Hamlet Page #10

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Vulcan's smithy.

Well, my lord, if he steal aught

the whilst this play is playing,

and 'scape detecting,

I will pay the theft.

MUSIC STARTS:

They are coming to the play.

I must be idle. Get you a place.

HAMLET WHISTLES ALONG TO MUSIC

How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Excellent, i' faith,

of the chameleon's dish

I eat the air, promise-crammed.

I have nothing with this answer,

Hamlet, these words are not mine.

No, nor mine now.

My lord, you played once

i' the university, you say?

That did I, my lord,

and was accounted a good actor.

What did you enact?

I did enact Julius Caesar.

I was killed i' the Capitol.

Brutus killed me.

It was a brute part of him

to kill so capital a calf there.

Be the players ready? Ay, my lord,

they stay upon your patience.

Come hither, my dear Hamlet,

sit by me.

No, good mother,

here's metal more attractive.

O, ho! Do you mark that?

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.

O God, your only jig-maker.

What should a man do but be merry?

For, look,

how cheerfully my mother looks,

and my father died these two hours.

Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

So long?

Nay then, let the devil wear black,

for I'll have a suit of sables.

O heavens!

Die two months ago,

and not forgotten yet?

PLAYERS GIBBER:

Dead!

APPLAUSE:

What means this, my lord?

Marry, 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.

For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,

we beg your hearing patiently.

Is this a prologue,

or the posy of a ring?

Tis brief, my lord.

As woman's love.

MUSIC STARTS:

Full 30 years hath

passed in sacred banns

since love our hearts

and Hymen joined our hands.

So many journeys

may the sun and moon

make us again count o'er

ere love be done!

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,

honour'd, beloved,

and haply one as kind

for husband shalt thou.

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 kill'd the first.

A second time

I kill my husband dead,

when second husband

kisses me in bed.

I do believe you think

what now you speak

but what we do determine

oft we break.

So think thou wilt

no second husband wed,

but die thy thoughts

when thy first lord is dead.

Nor Earth to me give food,

nor heaven light!

Sport and repose

lock from me day and night!

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!

Madam, how like you this play?

The lady doth protest too much,

methinks.

LAUGHTER:

O, but she'll keep her word.

Have you heard the argument?

Is there no offence in't? No, no,

they do but jest, poison in jest.

No offence i' the world.

What do you call the play?

The Mouse-trap.

The play is the image of

a murder done in Vienna.

Gonzago is the duke's name,

his wife, Baptista.

You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish

piece of work, but what o' that?

Your majesty and we that have

free souls, it touches us not.

Let the gall-ed jade wince,

our withers are unwrung.

Ah, this is one Lucianus,

nephew to the king.

You are as good as a chorus,

my lord.

I could interpret between you

and your love, if I could

see the puppets dallying.

You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

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

in the garden for his estate.

His name's Gonzago. The play is

extant, and writ in choice Italian.

You shall see anon how the murderer

gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

The king rises.

What, frighted with false fire?

How fares my lord?

Give o'er the play.

Give me some light.

Away! Lights, lights, lights!

O good Horatio, I'll take the

ghost's word for a thousand pound.

Didst perceive? Very well, my lord.

Upon the talk of the poisoning?

I did very well note him.

Come, some music!

Come, the recorder!

For if the king like not the comedy,

why then,

belike he like it not, perdy.

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

marvellous distempered.

With drink, sir?

No, my lord, rather with choler.

Good my lord, put your discourse

into some frame

and start not so wildly

from my affair.

I am tame, sir. Pronounce.

The queen, your mother,

in most great affliction of spirit,

hath sent me to you.

You are welcome. Nay good my lord.

If it shall please you to make me

a wholesome answer, I will do

your mother's commandment.

Oh, oh, oh, sir, I cannot. What, my

lord? Make you a wholesome answer.

My wit's diseased.

My mother, you say?

Then thus she says,

your behavior hath struck her

into wonder and astonishment.

O, wonderful son,

that can so astonish a mother!

Impart.

She desires to speak with you

in her closet, ere you go to bed.

We shall obey,

were she ten times our mother.

Have you any further trade with us?

My lord,

you once did love me.

So I do still,

by these pickers and stealers.

Good 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.

Sir, I lack advancement.

How can that be, when you have

the voice of the king himself

for your succession in Denmark?

Ay, but sir,

while the grass grows...

The proverb is something musty.

O, the recorder! Let me see one.

To withdraw with you.

Why do you go about to recover

the wind of me,

as if you would

drive me into a toil?

O, my lord, if my duty be too bold,

my love is too unmannerly.

I do not well understand that.

Will you play upon this pipe?

My lord, I cannot. I pray you.

Believe me, I cannot.

I do beseech you.

I know no touch of it, my lord.

'Tis as easy as lying.

Govern these ventages

with your fingers and thumb,

give it breath with your mouth,

and it will discourse

most eloquent music.

Look you, these are the stops.

But these cannot I command

to any utterance of harmony.

I have not the skill.

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