Another Part of the Platform. |
|
Enter Ghost and HAMLET. |
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further. |
Ghost. Mark me. |
Ham. I will. |
Ghost. My hour is almost come, |
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames |
Must render up myself. |
Ham. Alas! poor ghost. |
Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing |
To what I shall unfold. |
Ham Speak; I am bound to hear. |
Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. |
Ham. What? |
Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; |
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, |
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires, |
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature |
Are burnt and purg'd away. 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, freeze thy young blood, |
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, |
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, |
And each particular hair to stand an end, |
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: |
But this eternal blazon must not be |
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list! |
If thou didst ever thy dear father love— |
Ham. O God! |
Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. |
Ham. Murder! |
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; |
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. |
Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift |
As meditation or the thoughts of love, |
May sweep to my revenge. |
Ghost. I find thee apt; |
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed |
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, |
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: |
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, |
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark |
Is by a forged process of my death |
Rankly abus'd; but know, thou noble youth, |
The serpent that did sting thy father's life |
Now wears his crown. |
Ham. O my prophetic soul! |
My uncle! |
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, |
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,— |
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power |
So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust |
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen. |
O Hamlet! what a falling-off was there; |
From me, whose love was of that dignity |
That it went hand in hand even with the vow |
I made to her in marriage; and to decline |
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor |
To those of mine! |
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, |
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, |
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, |
Will sate itself in a celestial bed, |
And prey on garbage. |
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; |
Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard, |
My custom always in 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 leperous distilment; whose effect |
Holds such an enmity with blood of man |
That swift as quicksilver it courses through |
The natural gates and alleys of the body, |
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset |
And curd, like eager droppings into milk, |
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine; |
And a most instant tetter bark'd about, |
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, |
All my smooth body. |
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, |
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd; |
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, |
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, |
No reckoning made, but sent to my account |
With all my imperfections on my head: |
O, horrible! O, 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 pursu'st 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 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire; |
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit. |
Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? |
And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, hold, my heart! |
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, |
But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee! |
Ay, thou poor ghost, while 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, |
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, |
That youth and observation copied there; |
And thy commandment all alone shall live |
Within the book and volume of my brain, |
Unmix'd 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; |
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark: [Writing. |
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; |
It is, 'Adieu, adieu! remember me. |
I have sworn't. |
Hor. [Within.] My lord! my lord! |
Mar. [Within.] Lord Hamlet! |
Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him! |
Mar. [Within.] So be it! |
Hor. [Within.] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord! |
Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. |
|
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS. |
Mar. How is't, my noble lord? |
Hor. What news, my lord? |
Ham. O! wonderful. |
Hor. Good my lord, tell it. |
Ham. No; you will reveal it. |
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven! |
Mar Nor I, my lord. |
Ham. How say you, then; would heart of man once think it? |
But you'll be secret? |
Hor. & Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. |
Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark, |
But he's an arrant knave. |
Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave, |
To tell us this. |
Ham. Why, right; you are i' the right; |
And so, without more circumstance at all, |
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part; |
You, as your business and desire shall point you,— |
For every man hath business and desire, |
Such as it is,—and, for mine own poor part, |
Look you, I'll go pray. |
Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. |
Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; |
Yes, faith, heartily. |
Hor. There's no offence, my lord. |
Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, |
And much offence, too. Touching this vision here, |
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you; |
For your desire to know what is between us, |
O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends, |
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, |
Give me one poor request. |
Hor. What is't, my lord? we will. |
Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. |
Hor. & Mar. My lord, we will not. |
Ham. Nay, but swear't. |
Hor. In faith, |
My lord, not I. |
Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. |
Ham. Upon my sword. |
Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. |
Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. |
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. |
Ham. Ah, ha, boy! sayst thou so? art thou there, true-penny? |
Come on,—you hear this fellow in the cellar-age,— |
Consent to swear. |
Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. |
Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, |
Swear by my sword. |
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. |
Ham. Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground. |
Come hither, gentlemen, |
And lay your hands again upon my sword: |
Never to speak of this that you have heard, |
Swear by my sword. |
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. |
Ham. Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast? |
A worthy pioner! once more remove, good friends. |
Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! |
Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. |
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, |
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. |
But come; |
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, |
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, |
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet |
To put an antic disposition on, |
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, |
With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, |
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, |
As, 'Well, well, we know,' or, 'We could, an if we would;' |
Or, 'If we list to speak,' or, 'There be, an if they might;' |
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note |
That you know aught of me: this not to do, |
So grace and mercy at your most need help you, |
Swear. |
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. [They swear. |
Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen, |
With all my love I do commend me to you: |
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is |
May do, to express his love and friending to you, |
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; |
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. |
The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, |
That ever I was born to set it right! |
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. |
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