Hamlet Page #7

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I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet;

these words are not mine.

No, nor mine now.

My lord, you once played

at the university, you say?

That did l, my lord,

and was accounted a good actor.

- What did you enact?

- I did enact Julius Caesar;

I was kill'd i' th' Capitol;

Brutus kill'd me.

It was a brute part of him

to kill so capital a calf there.

- Be the players ready?

- 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.

It's a fair thought

to lie between maids' legs.

You are keen, my lord.

It would cost you a groaning

to take off mine edge.

- You are merry, my lord.

- What should a man do but be merry?

For look you how cheerfully

my mother looks,

and my father died within's two hours.

'Tis twice two months, my lord.

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.

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.

Full forty years are past,

their date is gone,

since happy times joined

both our hearts as one.

And now the blood that filled my youthful

veins runs weakly in their pipes,

and all the strains of music

which erstwhile pleas'd mine ear,

are now a burthen that age cannot bear:

and therefore sweet nature

must have her due,

to heaven must l

and leave the earth with you.

O say not so, lest that you kill my heart,

when death takes you,

let life from me depart.

Content thyself, when ended is my date,

thou may'st perchance

find a more noble mate.

O speak no more, for then I am accurs'd,

none weds the second

but who kills the first.

That's wormwood.

A second time I kill my lord that's dead

when second husband kisses me in bed.

I do believe you, sweet,

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.

Both here and hence,

pursue me lasting strife,

if once a widow ever I be wife.

Madam, how like you this play?

The lady doth protest too much,

methinks.

O, but she'll keep her word.

Have you heard the argument?

Is there no offence in it?

No, no; they do but jest, poison in jest;

no offence i' th' world.

- What do you call the play?

- The Mousetrap.

Marry, how? Tropically.

This 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 of that?

Your Majesty, and we that

have free souls, it touches us not.

This is one Lucianus,

brother...nephew to the King.

You are as good as a chorus, my lord.

Pox, murderer; leave they

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 usurps immediately.

He poisons him i' th' garden

for his estate.

His name's Gonzago.

The story is extant and written

in very choice ltalian.

You shall see anon how the murderer

gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

How fares my lord?

What, frighted with false fire?

Give o'er the play.

Give me some light. Away!

Why let the stricken deer go weep

the hart ungalled play

For some must watch while some must

sleep; thus runs the world away

O, sir, would not this get me a fellowship

in a cry of players?

- Half a share.

- A whole one, l.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear

This realm dismantled was

of Jove himself

And now reigns here a very very...paiock

You might have rhymed.

O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word

for a thousand pounds. Didst perceive?

Very well, my lord.

I did very well note him.

Good my lord.

Come, some music.

Come, the recorders.

For if the King like not the comedy,

why, then belike he likes it not, perdy.

Good my lord,

vouchsafe me a word with you.

Sir, a whole history.

The Queen, your mother, in most great

affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

- You are welcome.

- Nay, good my lord,

this courtesy is not of the right breed.

If it shall please you to make me

a wholesome answer,

I will do your mother's commandment.

- Sir, I cannot.

- What, my lord?

Make you a wholesome answer;

my wit's diseased.

But such answer as I can make,

you shall command.

Or rather, as you say, my mother.

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.

And do still,

by these pickers and stealers.

Good my lord,

what is your cause of distemper?

You do surely bar the door

on 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, sir, but "While the grass grows";

the proverb is something musty.

O, the recorders.

O, come, let me see one.

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.

- It is as easy as lying.

Look you, these are the stops.

But these cannot I command to any

utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Why, look you now,

how unworthy a thing you make of me.

You would play upon me;

you would seem to know my stops;

you would pluck out the heart

of my mystery;

you would sound me from my lowest note

to the top of my compass;

and there is much music,

excellent voice in this little organ,

yet cannot you make it speak.

'Sblood, do you think I'm easier

to be played upon than a pipe?

- My lord...

- God bless you, sir.

The Queen would speak with you,

and that presently.

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost

in the shape of a camel?

O, yes, by th' mass,

and 'tis like a camel indeed.

Methinks it is like a weasel.

'Tis backed like a weasel.

- Or like a whale?

- Very like a whale.

- Then I will come to my mother by and by.

- I will say so.

"By and by" is easily said.

Leave me, friends.

Let me be cruel, not unnatural:

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

A will come straight.

Look you lay home to him;

tell him his pranks have been

too broad to bear with,

and that your Grace hath screened

and stood between much heat and him.

I'll silence me even here.

Pray you, be round with him.

I'll warrant you. Fear me not.

Now, Mother, what's the matter?

Hamlet, thou hast thy father

much offended.

Mother,

you have my father much offended.

Come, come,

you answer with an idle tongue.

Go, go, you question

with a wicked tongue.

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