Hamlet Page #5

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O, what a noble mind

is here o'erthrown.

The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's,

eye, tongue, sword;

th' expectancy and rose

of the fair state,

the glass of fashion

and the mould of form,

th' observed of all observers,

quite, quite down!

And l, of ladies most deject

and wretched,

that sucked the honey of his music vows,

now see that noble

and most sovereign reason,

Iike sweet bells

jangled out of time and harsh.

Love! His affections do not that way tend.

Nor what he spake, though it lacked form

a little, was not like madness.

There's something in his soul o'er

which his melancholy sits on brood;

and I do doubt the hatch and disclose

will be some danger;

the which for to prevent, I have in quick

determination thus set it down,

he shall with speed to England

for the demand of our neglected tribute.

- What think you on't?

- It shall do well.

And yet do I believe the origin

and commencement of his grief

sprang from neglected love.

How now, Ophelia! You need not tell us

what Lord Hamlet said;

we heard it all.

My lord, do as you please.

I will myself go try him.

Let me alone to sound the depth of him.

'Tis well.

Madness in great ones

must not unwatch'd go.

How does my good lord Hamlet?

Well, God-a-mercy.

- Do you know me, my lord?

- Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

- Not l, my lord.

- Then I would you were so honest a man.

- Honest, my lord!

- Ay, sir;

to be honest as this world goes, is to be

one man pick'd out of ten thousand.

That's very true, my lord.

- Have you a daughter?

- I have, my lord.

Let her not walk i' th' sun.

Conception is a blessing, and as your

daughter may conceive, friend, look to't.

How say you by that?

Still harping on my daughter.

A is far gone, far gone.

And yet in my youth I suffer'd much

extremity for love. Very near this.

I'll speak to him again.

- What do you read, my lord?

- Words, words, words.

- What is the matter, my lord?

- Between who?

- The matter that you read, my lord.

- Slanders, sir.

For the satirical rogue says here

that old men have grey beards;

that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes

purging thick amber and plum tree gum,

that they have a plentiful lack of wit,

together with most weak hams;

all which, sir, though I most powerfully

and potently believe,

yet I hold it not honesty

to have it thus set down;

for you yourself, sir,

shall grow old as I am,

if, like a crab,

you could go backward.

Though this be madness,

yet there's method in't.

My noble lord, I take my leave of you.

You cannot take from me anything

that I will not more willingly part withal

- except my life, except my life,

except my life.

- Fare you well, my lord.

- These tedious old fools!

You go to seek the Lord Hamlet;

there he is.

- My honour'd lord!

- My most dear lord!

My excellent good friends! How dost

thou, Guildenst...Rosencrantz?

- Good lads, how do you both?

- As the indifferent children of the earth.

Happy in that we are not over happy.

On Fortune's cap

we are not the very button.

- Nor the soles of her shoe?

- Neither, my lord.

Then you live about her waist,

or the middle of her favours?

Faith, her privates we.

In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most

true, she is a strumpet. What news?

None, my lord,

but the world's grown honest.

Then is doomsday near.

But your news is not true.

Let me question more in particular.

What have you,

my dear friends, deserved,

at the hands of Fortune

that she sends you to prison hither?

- Prison, my lord?

- Denmark's a prison.

Why, then your ambition makes it one;

'tis too narrow for your mind.

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell

and count myself a king of infinite space,

were it not that I have bad dreams.

Which dreams indeed are ambition.

But in the beaten way of friendship,

what make you at Elsinore?

To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

Beggar that I am,

I am even poor in thanks;

but I thank you; and sure, dear friends,

my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.

Were you not sent for?

Now, come, come,

be even and direct with me,

whether you were sent for or no?

My lord, we were sent for.

I will tell you why.

I have of late - but wherefore I know not -

lost all my mirth,

foregone all custom of exercises,

and indeed it goes so heavily

with my disposition

that this goodly frame, the earth,

seems to me a sterile promontory;

this most excellent canopy, the air,

look you,

this brave, o'erhanging firmament, this

majestical roof fretted with golden fire,

why, it appeareth to me nothing but a foul

and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What piece of work is a man!

How noble in reason!

How infinite in faculties!

In form and moving,

how express and admirable!

In action, how like an angel!

In apprehension, how like a god!

The beauty of the world!

The paragon of animals!

And yet, to me,

what is this quintessence of dust?

Man delights not me,

nor women neither, though by

your smiling you seem to say so.

My lord, there was no such stuff

in my thoughts.

Why did ye laugh, then,

when I said "Man delights not me"?

To think, my lord,

if you delight not in man,

what lenten entertainment

the players shall receive from you.

We coted them on the way; and hither

they are coming to offer you service.

He that plays the king shall be welcome;

his Majesty shall have tribute of me.

There are the players.

Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore.

Come then, your hands, you are welcome.

But my uncle-father

and my aunt-mother are deceived.

In what, my dear lord?

I am but mad north-north-west;

when the wind is southerly

I know a hawk from a handsaw.

My lord, I have news to tell you.

My lord, I have news to tell you.

When Roscius was an actor in Rome...

The actors are come hither, my lord.

- Upon my honour...

- Then came each actor on his ass.

The best actors in the world,

either for tragedy, comedy, history,

pastoral, pastoral-comical,

historical-pastoral,

tragical-historical, tragical-comical,

historical-pastoral.

Seneca cannot be too heavy

nor Plautus too light.

O Jephthah, judge of lsrael,

what a treasure hadst thou!

What a treasure had he, my lord?

Why,

One fair daughter and no more

The which he loved passing well

Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah?

If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have

a daughter that I love passing well.

Welcome, masters, welcome, all.

Welcome, good friends. O, old friend!

Why thy face is valanc'd

since I saw thee last;

com'st thou to beard me in Denmark?

What, my young lady and mistress!

We'll e'en to't like French falconers,

fly at anything we see.

We'll have a speech straight.

Come, a passionate speech.

What speech, my lord?

I heard thee speak me a speech once;

let me see:

"The rugged Pyrrhus,

like th' Hyrcanian beast,"

"'Tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus.

"The hellish Pyrrhus

old grandsire Priam seeks."

"Anon he finds him..."

"Anon he finds him,

striking too short at Greeks;

"his antique sword, rebellious to his arm,

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