Hamlet Page #10

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as I'm let to know it is.

"Horatio, ere we were two days old at sea,

"a pirate of very warlike appointment

gave us chase.

"Finding ourselves too slow of sail,

we put on a compelled valour;

"and in the grapple I boarded them.

"On the instant they got clear of our ship,

so I alone became their prisoner.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

hold their course for England;

"of them I have much to tell thee.

"Give these fellows some means

for the King:
they have letters for him.

"Farewell. He that thou knowest thine,

Hamlet."

I loved your father as we love ourself.

And that, I hope,

will teach you to imagine...

- How, now, what news?

- Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.

This to your Majesty;

this to the Queen.

Laertes, you shall hear them.

Leave us.

"High and Mighty. You shall know

I am set naked in your kingdom.

"Tomorrow shall I beg leave

to see your kingly eyes;

"when I shall, first asking your pardon,

"thereunto recount the occasion

of my sudden and more strange return.

"Hamlet."

What should this mean?

I am lost in it, my lord.

But let him come;

it warms the very sickness in my heart

that I shall live and tell him to his teeth,

"Thus didst thou".

If it be so, Laertes,

will you be ruled by me?

Ay, my lord; so you will not

o'errule me to a peace.

Two months since

here was a gentleman from Normandy.

Upon my life, Lamond. I know him well.

He is the brooch indeed

and gem of all the nation.

He made confession of you;

and gave you such a masterly report,

for art and exercise in your defence,

and for your rapier most especial,

that he cried out 'twould be a sight

indeed if one could match you.

- Now, out of this...

- What out of this, my lord?

Hamlet comes back;

what would you undertake

to show yourself in deed

your father's son more than in words?

To cut his throat i' th' church.

Will you do this?

Keep close within your chamber.

Hamlet return'd shall know

you are come home.

We'll put on those

shall praise your excellence,

and set a double varnish on the fame

the Frenchman gave you;

bring you, in fine, together,

and wager on your heads.

He, being remiss, most generous,

and free from all contriving,

will not peruse the foils;

so that with ease

or with a little shuffling,

you may choose a sword unbated,

and, in a pass of practice,

requite him for your father.

I will do't; and for that purpose

I'll anoint my sword.

I bought an unction

off a mountebank that's mortal.

I will touch my point with this contagion,

that, if I gall him slightly,

it may be death.

I ha't.

When in your motion

you are hot and dry,

as make your bouts

more violent to that end,

and that he calls for drink, I'll have

prepared him a chalice for the nonce;

whereon but sipping,

if he escape your venom'd stuck,

our purpose may hold there.

How now, sweet Queen?

One woe doth tread upon another's heel,

so fast do they follow.

There is a willow grows aslant the brook

that shows his hoar leaves

in the glassy stream.

There with fantastic garlands

did Ophelia come,

of crowflowers, nettles, daisies

and long purples.

There, on the pendent boughs

her crowned weeds clambering to hang...

...an envious sliver broke.

Then down her weedy trophies

and herself...

...fell in the weeping brook.

Her clothes spread wide,

and, mermaid-like,

awhile they bore her up.

Which time she chanted snatches

of old lauds;

but long it could not be...

...till that her garments,

heavy with their drink...

...pulI'd the poor wretch

from her melodious lay...

...to muddy death.

Alack, then, she is drown'd!

Drown'd, drown'd.

Has this fellow no feeling of his

business? He sings in grave-making!

Custom hath made it in him

a property of easiness.

But age, with his stealing steps

Hath clawed me in his clutch

And hath shipped me into the land

As if I had never been such

- Whose grave's this, sirrah?

- Mine, sir.

I think it be thine indeed,

for thou liest in in't.

You lie out on't, sir,

and therefore 'tis not yours.

For my part, I do not lie in't,

and yet it is mine.

Thou dost lie in't,

to be in't and say it is thine;

'tis for the dead, not for the quick;

therefore thou liest.

'Tis a quick lie, sir;

'twill away again from me to you.

- What man dost thou dig it for?

- For no man, sir.

- What woman, then?

- For none neither.

- Who is to be buried in't?

- One that was a woman, sir;

but rest her soul, she's dead.

How absolute the knave is!

We must speak by the card,

or equivocation will undo us.

How long hast thou been grave-maker?

Of all the days i' th' year,

I came to't that day our last King Hamlet

overcame Fortinbras.

How long is that since?

Cannot you tell that?

Every fool can tell that.

It was that very day

that young Hamlet was born,

he that is mad and sent into England.

Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

Why, because a was mad:

a shall recover his wits there;

or, if a do not, 'tis no great matter there.

- Why?

- 'Twill not be seen in him there.

There the men are as mad as he.

Here's a skull now hath lien here

i' th' 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.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue!

A poured a flagon of Rhenish

on my head once.

This same skull, sir,

was, sir, Yorick's skull,

the King's jester.

- This?

- E'en that.

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.

And now how abhorred

in my imagination it is.

My gorge rises at it.

Here hung those lips

that I have kiss'd I know not how oft.

Where be your jibes now,

your gambols, your songs,

your flashes of merriment that were

wont to set the table on a roar?

Now get you to my lady's table,

and tell her let her paint an inch thick,

to this favour she must come.

Make her laugh at that.

Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander

look'd a this fashion i' th' earth?

- E'en so.

- And smelt so?

E'en so, my lord.

To what base uses we may return,

Horatio.

Imperious Caesar dead,

and turn'd to clay,

might stop a hole

to keep the wind away.

But soft.

But soft. But soft awhile.

Here comes the King. The Queen,

the courtiers. Who is this they follow?

And with such maimed rights?

Couch we awhile and mark.

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

as we have warranties.

Her death was doubtful;

and, but that great command

o'ersways the order,

she should in ground unsanctified

have log'd till the last trumpet.

- Must there no more be done?

- No more be done.

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, the fair Ophelia!

Sweets to the sweet; farewell!

I hop'd thou shouldst have been

my Hamlet's wife;

I thought thy bride-bed to have decked,

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