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The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark . Flourish. [Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes and his sister Ophelia, . Shakespeare wrote the play earlier than ,-. In the following year appeared in quarto,. " The Tragicall. Historie of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke By William. Shakespeare's Hamlet with explanatory notes and study guide.


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The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of. Denmark. ASCII text placed in the public domain by Moby Lexical Tools, SGML markup by Jon Bosak,. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, is the single greatest documentary . QUEEN GERTRUDE, widow of King Hamlet, now married to Claudius. Book: Hamlet. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is a tragedy written by William Shakespeare between and The play vividly portrays both true and feigned madness—from overwhelming grief to seething rage—and explores themes of treachery, revenge, incest, and.

Is it a free visitation? You have me, have you not? My excellent good friends! Danish march. For this relief much thanks. Give you good night.

And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to say? By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave? At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and gentleman. At 'closes in the consequence'- Ay, marry!

He closes thus: I saw him yesterday, or t'other day, Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say, There was 'a 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 windlasses 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?

My lord, I have.

God b' wi' ye, fare ye well! Good my lord! Observe his inclination in yourself. I shall, my lord. And let him ply his music. Well, my lord. What's the matter? O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! With what, i' th' name of God? My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 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.

Mad for thy love? My lord, I do not know, But truly I do fear it. What said he? 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.

William Shakespeare's Hamlet

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. Come, go with me.

I will go seek the King. I am sorry. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, I did repel his letters and denied His access to me. That hath made him mad. I fear'd he did but trifle And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, it is 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.

Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Moreover that we much did long to see you, The need we have to use you did provoke Our hasty sending. Something have you heard Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it, Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man Resembles that it was.

What it should be, More than his father's death, that thus hath put him So much from th' understanding of himself, I cannot dream of. I entreat you both That, being of so young days brought up with him, And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour, That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court Some little time; so by your companies To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather So much as from occasion you may glean, Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus That, open'd, lies within our remedy.

Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, And sure I am two men there are not living To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To show us so much gentry and good will As to expend your time with us awhile For the supply and profit of our hope, Your visitation shall receive such thanks As fits a king's remembrance. Both your Majesties Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, Put your dread pleasures more into command Than to entreaty. But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded.

Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son. Heavens make our presence and our practices Pleasant and helpful to him! Ay, amen! Enter Polonius. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. Thou still hast been the father of good news. Have I, my lord?

Assure you, my good liege, I hold my duty as I hold my soul, Both to my God and to my gracious king; And I do think- or else this brain of mine Hunts not the trail of policy so sure As it hath us'd to do- that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. O, speak of that!

That do I long to hear. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors. My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. I doubt it is no other but the main, His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. Well, we shall sift him. Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway? Most fair return of greetings and desires.

Upon our first, he sent out to suppress His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack, But better look'd into, he truly found It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd, That so his sickness, age, and impotence Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys, Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle never more To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.

Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee And his commission to employ those soldiers, So levied as before, against the Polack; With an entreaty, herein further shown, [Gives a paper. It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time we'll read, Answer, and think upon this business. Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together.

Most welcome home! Exeunt Ambassadors. This business is well ended. My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night is night, and time is time. Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

But let that go. More matter, with less art. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true: A foolish figure! But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then. And now remains That we find out the cause of this effect- Or rather say, the cause of this defect, For this effect defective comes by cause.

Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Now gather, and surmise. But you shall hear. Came this from Hamlet to her? Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful. But how hath she Receiv'd his love? What do you think of me? As of a man faithful and honourable. I would fain prove so.

But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, Before my daughter told me , what might you, Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think, If I had play'd the desk or table book, Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, Or look'd upon this love with idle sight?

What might you think? No, I went round to work And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: This must not be. Which done, she took the fruits of my advice, And he, repulsed, a short tale to make, Fell into a sadness, then into a fast, Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness, Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension, Into the madness wherein now he raves, And all we mourn for. Do you think 'tis this? Not that I know. If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre.

How may we try it further? You know sometimes he walks for hours together Here in the lobby. So he does indeed. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him. Be you and I behind an arras then. If he love her not, And he not from his reason fall'n thereon Let me be no assistant for a state, But keep a farm and carters.

We will try it. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. Away, I do beseech you, both away I'll board him presently. O, give me leave. Well, God-a-mercy. Do you know me, my lord? Excellent well. You are a fishmonger. Not I, my lord. Then I would you were so honest a man. Honest, my lord? Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.

That's very true, my lord. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion- Have you a daughter?

I have, my lord. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't. Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone!

And truly in my youth I suff'red much extremity for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again. Words, words, words.

What is the matter, my lord? Between who? I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.

All which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward. Into my grave? Indeed, that is out o' th' air. I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.

You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except my life, Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Fare you well, my lord. These tedious old fools! You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is. Exit [Polonius]. My honour'd lord! My most dear lord! My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? As the indifferent children of the earth. Happy in that we are not over-happy. Nor the soles of her shoe?

Neither, my lord. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? Faith, her privates we.

In the secret parts of Fortune? What news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither? Prison, my lord? Denmark's a prison. Then is the world one. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst. We think not so, my lord.

Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. Why, then your ambition makes it one. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

A dream itself is but a shadow. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? No such matter! I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended.

But in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come!

Nay, speak. What should we say, my lord? Why, anything- but to th' purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.

To what end, my lord? That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no.

My lord, we were sent for. I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire- why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you.

We coted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are they? Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city.

How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so follow'd? No indeed are they not. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd for't.

These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages so they call them that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and dare scarce come thither. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players as it is most like, if their means are no better , their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession.

Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was, for a while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question. Is't possible? O, there has been much throwing about of brains. Do the boys carry it away? Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too.

It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little.

There are the players. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come! Th' appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players which I tell you must show fairly outwards should more appear like entertainment than yours.

You are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceiv'd. In what, my dear lord? I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. Well be with you, gentlemen! Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer!

That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old man is twice a child. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players.

Pdf hamlet william shakespeare

Mark it. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome- Polonius. The actors are come hither, my lord. Buzz, buzz! Upon my honour- Hamlet. Then came each actor on his ass- Polonius. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene individable, or poem unlimited.

Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! What treasure had he, my lord? Why, 'One fair daughter, and no more, The which he loved passing well.

Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah? If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. Nay, that follows not.

What follows then, my lord? Why, 'As by lot, God wot,' and then, you know, 'It came to pass, as most like it was. Why, thy face is valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in Denmark? By'r Lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at anything we see.

We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech. What speech, my good lord? I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleas'd not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was as I receiv'd it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning.

I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in't I chiefly lov'd. If it live in your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see: Head to foot Now is be total gules, horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murther.

Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion. First Player. His antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword Th' unnerved father falls.

Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, And, like a neutral to his will and matter, Did nothing. But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, Aroused vengeance sets him new awork; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods, In general synod take away her power; Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends! This is too long. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba. That's good! Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Prithee no more!

I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Do you hear? Let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time. After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Come, sirs. Follow him, friends.

We'll hear a play to-morrow. Can you play 'The Murther of Gonzago'? Ay, my lord. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down and insert in't, could you not? Very well. Follow that lord- and look you mock him not.

You are welcome to Elsinore. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye! O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That, from her working, all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?

What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears.

Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing! No, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th' nose? Who does me this, ha? Bloody bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murther'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must like a whore unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players Play something like the murther of my father Before mine uncle.

I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be a devil; and the devil hath power T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me.

I'll have grounds More relative than this. The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the 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?

He does confess he feels himself distracted, But from what cause he will by no means speak. 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. Did he receive you well? Most like a gentleman.

But with much forcing of his disposition. Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply. Did you assay him To any pastime? Madam, it so fell out that certain players We o'erraught on the way.

Of these we told him, And there did seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it. They are here about the court, And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him so inclin'd. We shall, my lord. Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

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 th' affliction of his love, or no, That thus he suffers for.

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.

Madam, I wish it may. Ophelia, walk you here. The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it Than is my deed to my most painted word. O heavy burthen! I hear him coming.

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Let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt King and Polonius]. Enter Hamlet. 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. To die- to sleep.

To sleep- perchance to dream: 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, Th' 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 th' 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?

The fair Ophelia! Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day? I humbly thank you; well, well, well. My lord, I have remembrances of yours That I have longed long to re-deliver. I pray you, now receive them.

No, not I! 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.

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Ha, ha! Are you honest? My lord? Are you fair? What means your lordship? That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? 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. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 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. I was the more deceived. 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.

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Where's your father? At home, my lord. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but in's own house. O, help him, you sweet heavens! If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: 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. O heavenly powers, restore him! 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; you nickname God's creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! I say, we will have no moe marriages. Those that are married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep as they are.

To a nunnery, go. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword, Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down!

O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Enter King and Polonius. 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: 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.

It shall do well. But yet do I believe The origin and commencement of his grief Sprung from neglected love. We heard it all. 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. It shall be so. Enter Hamlet and three of the Players. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as live 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 your 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 whipp'd for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. I warrant your honour. 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: 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 hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir.

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 mean time 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. Will the King hear this piece of work? And the Queen too, and that presently. Bid the players make haste, [Exit Polonius. Exeunt they two. What, ho, Horatio! Enter Horatio. Here, sweet lord, at your service. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.

O, my dear lord! 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 suff'ring all, that suffers nothing; A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blest 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 I 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 prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe my 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.

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. Sound a flourish. Danish march. They are coming to the play. I must be idle. Get you a place. How fares our cousin Hamlet? Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air, promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not mine. No, nor mine now. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. What did you enact? It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.

Be the players ready. They stay upon your patience. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. No, good mother. The Queen's closet. Act 4 Scene 1. Another room in the castle. A plain in Denmark. Scene 6. Scene 7. Act 5 Scene 1. A churchyard. Quote in Context 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! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! Hamlet 1. The primary function of the soliloquy is to reveal to the audience Hamlet's profound melancholia and the reasons for his despair.

In a disjointed outpouring of disgust, anger, sorrow, and grief, Hamlet explains that, without exception, everything in his world is either futile or contemptible. His speech is saturated with suggestions of rot and corruption, as seen in the basic usage of words like "rank" and "gross" , and in the metaphor associating the world with "an unweeded garden" Read on Points to Ponder 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.

Hamlet 3. The person who recites the death of Priam with such feeling, in the first place, makes a deep impression on the prince himself; he sharpens the conscience of the wavering youth: Hamlet sees himself reproved and put to shame by the player, who feels so deep a sympathy in foreign and fictitious woes; and the thought of making an experiment upon the conscience of his stepfather is in consequence suggested to him.