our ground...

...singeing his pate

against the burning zone...

...make Ossa like a wart.

Nay, an thou'lt mouth,

Ill rant as well as thou.

This is mere madness...

...and thus awhile

the fit will work on him.

Anon, as patient as the female dove...

...when that her golden couplets

are disclosed, his silence will sit drooping.

Hear you, sir.

HAMLET:

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I loved you ever.

But it is no matter.

Let Hercules himself do what he may...

...the cat will mew...

...and dog will have his day.

I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

[WHISPERING] Strengthen your patience

in our last night's speech.

We'll put the matter to the present push.

CLAUDIUS:

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.

So much for this, sir.

Now shall you see the other.

-You do remember all the circumstance?

-Remember it, my lord.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting

that would not let me sleep.

Methought I lay

worse than the mutines in the bilboes.

Rashly, and praised be rashness for it...

...let us know our indiscretion

sometimes serve us well...

...when our deep plots do pall...

...and that should learn us

there's a divinity that shapes our ends.

-Rough-hew them how we will.

-That is most certain.

Up from my cabin, my sea-gown

scarfed about me in the dark...

...groped I to find out them, had my desire,

fingered their packet...

...and in fine withdrew

to mine own room again...

...making so bold,

my fears forgetting manners...

...to unseal their grand commission,

where I found, Horatio--

O royal knavery.

--an exact command,

larded with many several sorts of reasons...

...importing Denmark's health

and England's too, with ho!

Such bugs and goblins in my life,

that on the supervise, no leisure bated...

...no, not to stay the grinding of the ax...

-...my head should be struck off.

-Is 't possible?

Here's the commission,

read it at more leisure.

-But wilt thou hear how I did proceed?

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