Hamlet

Who's there? - Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

Long live the king! - Barnardo?

He.

You come most carefully upon your hour.

'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

Have you had quiet guard? - Not a mouse stirring.

Well, good night.

H@H[I@ U

Say, what, is Horatio there? - A piece of him.

Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcella.

What, has this thing appear'd again tonight?

I have seen nothing.

Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy. - Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Well let us once again assail your ears, that are so fortified against our story

what we have two nights seen.

Last night of all

when yond same star that's westward from the pole

had made his course t'illume that part of heaven

where now it burns, Marcella and myself

the bell then beating one -

Peace, break thee off.

Look where it comes again!

In the same figure like the King that's dead.

Ma mum,“

Looks he not like the king? Mark it, Horatio.

Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

It would be spoke to. - Question it, Horatio.

What art thou that usurp'st this time of night

Together with that fair and warlike form

In which the majesty of buried Denmark did sometimes march?

Mama;

It is offended.

See, it stalks away. - Stay, speak, speak, I charge thee speak!

'Tis gone, and will not answer.

How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.

Is not this something more than fantasy?

Before my God, I might not this believe

without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes.

Is it not like the King? - As thou art to thyself. 'Tis strange.

In what particular thought to work, I know not.

But in the gross and scope of my opinion, this bodes some strange eruption to our state.

But soft, behold. Lo, where it comes again.

I'll cross it though it blast me.

W“ nun:

if thou hast any sound, or use of voice, speak to me.

If there be any good thing to be done

that may to thee do ease, and grace to me, speak to me.

If thou art privy to thy country's fate

which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!

O stay and speak! Stop it, Marcella.

Shall I strike at it with my partisan? - Do if it will not stand.

'Tis here. - 'Tis here. - 'Tis gone!

We do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it the show of violence

for it is as the air, invulnerable, and our vain blows malicious mockery.

It was about to speak when the cock crew.

And then it started like a guilty thing upon a fearful summons.

I have heard the cock, that is the trumpet to the morn

doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat awake the god of day;

and, at his warning, whether in sea or fire, in earth or air

th' extravagant and erring spirit hies to his confine;

and of the truth herein this present object made probation.

It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated

this bird of dawning singeth all night long;

and then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad

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then no planets strike, no fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

so hallow'd and so gracious is that time.

But look, the morn in russet mantle clad walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.

Break we our watch up

and by my advice let us impart what we have seen tonight

unto young Hamlet

for by my life this spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.

Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it as needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

Let's do't, I pray. I this morning know where we shall find him most convenient.

Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green

and that it us befitted to bear our hearts in grief

and our whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of woe

yet so far hath discretion fought with nature that we with wisest sorrow think on him

together with remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen

th' imperial jointress to this warlike state

have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy

with one auspicious and one dropping eye

with mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage

in equal scale weighing delight and dole, taken to wife.

Nor have we herein barr'd your better wisdoms?

Which have freely gone with this affair along.

For all, our thanks.

Hear, hear!

And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?

You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?

Um...

You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, and lose your voice.

What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, that shall not be my offer, not thy asking?

The head is not more native to the heart, the hand more instrumental to the mouth

than is the throne of Denmark to thy mother.

What wouldst thou have, Laertes? - My dr...

My dread lord, your leave and favour to return to France

from whence though willingly I came to Denmark to show my duty in your coronation

yet now I must confess, that duty done

my thoughts mail mm

and bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

Have you your mother's leave? What says Polonia?

He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave by laboursome petition.

I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

Take thy fair hour, Laertes;

time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will.

Yes!

But now, my cousin Hamlet

and my son -

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off

and let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not for ever with thy vailéd lids seek for thy noble father in the dust.

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all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.

Ay, madam, it is common.

If it be, why seems it so particular with thee?

Seems, madam?

Nay it is. I know not 'seems.'?

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother

nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath

no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected haviour of the visage

together with all moods, forms, shapes of grief, that can denote me truly.

For these indeed seem, for they are actions that a man might play;

But I have that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of woe.

'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet

to give these mourning duties to your father?

But you must know your father lost a father;

that father lost, lost his -

and the survivor bound in filial obligation for some term

iii) obsequious sorrow

But to persever in obstinate condolement is a course of impious stubbornness;

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a fault against the dead, a fault to nature, to reason most absurd

whose common theme is death of fathers

and who still hath cried from the first corpse till he that died today

'This must be so.'

Now, we pray you throw to earth this unprevailing woe

and think of us as of a father;

for let the world take note you are the most immediate to our throne

and with no less nobility of love than that which dearest father bears his son

do I impart toward you.

For your intent in going back to school in Wittenberg

It is most retrograde to our desire

and we beseech you bend you to remain here in the cheer and comfort of our eye

our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:

I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.

I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply, Be as ourself in Denmark.

E MEW-

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt thaw, and resolve itself into a dew

or that the Everlasting had not fix'd his canon 'gainst self-slaughter!

O God! God!

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

Lib mm

Fie

'tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed;

things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.

That it should come to this!

But two months dead - nay, not so much, not two -

so excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr;

gammy

that he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.

O, heaven and earth, must I remember?

Why, she would hang on him

as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on;

and yet, within a month - let me not think on't.

Frailty, thy name is woman -

a little month, and ere those shoes were old

with which she follow'd my poor father's body

like Niobe, all tears -

why she, even she -

O, God, a beast that wants discourse of reason would have mourn'd longer!

Married with my uncle, my father's brother?

But no more like my father than I to Hercules:

Within a month

and ere the salt of most unrighteous tears had left the flushing in her galléd eyes

She married - O, most wicked speed!

To post with such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

Hail to your lordship.

I am glad to see thee well.

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Sir, my good friend, I'll change that name with you:

But what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?

Marcella. - My good lord.

I am very glad to see you.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

A truant disposition, good my lord.

I would not hear your enemy say so, I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.