Hamlet Akt I Scena 3 [PASZKOWSKI]

Pokój w domu Poloniusza.
Laertes i Ofelia.

LAERTES
Już rzeczy moje zniesione na pokład;
Bądź zdrowa, siostro; a gdy wiatr przyjaźnie
Zadmie od brzegu i który z okrętów
Zdejmie kotwicę, nie zasypiaj wtedy,
Lecz donoś mi o sobie.

OFELIA
Wątpisz o tym?

LAERTES
Co się zaś tyczy Hamleta i pustych
Jego zalotów, uważaj je jako
Mamiący pozór, kaprys krwi gorącej;
Jako fiołek młodocianej wiosny,
Wczesny, lecz wątły, luby, lecz nietrwały,
Woń, kilka tylko chwil upajającą,
Nic więcej.

OFELIA
Więcej nic?

LAERTES
Nie myśl inaczej
Natura ludzka, kiedy się rozwija,
Nie tylko rośnie co do form zewnętrznych;
Jak w budującej się świątyni — służba
Duszy i ducha zwiększa się w niej także.

Być może, iż on ciebie teraz kocha,
Że czystość jego chęci jest bez plamy;
Ale zważywszy jego stopień, pomnij,
Że jego wola nie jest jego własną.
On sam jest rodu swego niewolnikiem;
Nie może, jako podrzędni, wybierać
Dla siebie tylko, od jego wyboru
Zależy bowiem bezpieczeństwo, dobro
Całego państwa; przeto też i jego
Wybór koniecznie musi być zależny
Od życzeń i od przyzwolenia tego
Wielkiego ciała, którego jest głową.
Jeżeli zatem mówi, że cię kocha,
Rozwadze twojej przystoi mu wierzyć
O tyle tylko, o ile on zgodnie
Ze stanowiskiem przez się zajmowanym
Będzie mógł słowa swojego dotrzymać,
To jest, o ile powszechny głos Danii
Przystanie na to. Uważ, jaka hańba

Grozi twej sławie, jeśli łatwowiernie
Poszeptom jego podasz ucho, serce
Sobie uwięzisz i skarb niewinności
Otworzysz jego zapędom bez wodzy.
Strzeż się, Ofelio, strzeż się, luba siostro;
I stój w odwodzie twej skłonności, z dala
Od niebezpieczeństw i napaści pokus.
Wstydliwe dziewczę za wiele już waży,
Gdy przed księżycem wdzięki swe odsłania;
Na samą cnotę pada rdza obmowy;
Robak zbyt często toczy dzieci wiosny,
Nim jeszcze pączki zdążyły otworzyć;
I kiedy rosa wilży młodość hożą,
Wpływy złośliwych miazm najbardziej grożą.
Strzeż się więc; tarczą najlepszą w tej próbie
Niedowierzanie, nawet samej sobie.

OFELIA
Treść tej nauki postawię na straży
Mojego serca. Nie idź jednak, bracie,
Za śladem owych fałszywych doradców,
Którzy nam stromą i ciernistą ścieżkę
Cnoty wskazują, a sami tymczasem
Kroczą kwiecistym szlakiem błędów, własnych
Rad niepamiętni.

LAERTES
Bądź o mnie spokojna
I bądź mi zdrowa. Lecz oto nasz ojciec.

Polonius wchodzi.

Podwójne błogosławieństwo, podwójne
Szczęście przynosi: szczęśliwe spotkanie,
Które mi zdarza sposobność ku temu.

POLONIUSZ
Laertes jeszcze tu? Dalej na okręt!
Wiatr wzdyma żagle, czekają na ciebie,
Raz jeszcze daję ci błogosławieństwo
Na drogę.

kładzie rękę na głowę synowi

Weź je i wraź sobie w pamięć
Tych kilka przestróg: Nie bądź skorym myśli
Wprowadzać w słowa, a zamiarów w czyny.
Bądź popularnym, ale nigdy gminnym.
Przyjaciół, których doświadczysz, a których
Wybór okaże się być ciebie godnym,
Przykuj do siebie żelaznymi klamry,
Ale nie plugaw sobie rąk uściskiem
Dłoni pierwszego lepszego socjusza.
Strzeż się zatargów, jeśli zaś w nie zajdziesz,
Tak się w nich znajduj, aby twój przeciwnik
Nadal się ciebie strzec musiał. Miej zawżdy
Ucho otworem, ale rzadko kiedy
Otwieraj usta. Chwytaj zdania drugich,
Ale sąd własny zatrzymuj przy sobie.
Noś się kosztownie, o ile ci na to
Mieszek pozwoli, ale bez przesady;
Wytwornie, ale nie wybrednie; często
Bowiem ubranie zdradza grunt człowieka
I pod tym względem Francuzi szczególniej
Są pełni taktu. Nie pożyczaj drugim
Ani od drugich; bo pożyczkę daną
Tracim najczęściej razem z przyjacielem,
A braną psujem rząd potrzebny w domu.
Słowem, rzetelnym bądź sam względem siebie,
A jako po dniu noc z porządku idzie,
Tak za tym pójdzie, że i względem drugich
Będziesz rzetelnym. Bądź zdrów, niech cię moje
Błogosławieństwo utwierdzi w tej mierze.

LAERTES
Z pokorą żegnam cię, ojcze i panie.

POLONIUSZ
Idź już; czas nagli, wszystko w pogotowiu.

LAERTES
Bądź zdrowa, siostro, i pamiętaj na to,
Com ci powiedział.

OFELIA
Zamknęłam to w sercu,
A ty masz klucz do niego.

LAERTES
Bądź mi zdrowa.

wychodzi

POLONIUSZ
Cóż to on tobie powiedział, Ofelio?

OFELIA
Coś, co tyczyło się księcia Hamleta.

POLONIUSZ
W porę mi o tym wspominasz. Słyszałem,
Że on cię często nawiedzał w tych czasach
I że znajdował z twojej strony przystęp
Łatwy i chętny. Jeżeli tak było
(A udzielono mi o tym wiadomość
Jako przestrogę), muszę ci powiedzieć,
Że się nie cenisz tak, jakby przystało
Dbałej o sławę córce Poloniusza.
Jakież wy macie stosunki? Mów prawdę.

OFELIA
Oświadczył mi się, ojcze, z swą skłonnością.

POLONIUSZ
Z skłonnością? Hm, hm! Mówisz jak dzierlatka
Niedoświadczona w rzeczach niebezpiecznych.
Wierzysz–li tym tak zwanym oświadczeniom?

OFELIA
Nie wiem, co myśleć mam, mój ojcze.

POLONIUSZ

Nie wiesz?
To ja ci powiem: Masz myśleć, żeś dziecko,
Gdy oświadczenia te bez poświadczenia
Rozsądku bierzesz za dobrą monetę.
Nie radzę ci się z nim świadczyć, inaczej
(Że tej igraszki słów jeszcze użyję)
Doświadczysz następstw niedobrych.

OFELIA
Wynurzał
Mi swoją miłość bardzo obyczajnie.

POLONIUSZ
Tak, tak, bo czynić to jest obyczajem.

OFELIA

I słowa swoje stwierdził najświętszymi,
Jakie być mogą, przysięgami.

POLONIUSZ
Plewy
Na młode wróble! Wiem ja, gdy krew kipi,
Jak wtedy dusza hojną jest w kładzeniu
Przysiąg na usta. Nie bierz tych wybuchów
Za ogień, więcej z nich światła niż ciepła,
A i to światło gaśnie w oka mgnieniu.
Bądź odtąd trochę skąpsza w przystępności
I więcej sobie waż rozmowę swoją
Niż wyzywanie drugich do rozmowy.
Co się zaś księcia Hamleta dotyczy,
Bacz na to, że on jeszcze młodzieniaszek
I że mu więcej jest wolno, niż tobie
Może być wolno kiedykolwiek. Słowem,
Nie ufaj jego przysięgom, bo one
Są jak kuglarze, czym innym, niż szaty
Ich pokazują: orędownicami
Bezbożnych chuci, biorącymi pozór
Świętości, aby tym łacniej usidlić
Naiwne serca. Krótko mówiąc, nie chcę,
Abyś od dziś dnia czas swój marnowała
Na zadawanie się z księciem Hamletem.
Pamiętaj, nie chcę tego. Możesz odejść.

OFELIA
Będę–ć posłuszną, panie.

Wychodzą.

Hamlet Act III Scene 2

Scene II. A hall in the Castle.
[Enter Hamlet and cartain Players.]

Ham.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you,
trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you avoid it.
I Player.
I warrant your honour.
Ham.
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own image, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the
judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play,--and heard others praise, and that highly,--not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
I Player.
I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir.
Ham.
O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them: for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.
[Exeunt Players.]

[Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.]
How now, my lord! will the king hear this piece of work?
Pol.
And the queen too, and that presently.
Ham.
Bid the players make haste.
[Exit Polonius.]
Will you two help to hasten them?
Ros. and Guil.
We will, my lord.
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.]

Ham.
What, ho, Horatio!

[Enter Horatio.]

Hor.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.
Hor.
O, my dear lord,--
Ham.
Nay, do not think I flatter;
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bles'd are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--
There is a play to-night before the king;
One scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death:
I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot,
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen;
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And, after, we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming.
Hor.
Well, my lord:
If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Ham.
They are coming to the play. I must be idle:
Get you a place.

[Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others.]

King.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Ham.
Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.
King.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.
Ham.
No, nor mine now. [To Polonius.] My lord, you play'd once i' the university, you say? 
Pol.
That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
Ham.
What did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' the Capitol; Brutus killed me.
Ham.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.--Be the players ready?
Ros.
Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.
Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Ham.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
Pol.
[To the King.]
O, ho! do you mark that? 
Ham.
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.]
Oph.
No, my lord.
Ham.
I mean, my head upon your lap?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Do you think I meant country matters?
Oph.
I think nothing, my lord.
Ham.
That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.
Oph.
What is, my lord?
Ham.
Nothing.
Oph.
You are merry, my lord.
Ham.
Who, I?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
O, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry?
for look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within 's two hours.
Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
Ham.
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot!'

[Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.]
[Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her
neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the king's ears, and exit. 
The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love.]
[Exeunt.]

Oph.
What means this, my lord?
Ham.
Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.
Oph.
Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

[Enter Prologue.]

Ham.
We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all.
Oph.
Will he tell us what this show meant?
Ham.
Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
Oph.
You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.
Pro.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
[Exit]
Ham.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
Oph.
'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham.
As woman's love.

[Enter two players, King and Queen.]

P. King.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen
About the world have times twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
P. Queen.
So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state.
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women's fear and love holds quantity;
In neither aught, or in extremity.
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so:
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
P. King.
Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;
My operant powers their functions leave to do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou,--
P. Queen.
O, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second but who kill'd the first.
Ham.
[Aside.] Wormwood, wormwood!
P. Queen.
The instances that second marriage move
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
A second time I kill my husband dead
When second husband kisses me in bed.
P. King.
I do believe you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory;
Of violent birth, but poor validity:
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree;
But fall unshaken when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis that we forget
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy
Their own enactures with themselves destroy:
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his favourite flies,
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies;
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend:
For who not needs shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But, orderly to end where I begun,--
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
P. Queen.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
Sport and repose lock from me day and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite that blanks the face of joy
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!
Ham.
If she should break it now!
P. King.
'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.]
P. Queen.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
[Exit.]
Ham.
Madam, how like you this play?
Queen.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
Ham.
O, but she'll keep her word.
King.
Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?
Ham.
No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world.
King.
What do you call the play?
Ham.
The Mouse-trap. 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 o' that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the
gall'd jade wince; our withers are unwrung.

[Enter Player, as Lucianus.]

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
Oph.
You are a good chorus, my lord.
Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.
Oph.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham.
It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
Oph.
Still better, and worse.
Ham.
So you must take your husbands.--Begin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come:--'The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.'
Luc.
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 usurp immediately.
[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears.]
Ham.
He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian; you shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
Oph.
The King rises.
Ham.
What, frighted with false fire!
Queen.
How fares my lord?
Pol.
Give o'er the play.
King.
Give me some light:--away!
All.
Lights, lights, lights!
[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.]

Ham.

Why, let the strucken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play;

For some must watch, while some must sleep:

So runs the world away.--

Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers--if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,--with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?
Hor.
Half a share.
Ham.
A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very--pajock.

Hor.
You might have rhymed.
Ham.
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound! Didst perceive?
Hor.
Very well, my lord.
Ham.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?--
Hor.
I did very well note him.
Ham.
Ah, ha!--Come, some music! Come, the recorders!--

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.

Come, some music!

[Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

Guil.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Ham.
Sir, a whole history.
Guil.
The king, sir--
Ham.
Ay, sir, what of him?
Guil.
Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered.
Ham.
With drink, sir?
Guil.
No, my lord; rather with choler.
Ham.
Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far more choler.
Guil.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham.
I am tame, sir:--pronounce.
Guil.
The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham.
You are welcome.
Guil.
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: if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business.
Ham.
Sir, I cannot.
Guil.
What, my lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: but, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: my mother, you say,--
Ros.
Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into
amazement and admiration.
Ham.
O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother!--But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?
Ros.
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?
Ros.
My lord, you once did love me.
Ham.
And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Ros.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do, surely, bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.
Ham.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?
Ham.
Ay, sir, but 'While the grass grows'--the proverb is something musty.

[Re-enter the Players, with recorders.]

O, the recorders:--let me see one.--To withdraw with you:--why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?
Guil.
O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
Ham.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
Guil.
My lord, I cannot.
Ham.
I pray you.
Guil.
Believe me, I cannot.
Ham.
I do beseech you.
Guil.
I know, no touch of it, my lord.
Ham.
'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
Guil.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.
Ham.
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 am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

[Enter Polonius.]
God bless you, sir!
Pol.
My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently.
Ham.
Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
Pol.
By the mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.
Ham.
Methinks it is like a weasel.
Pol.
It is backed like a weasel.
Ham.
Or like a whale.
Pol.
Very like a whale.
Ham.
Then will I come to my mother by and by.--They fool me to the top of my bent.--I will come by and by.
Pol.
I will say so.
[Exit.]

Ham.
"By-and-by" is easily said. --Leave me, friends.

[Exeunt Ros, Guil., Hor., and Players.]

'Tis now the very witching time of night,

When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out

Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,

And do such bitter business as the day

Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.--

O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever

The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:

Let me be cruel, not unnatural;

I will speak daggers to her, but use none;

My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites,--

How in my words somever she be shent,

To give them seals never, my soul, consent!

[Exit.]

Hamlet Act III Scene 1

ACT III.
Scene I. A room in the Castle.

[Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and
Guildenstern.]

King.
And can you, by no drift of circumstance,
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
Ros.
He does confess he feels himself distracted,
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.
Queen.
Did he receive you well?
Ros.
Most like a gentleman.
Guil.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
Ros.
Niggard of question; but, of our demands,
Most free in his reply.
Queen.
Did you assay him
To any pastime?
Ros.
Madam, it so fell out that certain players
We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him,
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court,
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.
Pol.
'Tis most true;
And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
To hear and see the matter.
King.
With all my heart; and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclin'd.--
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose on to these delights.
Ros.
We shall, my lord.
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

King.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia:
Her father and myself,--lawful espials,--
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
If't be the affliction of his love or no
That thus he suffers for.
Queen.
I shall obey you:--
And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.
Oph.
Madam, I wish it may.
[Exit Queen.]

Pol.
Ophelia, walk you here.--Gracious, so please you,
We will bestow ourselves.--[To Ophelia.] Read on this book; That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness.--We are oft to blame in this,--
'Tis too much prov'd,--that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The Devil himself.
King.
[Aside.] O, 'tis too true!
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word:
O heavy burden!
Pol.
I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord.
[Exeunt King and Polonius.]

[Enter Hamlet.]

Ham.
To be, or not to be,--that is the question:--
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?--To die,--to sleep,--
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;--
To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,--
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,--puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia!--Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Oph.
Good my lord,
How does your honour for this many a day?
Ham.
I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
Oph.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours
That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.
Ham.
No, not I;
I never gave you aught.
Oph.
My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd
As made the things more rich; their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
Ham.
Ha, ha! are you honest?
Oph.
My lord?
Ham.
Are you fair?
Oph.
What means your lordship?
Ham.
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
Oph.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
Ham.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform
honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
Oph.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
Ham.
You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so
inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.
Oph.
I was the more deceived.
Ham.
Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother
had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?
Oph.
At home, my lord.
Ham.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
Oph.
O, help him, you sweet heavens!
Ham.
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry,-- be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell.
Oph.
O heavenly powers, restore him!
Ham.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath
given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. I say, we
will have no more marriages: those that are married already, all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.
[Exit.]

Oph.
O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observ'd of all observers,--quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

[Re-enter King and Polonius.]
King.
Love! his affections do not that way tend;
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd 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 the disclose
Will be some danger: 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:
Haply the seas, and countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
Pol.
It shall do well: but yet do I believe
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung 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;
But if you hold it fit, after the play,
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief: let her be round with him;
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not,
To England send him; or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.
King.
It shall be so:
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
[Exeunt.]

Hamlet Act II Scene 1

Act II.

Scene I. 

A room in Polonius's house.

[Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.]

Pol.

Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.

Rey.

I will, my lord.

Pol.

You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,

Before You visit him, to make inquiry

Of his behaviour.

Rey.

My lord, I did intend it.

Pol.

Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,

Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;

And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,

What company, at what expense; and finding,

By this encompassment and drift of question,

That they do know my son, come you more nearer

Than your particular demands will touch it:

Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;

As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,

And in part him;--do you mark this, Reynaldo?

Rey.

Ay, very well, my lord.

Pol.

'And in part him;--but,' you may say, 'not well:

But if't be he I mean, he's very wild;

Addicted so and so;' and there put on him

What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank

As may dishonour him; take heed of that;

But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips

As are companions noted and most known

To youth and liberty.

Rey.

As gaming, my lord.

Pol.

Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,

Drabbing:--you may go so far.

Rey.

My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol.

Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge.

You must not put another scandal on him,

That he is open to incontinency;

That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly

That they may seem the taints of liberty;

The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind;

A savageness in unreclaimed blood,

Of general assault.

Rey.

But, my good lord,--

Pol.

Wherefore should you do this?

Rey.

Ay, my lord,

I would know that.

Pol.

Marry, sir, here's my drift;

And I believe it is a fetch of warrant:

You laying these slight sullies on my son

As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working,

Mark you,

Your party in converse, him you would sound,

Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes

The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd

He closes with you in this consequence;

'Good sir,' or so; or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'--

According to the phrase or the addition

Of man and country.

Rey.

Very good, my lord.

Pol.

And then, sir, does he this,--he does--What was I about to say?-- By the mass, I was about to say

something:--Where did I leave?

Rey.

At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and

gentleman.'

Pol.

At--closes in the consequence'--ay, marry!

He closes with you thus:--'I know the gentleman;

I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,

Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,

There was he gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;

There falling out at tennis': or perchance,

'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'--

Videlicet, a brothel,--or so forth.--

See you now;

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:

And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,

With windlaces, and with assays of bias,

By indirections find directions out:

So, by my former lecture and advice,

Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?

Rey.

My lord, I have.

Pol.

God b' wi' you, fare you well.

Rey.

Good my lord!

Pol.

Observe his inclination in yourself.

Rey.

I shall, my lord.

Pol.

And let him ply his music.

Rey.

Well, my lord.

Pol.

Farewell!

[Exit Reynaldo.]

[Enter Ophelia.]

How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?

Oph.

Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

Pol.

With what, i' the name of God?

Oph.

My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber,

Lord Hamlet,--with his doublet all unbrac'd;

No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,

Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;

Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other;

And with a look so piteous in purport

As if he had been loosed out of hell

To speak of horrors,--he comes before me.

Pol.

Mad for thy love?

Oph.

My lord, I do not know;

But truly I do fear it.

Pol.

What said he?

Oph.

He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;

Then goes he to the length of all his arm;

And with his other hand thus o'er his brow,

He falls to such perusal of my face

As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so;

At last,--a little shaking of mine arm,

And thrice his head thus waving up and down,--

He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound

As it did seem to shatter all his bulk

And end his being: that done, he lets me go:

And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd

He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;

For out o' doors he went without their help,

And to the last bended their light on me.

Pol.

Come, go with me: I will go seek the king.

This is the very ecstasy of love;

Whose violent property fordoes itself,

And leads the will to desperate undertakings,

As oft as any passion under heaven

That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,--

What, have you given him any hard words of late?

Oph.

No, my good lord; but, as you did command,

I did repel his letters and denied

His access to me.

Pol.

That hath made him mad.

I am sorry that with better heed and judgment

I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle,

And meant to wreck thee; but beshrew my jealousy!

It seems it as proper to our age

To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions

As it is common for the younger sort

To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king:

This must be known; which, being kept close, might move

More grief to hide than hate to utter love.

[Exeunt.]