The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Уильям Шекспир

          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 murther.

        Ham. Murther?

        Ghost. Murther 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 my 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 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 my ears did pour

          The leperous distilment; whose effect

          Holds such an enmity with blood of man

          That swift as quicksilverr 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,

          Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd,

          No reckoning made, but sent to my account

          With all my imperfections on my head.

        Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

        Ghost. 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 glowworm shows the matin to be near

          And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

          Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me. Exit.

      Enter Horatio and Marcellus.