Hamlet

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CAMERA WHIRS:

Who's there? Nay, answer me!

Stand, and unfold yourself.

Long live the king! Bernardo? 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.

Stand, ho! Who's there?

Friends to this ground.

And liegemen to the Dane.

Give you good night.

Farewell, honest soldier.

Who hath relieved you?

Bernardo has my place.

Give you good night.

Holla! Bernardo!

Say, what, is Horatio there?

A piece of him. Welcome, Horatio,

welcome, good Marcellus.

What, has this thing

appeared again tonight?

I have seen nothing.

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 the apparition come,

he may approve our eyes

and speak to it.

Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Then let us once again

assail your ears,

that are so fortified

against our story

what we have two nights seen.

Well, let us hear Bernardo

speak of this.

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...

Peace! Break thee off.

Look, where it comes again!

In the same figure,

like the king that's dead.

Thou art a scholar -

speak to it, Horatio.

Looks it 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?

By heaven I charge thee, speak!

It is offended. See, it stalks away!

Stay! Speak, speak!

I charge thee, speak!

'Tis gone,

and will not answer.

Before my God,

I might not this believe

without the sensible and true avouch

of mine own eyes.

Thus twice before,

and jump at this dead hour,

with martial stalk

hath he gone by our watch.

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.

Good now, stand close,

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.

What might be toward,

that this sweaty haste

doth make the night

joint-labourer with the day?

Who is't that can inform me?

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

dared to the combat,

in which our valiant Hamlet

did slay this Fortinbras, who thus

did forfeit, with his life,

all these his lands.

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,

to recover of us

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.

But soft, behold!

lo, where it comes again!

I'll cross it, though it blast me.

Stay, illusion!

If thou hast any sound,

or use of voice, speak to me.

If thou art privy

to thy country's fate,

which, happily,

foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!

COCK CROWS:

Stay, and speak!

Stop it, Marcellus.

Shall I strike at it?

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 is 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.

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.

So have I heard

and do in part believe it.

But, look -

the morn, in russet mantle clad,

walks o'er the dew

of yond high eastward hill.

Break we our watch up,

and by my advice,

let us impart

what we have seen tonight

unto young Hamlet,

for, upon my life,

this spirit, dumb to us,

will speak to him.

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,

and our queen,

the 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.

APPLAUSE:

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,

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.

Thus much the business is.

We have here writ

We have here writ

To Norway,

uncle of young Fortinbras,

that he suppress

his nephew's further march

and threatening enterprise

against our state.

And we here dispatch you,

good Cornelia,

and Voltimand as our ambassadors

to old Norway.

In that and in all things

we show our duty.

We doubt it nothing.

Heartily farewell.

And now, Laertes,

what's the news with you?

You told us of some suit -

what is't, Laertes?

LAUGHTER:

You cannot speak of reason

to the Dane

and lose your voice.

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,

ny thoughts and wishes

bend again toward France

and bow them

to your gracious leave and pardon.

Have you your father's leave?

What says Polonius?

He hath, my lord,

wrung from me my slow leave.

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!

But now,

our cousin Hamlet, and our son.

A little more than kin,

and less than kind.

How is it that the clouds

still hang on you?

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