Hamlet Page #3
- PG
- Year:
- 2009
- 180 min
- 1,412 Views
'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,
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
But the great cannon
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,
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
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"Hamlet" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 May 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/hamlet_9521>.
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