Hamlet Page #7

I do not think so.

But thou wouldst not think how

ill all's here about my heart.

If your mind dislike anything,

obey it.

I will forestall their repair

hither, say you are not fit.

No, not a whit.

We defy augury.

There is a special providence

in the fall of a sparrow.

If it be now, 'tis not to come.

If it be not to come, it will

be now, or yet it will come.

The readiness is all.

Since no man has what he leaves,

what is it to leave betimes?

Let be.

Hamlet, this pearl is thine.

Here's to thy health.

Give me your pardon, sir.

I have done you wrong.

Pardon it, as you are a gentleman.

This presence knows how I am

punished with a sore distraction.

What I have done that might your

nature and honour roughly awake

I here proclaim was madness.

Let my disclaiming from

a purposed evil

free me so far in your

most generous thoughts,

that I have shot my arrow over

the house and hurt my brother.

Give us the foils.

This is too heavy.

Let me see another.

This one likes me well.

These foils are all a length?

Ay, my good lord.

Is your skill like a star in

darkest night, fiery indeed.

You mock me, sir.

No, by this hand.

Cousin Hamlet,

you know the wager?

Very well. Your Grace has

laid odds on the weaker side.

I do not fear it.

I have seen you both, but since

he is bettered, we have odds.

Set stoups of wine on the table.

The King drinks to Hamlet.

Come, sir.

Come, my lord.

Judgement?

A hit. A palpable hit.

Well, again.

Stay,

give me drink.

Give him the cup.

I'll play this bout first.

Set it aside awhile.

Another hit. What say you?

A touch. I do confess it.

Our son shall win.

Hamlet, take my napkin.

Rub thy brows.

The Queen carouses

to thy fortune, Hamlet.

I pray you, pardon me.

Come...

let me wipe thy face.

Come, Laertes.

You do but dally.

Pass with your best violence.

Say you so.

Come on.

Thy mother's poisoned.

The King.

The King's to blame.

Horatio...

I am dead.

Thou livest.

Report me and my cause

aright to the unsatisfied.

And if thou didst ever

hold me in thy heart,

absent thee from felicity awhile

and in this harsh worid

draw thy breath in pain

to tell my story.

The rest is silence.

Now cracks a noble heart.

Good night,

sweet prince.

And flights of angels

sing thee to thy rest.

This quarry cries on havoc.

O proud death, what feast

is toward in thine eternal cell

that thou so many princes

at a shot

so bloodily has struck?

The sight is dismal.

Our wills and fates

do so contrary run

that our devices

still are overthrown.

Our thoughts are ours,

their ends none of our own.

A Subtitle by Nexus23.net

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