From Hamlet - anthology.

From Hamlet - anthology. Hamlet (1601?), by English playwright William Shakespeare, is one of the most famous tragedies in English literature. At the opening of the drama, Hamlet, the prince of Denmark, has returned home after the death of his father, the king. Shortly after the funeral, Hamlet's mother remarried Hamlet's uncle Claudius, who succeeded his father on the throne. In the following scenes from the first act, Hamlet is visited by his father's ghost, which tells Hamlet that he was murdered by Claudius. Hamlet then vows to avenge his father's death, and forces his friends Horatio and Marcellus to swear never to tell what they saw or heard that night. From Hamlet By William Shakespeare [I.iv] Enter HAMLET, HORATIO and MARCELLUS. HAM. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. HOR. It is a nipping and an eager air. HAM. What hour now? HOR. I think it lacks of twelve. MAR. No, it is struck. HOR. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off. What does this mean, my lord? HAM. The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring up-spring reels, And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. HOR. Is it a custom? HAM. Ay, marry, is't, But to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honored in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations. They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase Soil our addition, and indeed it takes From our achievements, though performed 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-leavens The form of plausive manners--that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery or fortune's star, His virtues else, be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo, Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault. The dram of evil Doth all the noble substance often doubt To his own scandal. Enter GHOST. HOR. HAM. Look, my lord, it comes. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me! Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell Why thy canonized bones, hearséd in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre Wherein we saw thee quietly interred Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again. What may this mean That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous, and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? What should we do? [GHOST] beckons. HOR. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone. MAR. Look with what courteous action It waves you to a more removéd ground. But do not go with it. HOR. No, by no means. HAM. It will not speak; then I will follow it. HOR. Do not, my lord. HAM. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at 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. HOR. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea, And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason And draw you into madness? Think of it. The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into every brain That looks so many fathoms to the sea And hears it roar beneath. HAM. It waves me still. Go on. I'll follow thee. MAR. You shall not go, my lord. HAM. Hold off your hands. HOR. Be ruled, You shall not go. HAM. My fate cries out And makes each petty artere in this body As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me. I say, away!--Go on. I'll follow thee HOR. He waxes desperate with imagination. MAR. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him. HOR. Have after. To what issue will this come? MAR. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. HOR. Heaven will direct it. MAR. Nay, let's follow him. Exeunt. [I.v] Enter GHOST and HAMLET. HAM. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak. I'll go no further. GHOST. HAM. Mark me. I will. GHOST. My hour is almost come When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. HAM. Alas, poor ghost! GHOST. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. HAM. Speak. I am bound to hear. GHOST. HAM. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. What? GHOST. I am thy father's spirit, Doomed 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 nature Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combinéd locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love-- HAM. O God! GHOST. HAM. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Murder! GHOST. Murder most foul, as in the best it is, But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. HAM. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. GHOST. I find thee apt, And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That 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 Denmark Is by a forgéd process of my death Rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAM. O my prophetic soul! My uncle! GHOST. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wits, with traitorous gifts-- O wicked wit and gifts that have the power So to seduce!--won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming virtuous queen. O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel linked, Will sate itself in a celestial bed And prey on garbage. But soft, methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebona in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment, whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body, And with a sudden vigor it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine, And a most instant tetter barked about Most lazar-like with vile and loathsome crust All my smooth body. Thus was I sleeping by a brother's hand Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched, Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled, No reck'ning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not. Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damnéd incest. But howsomever thou pursues this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once. The glowworm shows the matin to be near, And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me. [Exit.] HAM. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart, And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, whiles memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past That youth and observation copied there, And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven! O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling, damnéd villain! My tables--meet it is I set it down That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain. At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writing.] So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word: It is 'Adieu, adieu. Remember me.' I have sworn't. Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS. HOR. My lord, my lord! MAR. Lord Hamlet! HOR. Heavens secure him! HAM. So be it! MAR. Illo, ho, ho, my lord! HAM. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. MAR. How is't, my noble lord? HOR. What news, my lord? HAM. O, wonderful! HOR. Good my lord, tell it. HAM. No, you will reveal it. HOR. Not I, my lord, by heaven. MAR. Nor I, my lord. HAM. How say you then, would heart of man once think it? But you'll be secret? BOTH. Ay, by heaven, my lord. HAM. There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave. HOR. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this. HAM. Why, right, you are in the right, And so without more circumstance at all I hold it fit that we shake hands and part, You, as your business and desire shall point you, For every man hath business and desire Such as it is, and for my own poor part, I will go pray. HOR. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. HAM. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; Yes, faith, heartily. HOR. There's no offence, my lord. HAM. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. Touching this vision here, It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. For your desire to know what is between us, O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends, As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, Give me one poor request. HOR. What is't, my lord? We will. HAM. Never make known what you have seen to-night. BOTH. HAM. My lord, we will not. Nay, but swear't. HOR. In faith, My lord, not I. MAR. Nor I, my lord, in faith. HAM. Upon my sword. MAR. We have sworn, my lord, already. HAM. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. Ghost cries under the stage. GHOST. Swear. HAM. Ha, ha, boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? Come on. You hear this fellow in the cellarage. Consent to swear. HOR. Propose the oath, my lord. HAM. Never to speak of this that you have seen, Swear by my sword. GHOST. [Beneath.] Swear. HAM. Hic et ubique? Then we'll shift our ground. Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword. Swear by my sword Never to speak of this that you have heard. GHOST. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. HAM. Well said, old mole! Canst work i' th' earth so fast? A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends. HOR. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! HAM. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come. Here as before, never, so help you mercy, How strange or odd some'er I bear myself (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on), That you, at such times, seeing me, never shall, With arms encumbered thus, or this head-shake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know', or 'We could, and if we would' Or 'If we list to speak', or 'There be, and if they might' Or such ambiguous giving out, to note That you know aught of me--this do swear, So grace and mercy at your most need help you. GHOST. [Beneath.] Swear. HAM. Rest, rest, perturbéd spirit! So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you, And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do t'express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together, And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint. O curséd spite That ever I was born to set it right! Nay, come, let's go together. Exeunt. Source: Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Hoy, Cyrus, ed. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1992.