Hamlet - Prince of Denmark (Wisehouse Classics Edition). William Shakespeare

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these tenders for true pay,Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;Or — not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,Running it thus — you’ll tender me a fool.My lord, he hath importuned me with loveIn honourable fashion.Lord PoloniusAy, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.OpheliaAnd hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,With almost all the holy vows of heaven.Lord PoloniusAy, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,

	When the blood burns, how prodigal the soulLends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,Even in their promise, as it is a-making,You must not take for fire. From this timeBe somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;Set your entreatments at a higher rateThan a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,Believe so much in him, that he is youngAnd with a larger tether may he walkThan may be given you: in few, Ophelia,Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,Not of that dye which their investments show,But mere implorators of unholy suits,Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,The better to beguile. This is for all:I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,Have you so slander any moment leisure,As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.Look to’t, I charge you: come your ways.
Ophelia	I shall obey, my lord.
Exeunt

Scene IV. The platform.

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus
Hamlet	The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Horatio	It is a nipping and an eager air.
Hamlet	What hour now?
Horatio	I think it lacks of twelve.
Hamlet	No, it is struck.
Horatio	Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the seasonWherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within
	What does this mean, my lord?
Hamlet	The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

	The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray outThe triumph of his pledge.
Horatio	Is it a custom?
Hamlet	Ay, marry, is’t:But to my mind, though I am native hereAnd to the manner born, it is a customMore honour’d in the breach than the observance.This heavy-headed revel east and westMakes us traduced and tax’d of other nations:They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phraseSoil our addition; and indeed it takesFrom our achievements, though perform’d at height,The pith and marrow of our attribute.So, oft it chances in particular men,That for some vicious mole of nature in them,As, in their birth — wherein they are not guilty,Since nature cannot choose his origin —By the o’ergrowth of some complexion,Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,Or by some habit that too much o’er-leavensThe form of plausive manners, that these men,Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star —Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace,As infinite as man may undergo —Shall in the general censure take corruptionFrom that particular fault: the dram of ealeDoth all the noble substance of a doubtTo his own scandal.
HoratioEnter Ghost	Look, my lord, it comes!
Hamlet	Angels and ministers of grace defend us!Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,Be thy intents wicked or charitable,Thou comest in such a questionable shapeThat I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee Hamlet,King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!Let me not burst in ignorance; but tellWhy thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,

Ghost	Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d,Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,To cast thee up again. What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous; and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?beckons Hamlet
Horatio	It beckons you to go away with it,
Marcellus	As if it some impartment did desireTo you alone.Look, with what courteous action
Horatio	It waves you to a more removed ground:But do not go with it.No, by no means.
Hamlet	It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Horatio	Do not, my lord.
Hamlet	Why, what should be the fear?
Horatio	I do not set my life in a pin’s fee;And for my soul, what can it do to that,Being a thing immortal as itself?It waves me forth again: I’ll follow it.What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Hamlet	Or to the dreadful summit of the cliffThat beetles o’er his base into the sea,And there assume some other horrible form,Which might deprive your sovereignty of reasonAnd draw you into madness? think of it:The very place puts toys of desperation,Without more motive, into every brainThat looks so many fathoms to the seaAnd hears it roar beneath.It waves me still.
Marcellus	Go on; I’ll follow thee.You shall not go, my lord.
Hamlet	Hold off your hands.

Horatio	Be ruled; you shall not go.
Hamlet	My fate cries out,And makes each petty artery in this bodyAs hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me!I say, away! Go on; I’ll follow thee.
Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet
Horatio	He waxes desperate with imagination.
Marcellus	Let’s follow; ’tis not fit thus to obey him.
Horatio	Have after. To what issue will this come?
Marcellus	Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Horatio	Heaven will direct it.
MarcellusExeunt	Nay, let’s follow him.

Scene V. Another part of the platform.

Enter Ghost and Hamlet
Hamlet	Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I’ll go no further.
Ghost	Mark me.
Hamlet	I will.
Ghost	My hour is almost come,When I to sulphurous and tormenting flamesMust render up myself.
Hamlet	Alas, poor ghost!
Ghost	Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearingTo what I shall unfold.
Hamlet	Speak; I am bound to hear.
Ghost	So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Hamlet	What?
Ghost	I am thy father’s spirit,Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,And for the day confined to fast in fires,Till the foul crimes done in my days of natureAre burnt and purged away. But that I am forbidTo tell the secrets of my prison-house,

	I could a tale unfold whose lightest wordWould harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,Thy knotted and combined locks to partAnd each particular hair to stand on end,Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:But this eternal blazon must not beTo ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!If thou didst ever thy dear father love——
Hamlet	O God!
Ghost	Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
Hamlet	Murder!
Ghost	Murder most foul, as in the best it is;But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Hamlet	Haste me to know’t, that I, with wings as swiftAs meditation or the thoughts of love,May sweep to my revenge.
Ghost	I find thee apt;And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weedThat roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father’s lifeNow wears his crown.
Hamlet	O my prophetic soul! My uncle!
Ghost	Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts —O wicked wit and gifts, that have the powerSo to seduce! — won to his shameful lustThe will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!From me, whose love was of that dignityThat it went hand in hand even with the vowI made to her in marriage, and to declineUpon a wretch whose natural gifts were Скачать книгу В начало < 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 > В конец e-mail: [email protected]