Hamlet - Prince of Denmark (Wisehouse Classics Edition). William Shakespeare

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break thee off; look, where it comes again!BernardoIn the same figure, like the king that’s dead.MarcellusThou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.BernardoLooks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.HoratioMost like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.BernardoIt would be spoke to.MarcellusQuestion it, Horatio.HoratioWhat art thou that usurp’st this time of night,Together with that fair and warlike formIn which the majesty of buried DenmarkDid sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!MarcellusIt is offended.BernardoSee, it stalks away!

HoratioExit Ghost	Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
Marcellus	’Tis gone, and will not answer.
Bernardo	How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:Is not this something more than fantasy?What think you on’t?
Horatio	Before my God, I might not this believeWithout the sensible and true avouchOf mine own eyes.
Marcellus	Is it not like the king?
Horatio	As thou art to thyself:Such was the very armour he had onWhen 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.
Marcellus	Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
Horatio	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.
Marcellus	Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,Why this same strict and most observant watchSo 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 taskDoes not divide the Sunday from the week;What might be toward, that this sweaty hasteDoth make the night joint-labourer with the day:Who is’t that can inform me?
Horatio	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,Dared to the combat; in which our valiant HamletFor so this side of our known world esteem’d him —Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal’d compact,

Bernardo	Well ratified by law and heraldry,Did forfeit, with his life, all those his landsWhich he stood seized of, to the conqueror:Against the which, a moiety competentWas gaged by our king; which had return’dTo the inheritance of Fortinbras,Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,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 thereShark’d up a list of lawless resolutes,For food and diet, to some enterpriseThat hath a stomach in’t; which is no other —As it doth well appear unto our state —But to recover of us, by strong handAnd terms compulsatory, those foresaid landsSo 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 headOf this post-haste and romage in the land.I think it be no other but e’en so:
Horatio	Well may it sort that this portentous figureComes armed through our watch; so like the kingThat was and is the question of these wars.A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.
Re-enter Ghost	In the most high and palmy state of Rome,A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted deadDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,Disasters in the sun; and the moist starUpon whose influence Neptune’s empire standsWas sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:And even the like precurse of fierce events,As harbingers preceding still the fatesAnd prologue to the omen coming on,Have heaven and earth together demonstratedUnto our climatures and countrymen. —But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

	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 grace to me,Speak to me:
Cock crows
	If thou art privy to thy country’s fate,Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy lifeExtorted treasure in the womb of earth,For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
Marcellus	Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
Horatio	Do, if it will not stand.
Bernardo	’Tis here!
Horatio	’Tis here!
Marcellus	’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.
Bernardo	It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Horatio	And then it started like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons. I have heard,The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day; and, at his warning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,The extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine: and of the truth hereinThis present object made probation.
Marcellus	It faded on the crowing of the cock.Some say that ever ’gainst that season comesWherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,The bird of dawning singeth all night long:And then, they say, no spirit dares 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.
Horatio	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?
Marcellus	Let’s do’t, I pray; and I this morning know
	Where we shall find him most conveniently.
Exeunt

Scene II. a room of state in the castle.

Enter King Claudius, Queen Gertrude, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand,
Cornelius, Lords, and Attendants
King Claudius	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,
	The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
	Have we, as ’twere with a defeated joy —
	With an auspicious and a 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. For 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 the 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, Скачать книгу