Hamlet Page #2

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Not so, my lord,

I am too much i' the sun.

Good Hamlet,

cast thy nighted colour off,

and let thine eye

look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not for ever

with thy vail-ed lids

seek for thy noble father

in the dust.

Thou know'st 'tis common,

all that lives must die,

passing through nature to eternity.

Ay, madam, it is common. If it be,

why seems it

so particular with thee?

Seems, madam! Nay, it is,

I know not "seems".

'Tis not alone my inky cloak,

good mother,

nor customary suits of solemn black,

together with all forms,

moods, shapes of grief,

that can denote me truly.

These indeed seem,

for they are actions

that a man might play.

But I have that within

which passeth show

these but the trappings

and the suits of woe.

Tis sweet and commendable

in your nature, Hamlet,

to give these mourning duties

to your father.

But, you must know,

your father lost a father,

that father lost, lost his,

and the survivor, bound

in filial obligation for some term

to do obsequious sorrow.

But to persever

in obstinate condolement

is a course of impious stubbornness.

'Tis unmanly grief.

I pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing woe,

and think of us

as of a father,

for let the world take note,

you are the most immediate

to our throne,

and with no less nobility of love

than that which dearest father

bears his son,

do I impart toward you.

APPLAUSE:

For your intent

In going back to school

in... Wittenberg. ..Wittenberg,

it is most retrograde

to our desire.

And I beseech you,

bend you to remain here,

in the cheer and comfort

of our eye,

our chiefest courtier, cousin,

and our son.

Let not thy mother

lose her prayers, Hamlet.

I pray thee, stay with us -

go not to Wittenberg.

I shall in all my best obey you,

madam.

Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.

Be as ourself in Denmark.

APPLAUSE:

Madam, come.

This gentle and unforced accord

of Hamlet

sits smiling to my heart

in grace whereof,

no jocund health

that Denmark drinks today.

But the great cannon

to the clouds shall tell,

re-speaking earthly thunder.

Come, away.

O, that this too, too solid flesh

would melt...

Thaw,

and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting

had not fix'd

his canon 'gainst self-slaughter!

O God!

God!

HE SOBS:

How weary,

stale,

flat and unprofitable

seem to me all the uses

of this world!

Fie on't! Fie!

'Tis an unweeded garden,

that grows to seed.

Things rank and gross in nature

possess it merely.

That it should come to this!

But two months dead -

nay, not so much, not two!

So excellent a king,

that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr.

So loving to my mother

That he might not beteem

the winds of heaven

visit her face too roughly.

Heaven and earth!

Must I remember?

Why, she would hang on him,

as if increase of appetite

had grown

by what it fed on

and yet, within a month...!

Let me not think on't.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

A little month,

or 'ere those shoes were old

with which she follow'd

my poor father's body,

like Niobe, all tears

why she, even she...!

O, God! A beast,

that wants discourse of reason,

would have mourn'd longer.

Married with my uncle.

My father's brother,

but no more like my father

than I to Hercules within a month.

'Ere yet the salt

of most unrighteous tears

had left the flushing

in her galled eyes,

she married.

O, most wicked speed, to post

with such dexterity

to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot

come to good.

But break, my heart,

for I must hold my tongue.

Hail to your lordship!

I am glad to see thee well.

Horatio!

Or I do forget myself!

The same, my lord,

and your poor servant ever.

Sir, my good friend,

I'll change that name with you.

And what make you from

Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?

My good lord. I am very glad

to see you. Good even, sir.

But what, in faith,

make you from Wittenberg?

We'll teach you to drink deep

'ere you depart.

My lord, I came to see

your father's funeral.

I pray thee, do not mock me,

fellow-student -

I think it was to see

my mother's wedding.

Indeed, my lord,

it follow'd hard upon.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio!

The funeral baked meats

did coldly furnish forth

the marriage tables.

My father!

Methinks I see my father.

Where, my lord?

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

I saw him once.

He was a goodly king.

He was a man.

Take him for all in all.

I shall not look upon

his like again.

My lord...

I think I saw him yesternight.

Saw who?

My lord, the king your father.

The king my father!

Season your admiration with an

attent ear, till I may deliver,

upon the witness of these gentlemen,

this marvel to you.

For God's love, let me hear.

Two nights together

had these gentlemen,

Marcellus and Bernardo,

on their watch,

in the dead vast

and middle of the night,

been thus encounter'd.

A figure like your father,

Armed at point exactly,

cap-a-pe,

appears before them,

and with solemn march

goes slow and stately by them.

This to me

In dreadful secrecy impart they did,

and I with them the third night

kept the watch

where, as they had deliver'd,

the apparition comes.

I knew your father,

these hands are not more like.

But where was this? My lord, upon

the platform where we watch'd.

Did you not speak to it?

My lord, I did, but answer

made it none. 'Tis very strange.

As I do live, my honour'd lord,

'tis true.

And we did think it

writ down in our duty

to let you know of it. Indeed.

Indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.

Hold you the watch tonight?

We do, my lord.

Arm'd, say you? Arm'd, my lord.

From top to toe?

My lord, from head to foot.

Then saw you not his face?

O, yes, my lord,

he wore his beaver up.

What look'd he - frowningly?

A countenance

more in sorrow than in anger.

Pale or red? Nay, very pale.

And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Most constantly.

I would I had been there.

It would have much amazed you.

Very like, very like.

Stay'd it long?

While one with moderate haste might

tell a hundred. Longer, longer.

Not when I saw't.

His beard was grizzled?

It was, as I have seen it

in his life,

a sable silver'd.

I will watch tonight -

perchance 'twill walk again.

I warrant it will.

If it assume

my noble father's person,

I'll speak to it,

though Hell itself should gape

and bid me hold my peace.

I pray you all,

if you have hitherto

conceal'd this sight,

let it be tenable

in your silence still,

and whatsoever else

shall hap to-night,

give it an understanding,

but no tongue.

I will requite your loves.

So, fare you well.

Upon the platform, 'twixt

eleven and twelve, I'll visit you.

ALL:
Our duty to your honour.

My father's spirit in arms!

All is not well.

I doubt some foul play.

Would the night were come!

Till then sit still, my soul.

Foul deeds will rise,

though all the earth o'erwhelm them,

to men's eyes.

My necessaries are embark'd.

Farewell.

And, sister,

as the winds give benefit

and as convoy is assistant,

do not sleep,

but let me hear from you.

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