Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition) Read online

  Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition)

  William Shakespeare

  The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, or more simply Hamlet, is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written between 1599 and 1601. The play, set in Denmark, recounts how Prince Hamlet exacts revenge on his uncle Claudius, who has murdered Hamlet's father, the King, and then taken the throne and married Gertrude, Hamlet's mother. The play vividly charts the course of real and feigned madness—from overwhelming grief to seething rage—and explores themes of treachery, revenge, incest, and moral corruption.

  HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

  by William Shakespeare

  PERSONS REPRESENTED.

  Claudius, King of Denmark.

  Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the present King.

  Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.

  Horatio, Friend to Hamlet.

  Laertes, Son to Polonius.

  Voltimand, Courtier.

  Cornelius, Courtier.

  Rosencrantz, Courtier.

  Guildenstern, Courtier.

  Osric, Courtier.

  A Gentleman, Courtier.

  A Priest.

  Marcellus, Officer.

  Bernardo, Officer.

  Francisco, a Soldier

  Reynaldo, Servant to Polonius.

  Players.

  Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.

  Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.

  A Captain.

  English Ambassadors.

  Ghost of Hamlet's Father.

  Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother of Hamlet.

  Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius.

  Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and other

  Attendants.

  SCENE. Elsinore.

  ACT I.

  Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.

  [ Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo.]

  Ber.

  Who's there?

  Fran.

  Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.

  Ber.

  Long live the king!

  Fran.

  Bernardo?

  Ber.

  He.

  Fran.

  You come most carefully upon your hour.

  Ber.

  'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

  Fran.

  For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,

  And I am sick at heart.

  Ber.

  Have you had quiet guard?

  Fran.

  Not a mouse stirring.

  Ber.

  Well, good night.

  If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

  The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

  Fran.

  I think I hear them.--Stand, ho! Who is there?

  [Enter Horatio and Marcellus.]

  Hor.

  Friends to this ground.

  Mar.

  And liegemen to the Dane.

  Fran.

  Give you good-night.

  Mar.

  O, farewell, honest soldier;

  Who hath reliev'd you?

  Fran.

  Bernardo has my place.

  Give you good-night.

  [Exit.]

  Mar.

  Holla! Bernardo!

  Ber.

  Say.

  What, is Horatio there?

  Hor.

  A piece of him.

  Ber.

  Welcome, Horatio:--Welcome, good Marcellus.

  Mar.

  What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

  Ber.

  I have seen nothing.

  Mar.

  Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,

  And will not let belief take hold of him

  Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:

  Therefore I have entreated him along

  With us to watch the minutes of this night;

  That, if again this apparition come

  He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

  Hor.

  Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

  Ber.

  Sit down awhile,

  And let us once again assail your ears,

  That are so fortified against our story,

  What we two nights have seen.

  Hor.

  Well, sit we down,

  And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

  Ber.

  Last night of all,

  When yond same star that's westward from the pole

  Had made his course to illume that part of heaven

  Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,

  The bell then beating one,--

  Mar.

  Peace, break thee off; look where it comes again!

  [Enter Ghost, armed.]

  Ber.

  In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

  Mar.

  Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

  Ber.

  Looks it not like the King? mark it, Horatio.

  Hor.

  Most like:--it harrows me with fear and wonder.

  Ber.

  It would be spoke to.

  Mar.

  Question it, Horatio.

  Hor.

  What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,

  Together with that fair and warlike form

  In which the majesty of buried Denmark

  Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!

  Mar.

  It is offended.

  Ber.

  See, it stalks away!

  Hor.

  Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!

  [Exit Ghost.]

  Mar.

  'Tis gone, and will not answer.

  Ber.

  How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale:

  Is not this something more than fantasy?

  What think you on't?

  Hor.

  Before my God, I might not this believe

  Without the sensible and true avouch

  Of mine own eyes.

  Mar.

  Is it not like the King?

  Hor.

  As thou art to thyself:

  Such was the very armour he had on

  When he the ambitious Norway combated;

  So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle,

  He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.

  'Tis strange.

  Mar.

  Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,

  With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

  Hor.

  In what particular thought to work I know not;

  But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,

  This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

  Mar.

  Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,

  Why this same strict and most observant watch

  So nightly toils the subject of the land;

  And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,

  And foreign mart for implements of war;

  Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task

  Does not divide the Sunday from the week;

  What might be toward, that this sweaty haste

  Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:

  Who is't that can inform me?

  Hor.

  That can I;

  At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,

  Whose image even but now appear'd to us,

  Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,

  Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
<
br />   Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet,--

  For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,--

  Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact,

  Well ratified by law and heraldry,

  Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,

  Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror:

  Against the which, a moiety competent

  Was gaged by our king; which had return'd

  To the inheritance of Fortinbras,

  Had he been vanquisher; as by the same cov'nant,

  And carriage of the article design'd,

  His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,

  Of unimproved mettle hot and full,

  Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,

  Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,

  For food and diet, to some enterprise

  That hath a stomach in't; which is no other,--

  As it doth well appear unto our state,--

  But to recover of us, by strong hand,

  And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands

  So by his father lost: and this, I take it,

  Is the main motive of our preparations,

  The source of this our watch, and the chief head

  Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

  Ber.

  I think it be no other but e'en so:

  Well may it sort, that this portentous figure

  Comes armed through our watch; so like the king

  That was and is the question of these wars.

  Hor.

  A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.

  In the most high and palmy state of Rome,

  A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

  The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead

  Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;

  As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,

  Disasters in the sun; and the moist star,

  Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,

  Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:

  And even the like precurse of fierce events,--

  As harbingers preceding still the fates,

  And prologue to the omen coming on,--

  Have heaven and earth together demonstrated

  Unto our climature and countrymen.--

  But, soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

  [Re-enter Ghost.]

  I'll cross it, though it blast me.--Stay, illusion!

  If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,

  Speak to me:

  If there be any good thing to be done,

  That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,

  Speak to me:

  If thou art privy to thy country's fate,

  Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,

  O, speak!

  Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life

  Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,

  For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,

  [The cock crows.]

  Speak of it:--stay, and speak!--Stop it, Marcellus!

  Mar.

  Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

  Hor.

  Do, if it will not stand.

  Ber.

  'Tis here!

  Hor.

  'Tis here!

  Mar.

  'Tis gone!

  [Exit Ghost.]

  We do it wrong, being so majestical,

  To offer it the show of violence;

  For it is, as the air, invulnerable,

  And our vain blows malicious mockery.

  Ber.

  It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

  Hor.

  And then it started, like a guilty thing

  Upon a fearful summons. I have heard

  The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,

  Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat

  Awake the god of day; and at his warning,

  Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,

  The extravagant and erring spirit hies

  To his confine: and of the truth herein

  This present object made probation.

  Mar.

  It faded on the crowing of the cock.

  Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes

  Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

  The bird of dawning singeth all night long;

  And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad;

  The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

  No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;

  So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

  Hor.

  So have I heard, and do in part believe it.

  But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

  Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:

  Break we our watch up: and by my advice,

  Let us impart what we have seen to-night

  Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,

  This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:

  Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,

  As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

  Mar.

  Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know

  Where we shall find him most conveniently.

  [Exeunt.]

  Scene II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle.

  [ Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, and Attendant.]

  King.

  Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

  The memory be green, and that it us befitted

  To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom

  To be contracted in one brow of woe;

  Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

  That we with wisest sorrow think on him,

  Together with remembrance of ourselves.

  Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,

  Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state,

  Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--

  With an auspicious and one dropping eye,

  With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,

  In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--

  Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd

  Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone

  With this affair along:--or all, our thanks.

  Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,

  Holding a weak supposal of our worth,

  Or thinking by our late dear brother's death

  Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,

  Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,

  He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,

  Importing the surrender of those lands

  Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,

  To our most valiant brother. So much for him,--

  Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:

  Thus much the business is:--we have here writ

  To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,--

  Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears

  Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress

  His further gait herein; in that the levies,

  The lists, and full proportions are all made

  Out of his subject:--and we here dispatch

  You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,

  For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;

  Giving to you no further personal power

  To business with the king, more than the scope

  Of these dilated articles allow.

  Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.

  Cor. and Volt.

  In that and all things will we show our duty.

  King.

  We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

  [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.]

  And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?

  You told u
s of some suit; what is't, Laertes?

  You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

  And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,

  That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?

  The head is not more native to the heart,

  The hand more instrumental to the mouth,

  Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.

  What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

  Laer.

  Dread my lord,

  Your leave and favour to return to France;

  From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,

  To show my duty in your coronation;

  Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

  My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,

  And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

  King.

  Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?

  Pol.

  He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave

  By laboursome petition; and at last

  Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:

  I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

  King.

  Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,

  And thy best graces spend it at thy will!--

  But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son--

  Ham.

  [Aside.] A little more than kin, and less than kind!

  King.

  How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

  Ham.

  Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.

  Queen.

  Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,

  And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.