Hamlet Page #3

---

'Tis unmanly grief.

I pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing woe,

and think of us

as of a father,

for let the world take note,

you are the most immediate

to our throne,

and with no less nobility of love

than that which dearest father

bears his son,

do I impart toward you.

APPLAUSE:

For your intent

In going back to school

in... Wittenberg. ..Wittenberg,

it is most retrograde

to our desire.

And I beseech you,

bend you to remain here,

in the cheer and comfort

of our eye,

our chiefest courtier, cousin,

and our son.

Let not thy mother

lose her prayers, Hamlet.

I pray thee, stay with us -

go not to Wittenberg.

I shall in all my best obey you,

madam.

Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.

Be as ourself in Denmark.

APPLAUSE:

Madam, come.

This gentle and unforced accord

of Hamlet

sits smiling to my heart

in grace whereof,

no jocund health

that Denmark drinks today.

But the great cannon

to the clouds shall tell,

re-speaking earthly thunder.

Come, away.

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!

God!

HE SOBS:

How weary,

stale,

flat and unprofitable

seem to me all the uses

of this world!

Fie on't! Fie!

'Tis an unweeded garden,

that grows to seed.

Things rank and gross in nature

possess it merely.

That it should come to this!

But two months dead -

nay, not so much, not two!

So excellent a king,

that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr.

So loving to my mother

That he might not beteem

the winds of heaven

visit her face too roughly.

Heaven and earth!

Must I remember?

Why, she would hang on him,

as if increase of appetite

had grown

by what it fed on

and yet, within a month...!

Let me not think on't.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

A little month,

or 'ere those shoes were old

with which she follow'd

my poor father's body,

like Niobe, all tears

why she, even she...!

O, God! A beast,

that wants discourse of reason,

would have mourn'd longer.

Married with my uncle.

My father's brother,

but no more like my father

than I to Hercules within a month.

'Ere yet the salt

of most unrighteous tears

had left the flushing

in her galled eyes,

she married.

O, most wicked speed, to post

with such dexterity

to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot

come to good.

But break, my heart,

for I must hold my tongue.

Hail to your lordship!

I am glad to see thee well.

Horatio!

Or I do forget myself!

The same, my lord,

and your poor servant ever.

Sir, my good friend,

I'll change that name with you.

And what make you from

Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?

My good lord. I am very glad

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes