Hamlet Page #4

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what can it do to that,

being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again,

I'll follow it.

What if it tempt you

toward the flood, my lord,

or to the dreadful summit

of the cliff

that beetles o'er his base

into the sea,

and there assume

some other horrible form,

which might deprive your sovereignty

of reason

and draw you into madness?

It waves me still.

Go on, I'll follow thee.

You shall not go, my lord.

Hold off your hands!

Be ruled - you shall not go.

My fate cries out,

and makes each

petty artery in this body

as hardy as

the Nemean lion's nerve.

Still am I call'd.

Unhand me, gentlemen.

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him

that lets me!

I say, away!

Go on, I'll follow thee.

He waxes desperate with imagination.

Let's follow - 'tis not fit

thus to obey him. Have after.

To what issue will this come?

Something is rotten

in the state of Denmark.

Heaven will direct it.

Nay, let's follow.

Where wilt thou lead me?

Speak, I'll go no further.

Mark me. I will.

My hour is almost come,

when I to sulphurous

and tormenting flames

must render up myself.

Alas, poor ghost!

Pity me not,

but lend thy serious hearing

to what I shall unfold.

Speak, I am bound to hear.

So art thou to revenge,

when thou dost hear.

What?

I am thy father's spirit,

doom'd for a certain term

to walk the night,

and for the day confined

to fast in fires,

till the foul crimes

done in my days of nature

are burned and purged away.

But that I am forbid

to tell the secrets

of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold

whose lightest word

would harrow up thy soul,

freeze thy young blood,

make thy two eyes, like stars,

start from their spheres.

But this eternal blazon

must not be

to ears of flesh and blood.

List, list, O, list!

If thou didst ever

thy dear father love... O God!

..Revenge his foul

and most unnatural murder. Murder!

Murder most foul!

As in the best it is,

but this most foul,

strange and unnatural.

Haste me to know't,

that I, with wings as swift

as meditation

or the thoughts of love,

may sweep to my revenge.

I find thee apt.

'Tis given out

that, sleeping in my orchard,

a serpent stung me.

But know,

thou noble youth,

The serpent that did sting

thy father's life

now wears his crown.

O my prophetic soul! My uncle!

Ay, that incestuous,

that adulterate beast,

with witchcraft of his wit,

with traitorous gifts,

won to his shameful lust

the will of my most

seeming-virtuous queen.

O Hamlet,

what a falling-off was there!

From me,

whose love was of that dignity

that it went hand in hand

even with the vow

I made to her in marriage,

and to decline

upon a wretch

whose natural gifts were poor

to those of mine!

But lust,

though to a radiant angel link'd,

will sate itself

in a celestial bed,

and prey on garbage.

But, soft!

Methinks I scent the morning air.

Brief let me be.

Sleeping within my orchard,

my custom always in the afternoon,

upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

with juice of curs-ed hebenon

in a vial,

and in the porches of my ears

did pour

the leperous distilment,

whose effect

holds such an enmity

with blood of man

that swift as quicksilver

it courses through

the natural gates and alleys

of the body,

and with a sudden vigour doth posset

and curd

the thin and wholesome blood.

So did it mine,

and a most instant tetter

bark'd about,

most lazar-like,

with vile and loathsome crust,

all my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping,

by a brother's hand

of life, of crown, and queen,

at once dispatch'd.

O, horrible!

Most horrible! O God!

If thou hast nature in thee,

bear it not!

Let not the royal bed of Denmark be

a couch for luxury and damned incest.

But, howsoever

thou pursuest this act,

taint not thy mind,

nor let thy soul contrive

against thy mother aught.

Leave her to Heaven

and to those thorns

that in her bosom lodge,

to prick and sting her.

Fare thee well at once!

The glow-worm shows the matin

to be near,

and 'gins to pale

his ineffectual fire.

Adieu, adieu!

Hamlet...

VOICE ECHOES:

Remember me!

O all you host of Heaven!

O Earth! What else?

And shall I couple Hell? O, fie!

Hold, hold, my heart.

And you, my sinews,

grow not instant old,

but bear me stiffly up.

Remember thee?!

Ay, thou poor ghost,

while memory holds a seat

in this distracted globe.

Remember thee?!

Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away

all trivial fond records,

All saws of books, all forms,

all pressures past,

that youth and observation

copied there.

And thy commandment

all alone shall live

within the book and volume

of my brain,

unmix'd with baser matter.

Yes, by Heaven!

O most pernicious woman!

O villain,

villain,

smiling, damned villain!

My tables,

meet it is I set it down,

that one may smile, and smile,

and be a villain.

At least,

I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.

So, uncle, there you are.

Now to my word.

It is "Adieu, adieu! Remember me."

I have sworn 't.

My lord, my lord! Heaven secure him!

So be it!

Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!

Hillo, ho, ho, boy!

Come, bird, come.

How is't, my noble lord?

What news, my lord? O, wonderful!

Good my lord, tell it.

No, you'll reveal it.

Not I, my lord, by Heaven.

Nor I, my lord. How say you, then?

Would heart of man once think it?

But you'll be secret?

Ay, by Heaven, my lord.

There's ne'er a villain

dwelling in all Denmark

but he's an arrant knave.

There needs no ghost

come from the grave to tell us this.

Why, right, you are i' the right,

And so, without more circumstance

at all, I hold it fit

that we shake hands and part.

You, as your business and desire

shall point you,

for every man

has business and desires,

such as it is,

and for mine own poor part,

look you, I'll go pray.

These are but wild and whirling

words, my lord.

I'm sorry they offend you,

heartily. Yes, 'faith heartily.

There's no offence, my lord.

Yes, by Saint Patrick,

but there is, Horatio,

and much offence too.

Touching this vision here,

it is an honest ghost,

that let me tell you

for your desire

to know what is between us,

O'ermaster 't as you may.

And now, good friends,

as you are friends, scholars

and soldiers,

give me one poor request.

What is't, my lord? We will.

Never make known

what you have seen tonight.

BOTH:
My lord, we will not.

Nay, but swear it.

In faith, my lord, not I.

Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Upon my sword.

We have sworn, my lord, already.

Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

ECHOING VOICE:
Swear. Ah, ha, boy!

Say'st thou so?

Art thou there, truepenny?

Come on, you hear this fellow

in the cellarage -

consent to swear.

Propose the oath, my lord.

Never to speak of this that you

have seen, swear by my sword.

ECHOING VOICE:
Swear!

Hic et ubique?

Then we'll shift our ground.

Come hither, gentlemen, and lay

your hands again upon my sword.

Never to speak of this

that you have heard.

Swear by my sword.

ECHOING VOICE:
Swear!

Well said, old mole!

Canst work i' the earth so fast?

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