Hamlet Page #2

I will require your loves.

So fare you well.

Upon on the platform,

twixt 11 and 12, I'll visit you.

Our duty to your honour.

Your loves as mine to you.

Farewell.

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.

Perhaps he loves you now,

and now no soil nor cautel

doth besmirch the virtue

of his will.

But you must fear.

His virtue weighed,

his will is not his own,

for he is subject to his birth.

He may not, as unvalued persons do,

carve for himself,

for on his choice depends

the health and safety of this state.

Therefore must his choice be

circumscribed unto the voice

of that body whereof he is head.

Then if he says he loves you,

it fits your wisdom to believe it

as he in his particular act

and place

may give his saying deed which is

no further than the main voice

of Denmark goes withal.

Then weigh what loss your

honour may sustain if with too...

credent ear

you list his songs,

or lose your heart.

Or your chaste treasure open to

his ummastered importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia.

Fear it, my dear sister.

Keep you in the rear

of your affection,

out of shot and danger of desire.

Best safety lies in fear.

Youth to itself rebels,

though none else near.

I shall the effect of

this good lesson keep,

as watchman to my heart.

But good my brother do not,

as some ungracious pastors do,

show me the steep and thorny

way to heaven

while like a puffed

and reckless libertine

himself the primrose path

of dalliance treads...

and recks not his own creed.

Fear me not.

I stay too long.

A double blessing

is a double grace.

Occasin smiles upon a second leave.

Yet here, Laertes?

Aboard, aboard for shame.

The wind sits in the shoulder

of your sail, and you stayed for?

My blessing with thee.

And these few precepts,

in thy memory look thou character.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,

nor unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar,

but by no means vulgar.

Those friends thou hast,

and their adoption tried,

grapple them to thy soul

with hoops of steel.

But do not dull thy palm

with entertainment of each

new-hatched, unpledged comrade.

Beware of entrance to a quarrel,

but being in it,

bear it that the opposed

may beware of thee.

Give every man thy ear,

but few thy voice.

Take each man's censure,

but reserve thy judgement.

Costly thy habit

as thy purse can buy,

but not expressed in fancy.

Rich, not gaudy.

For the apparel

oft proclaims the man.

Neither a borrower

nor a lender be,

for loan oft loses

both itself and friend.

This above all,

to thine own self be true,

and it must follow,

as the night the day,

thou canst not be false to any man.

I humbly take my leave, my lord.

The time invites you. Go.

Farewell, Ophelia.

Remember well what I said to you.

Angels and ministers of grace

defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health

or goblin damned,

bring with thee airs of heaven

or blasts from hell,

thou com'st in such questionable

shape that I'll speak to thee.

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.

I am thy father's spirit,

doomed for a term to walk the night

and by day to fast in fires till

the foul crimes done in my days

of nature of are burnt and purged.

But that I am forbid to tell

the secrets of my prison house,

I could a tale unfold whose

lightest word would harrow thy soul,

freeze thy young blood,

make thy two eyes like stars

start from their spheres,

thy knotted and combined locks

to part,

and each to stand on end

like upon the fretful porcupine.

But this eternal blazon must not

be the ears of flesh and blood.

List, list, o list!

If thou did'st 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, unnatural.

Now,

Hamlet, dear.

'Tis given out that

sleeping in my orchard,

a serpent stung me.

So the whole ear of Denmark

is by a forged process

of my death rankly abused.

But know, nobled youth, the serpent

that did sting thy father's life

now wears his crown.

My uncle!

Ay, that incestuous, adulterate

beast with witchcraft of his wit,

with traitorous gifts, wicked

gifts with the power to seduce,

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 a dignity that

it went hand in hand 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 soft,

methinks I scent the morning air.

Brief let me be.

Sleeping in my orchard,

my custom of the afternoon,

upon my secure hour thy uncle stole

with juice of cursed hebona

in a vial,

and in the porches of my ears

did pour the leprous distillment

whose effect holds such enmity

with the blood of man

that swift as quicksilver

it courses through the body

and with sudden vigour it curds

like eager droppings into milk,

the thin and wholesome blood.

So did it mine.

Thus was I, sleeping,

by a brother's hand...

unhouseled, disappointed,

no reckoning made,

but sent to my account with

all my imperfections on my head.

O horrible, horrible,

most horrible!

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.

Leave her to Heaven

and to those thorns

that in her bosom lodge,

to prick and sting her.

Fare thee well at once.

Remember me.

The time is out of joint.

O cursed spite,

that ever I was born

to set it right.

My lord.

What news, my lord?

O day and night,

but this is wondrous strange.

Therefore as a stranger

give him welcome.

There are more things

in heaven and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of

in our philosophy.

My fate cries out.

What is it, Ophelia,

he hath sent you?

So please you, something

touching the lord Hamlet.

Marry, well bethought.

What is between you?

Give me up the truth.

He hath, of late, made many

tenders of his affection to me.

Affection!

Think yourself a baby,

that you take these tenders for

true pay, which are not sterling.

Tender yourself more dearly.

He hath importuned me with

love in honourable fashion.

When the blood burns,

how prodigal the soul

doth lend the tongue vows.

These blazes, daughter,

given more light than heat,

extinct in both,

even in their promise

as it is a-making,

you must not take for fire.

I do not know what I should think.

From this time,

be scanter of your maiden presence.

Set your entreatments

at a higher rate,

than a command to parley.

The Lord Hamlet, believe in him

so much that he is young

and with a larger tether may he

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes