Franco Zeffirelli: The Art of Entertainment Page #4

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I say, away!

Go on, I'll follow thee.

- My lord.

- My lord Hamlet!

My lord!

I am thy father's spirit...

doomed for a certain term

to walk the night...

and for the day confined to fast in fires.

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.

List.

If thou didst ever thy dear father love...

revenge his foul

and most unnatural murder.

Murder?

Murder most foul, as in the best it is.

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

'Tis given out...

that sleeping in my orchard,

a serpent stung me.

But know, thou noble youth...

the serpent that did sting thy father's life

now wears his crown.

O my prophetic soul!

My uncle.

Ay, that incestuous,

that adulterate beast...

with witchcraft of his wit,

with traitorous gifts...

won to his shameful lust...

the will

of my most seeming-virtuous queen.

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 mine ears

did pour the leprous distilment.

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...

no reckoning made...

but sent to my account

with all my imperfections on my head.

Oh, 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 damned incest.

But, howsoever thou pursuest 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 glow-worm

shows the matin to be near...

and begins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Adieu.

Remember me.

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...

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, damned villain!

My tables, meet it is I set it down.

That one may smile...

and smile...

and be a villain!

So, uncle...

there you are.

Now to my word.

It is, "Adieu, adieu.

"Remember me."

I have sworn it.

So be it.

Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!

Hillo, ho, ho, boy. Come, bird, come.

What news?

- No, you will reveal it.

- Not I, my lord, by heaven.

There's never a villain dwelling

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