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Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition)

Page 10

by William Shakespeare


  We cannot get from him.

  King.

  But where is he?

  Ros.

  Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.

  King.

  Bring him before us.

  Ros.

  Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.

  [Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.]

  King.

  Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?

  Ham.

  At supper.

  King.

  At supper! where?

  Ham.

  Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service,--two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.

  King.

  Alas, alas!

  Ham.

  A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.

  King.

  What dost thou mean by this?

  Ham.

  Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.

  King.

  Where is Polonius?

  Ham.

  In heaven: send thither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.

  King.

  Go seek him there. [To some Attendants.]

  Ham.

  He will stay till you come.

  [Exeunt Attendants.]

  King.

  Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,--

  Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve

  For that which thou hast done,--must send thee hence

  With fiery quickness: therefore prepare thyself;

  The bark is ready, and the wind at help,

  The associates tend, and everything is bent

  For England.

  Ham.

  For England!

  King.

  Ay, Hamlet.

  Ham.

  Good.

  King.

  So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.

  Ham.

  I see a cherub that sees them.--But, come; for England!--

  Farewell, dear mother.

  King.

  Thy loving father, Hamlet.

  Ham.

  My mother: father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother.--Come, for England!

  [Exit.]

  King.

  Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;

  Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:

  Away! for everything is seal'd and done

  That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.

  [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

  And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,--

  As my great power thereof may give thee sense,

  Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red

  After the Danish sword, and thy free awe

  Pays homage to us,--thou mayst not coldly set

  Our sovereign process; which imports at full,

  By letters conjuring to that effect,

  The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;

  For like the hectic in my blood he rages,

  And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done,

  Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.

  [Exit.]

  Scene IV. A plain in Denmark.

  [ Enter Fortinbras, and Forces marching.]

  For.

  Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king:

  Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras

  Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march

  Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.

  If that his majesty would aught with us,

  We shall express our duty in his eye;

  And let him know so.

  Capt.

  I will do't, my lord.

  For.

  Go softly on.

  [Exeunt all For. and Forces.]

  [Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, etc.]

  Ham.

  Good sir, whose powers are these?

  Capt.

  They are of Norway, sir.

  Ham.

  How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?

  Capt.

  Against some part of Poland.

  Ham.

  Who commands them, sir?

  Capt.

  The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.

  Ham.

  Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,

  Or for some frontier?

  Capt.

  Truly to speak, and with no addition,

  We go to gain a little patch of ground

  That hath in it no profit but the name.

  To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;

  Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole

  A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

  Ham.

  Why, then the Polack never will defend it.

  Capt.

  Yes, it is already garrison'd.

  Ham.

  Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats

  Will not debate the question of this straw:

  This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,

  That inward breaks, and shows no cause without

  Why the man dies.--I humbly thank you, sir.

  Capt.

  God b' wi' you, sir.

  [Exit.]

  Ros.

  Will't please you go, my lord?

  Ham.

  I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.

  [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]

  How all occasions do inform against me

  And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,

  If his chief good and market of his time

  Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.

  Sure he that made us with such large discourse,

  Looking before and after, gave us not

  That capability and godlike reason

  To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be

  Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple

  Of thinking too precisely on the event,--

  A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom

  And ever three parts coward,--I do not know

  Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;'

  Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means

  To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:

  Witness this army, of such mass and charge,

  Led by a delicate and tender prince;

  Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,

  Makes mouths at the invisible event;

  Exposing what is mortal and unsure

  To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,

  Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great

  Is not to stir without great argument,

  But greatly to find quarrel in a straw

  When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then,

  That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,

  Excitements of my reason and my blood,

  And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see

  The imminent death of twenty thousand men

  That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,

  Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot

  Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,

  Which is not tomb enough and continent

  To hide the slain?--O, from this time forth,

  My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

  [Exit.]

  Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle.

  [ Enter Queen and Horatio.]

  Queen.

  I will not speak with her.

  Gent.

  She is importunate; indeed distract:


  Her mood will needs be pitied.

  Queen.

  What would she have?

  Gent.

  She speaks much of her father; says she hears

  There's tricks i' the world, and hems, and beats her heart;

  Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,

  That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,

  Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

  The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

  And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;

  Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,

  Indeed would make one think there might be thought,

  Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.

  'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew

  Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

  Queen.

  Let her come in.

  [Exit Horatio.]

  To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,

  Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss:

  So full of artless jealousy is guilt,

  It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

  [Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia.]

  Oph.

  Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?

  Queen.

  How now, Ophelia?

  Oph. [Sings.]

  How should I your true love know

  From another one?

  By his cockle bat and' staff

  And his sandal shoon.

  Queen.

  Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?

  Oph.

  Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

  [Sings.]

  He is dead and gone, lady,

  He is dead and gone;

  At his head a grass green turf,

  At his heels a stone.

  Queen.

  Nay, but Ophelia--

  Oph.

  Pray you, mark.

  [Sings.]

  White his shroud as the mountain snow,

  [Enter King.]

  Queen.

  Alas, look here, my lord!

  Oph.

  [Sings.]

  Larded all with sweet flowers;

  Which bewept to the grave did go

  With true-love showers.

  King.

  How do you, pretty lady?

  Oph.

  Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.

  Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!

  King.

  Conceit upon her father.

  Oph.

  Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this:

  [Sings.]

  To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day

  All in the morning bedtime,

  And I a maid at your window,

  To be your Valentine.

  Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes,

  And dupp'd the chamber door,

  Let in the maid, that out a maid

  Never departed more.

  King.

  Pretty Ophelia!

  Oph.

  Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't:

  [Sings.]

  By Gis and by Saint Charity,

  Alack, and fie for shame!

  Young men will do't if they come to't;

  By cock, they are to blame.

  Quoth she, before you tumbled me,

  You promis'd me to wed.

  So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,

  An thou hadst not come to my bed.

  King.

  How long hath she been thus?

  Oph.

  I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think they would lay him i' the cold ground.

  My brother shall know of it: and so I thank you for your good counsel.--Come, my coach!--Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night.

  [Exit.]

  King.

  Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.

  [Exit Horatio.]

  O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs

  All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,

  When sorrows come, they come not single spies,

  But in battalions! First, her father slain:

  Next, your son gone; and he most violent author

  Of his own just remove: the people muddied,

  Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers

  For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly

  In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia

  Divided from herself and her fair judgment,

  Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts:

  Last, and as much containing as all these,

  Her brother is in secret come from France;

  Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,

  And wants not buzzers to infect his ear

  With pestilent speeches of his father's death;

  Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,

  Will nothing stick our person to arraign

  In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,

  Like to a murdering piece, in many places

  Give, me superfluous death.

  [A noise within.]

  Queen.

  Alack, what noise is this?

  King.

  Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door.

  [Enter a Gentleman.]

  What is the matter?

  Gent.

  Save yourself, my lord:

  The ocean, overpeering of his list,

  Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste

  Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,

  O'erbears your offices. The rabble call him lord;

  And, as the world were now but to begin,

  Antiquity forgot, custom not known,

  The ratifiers and props of every word,

  They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'

  Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,

  'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'

  Queen.

  How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

  O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

  [A noise within.]

  King.

  The doors are broke.

  [Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.]

  Laer.

  Where is this king?--Sirs, stand you all without.

  Danes.

  No, let's come in.

  Laer.

  I pray you, give me leave.

  Danes.

  We will, we will.

  [They retire without the door.]

  Laer.

  I thank you:--keep the door.--O thou vile king,

  Give me my father!

  Queen.

  Calmly, good Laertes.

  Laer.

  That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;

  Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

  Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow

  Of my true mother.

  King.

  What is the cause, Laertes,

  That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?--

  Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:

  There's such divinity doth hedge a king,

  That treason can but peep to what it would,

  Acts little of his will.--Tell me, Laertes,

  Why thou art thus incens'd.--Let him go, Gertrude:--

  Speak, man.

  Laer.

  Where is my father?

  King.

  Dead.

  Queen.

  But not by him.

  King.

  Let him demand his fill.

  Laer.

  How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:

  To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!

  Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!


  I dare damnation:--to this point I stand,--

  That both the worlds, I give to negligence,

  Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd

  Most throughly for my father.

  King.

  Who shall stay you?

  Laer.

  My will, not all the world:

  And for my means, I'll husband them so well,

  They shall go far with little.

  King.

  Good Laertes,

  If you desire to know the certainty

  Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge

  That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe,

  Winner and loser?

  Laer.

  None but his enemies.

  King.

  Will you know them then?

  Laer.

  To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;

  And, like the kind life-rendering pelican,

  Repast them with my blood.

  King.

  Why, now you speak

  Like a good child and a true gentleman.

  That I am guiltless of your father's death,

  And am most sensibly in grief for it,

  It shall as level to your judgment pierce

  As day does to your eye.

  Danes.

  [Within] Let her come in.

 

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