Reading Help HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK
`
` Capt. `
` They are of Norway, sir. `
` `
` Ham. `
` How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? `
` `
` Capt. `
` Against some part of Poland. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Who commands them, sir? `
` `
` Capt. `
` The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, `
` Or for some frontier? `
` `
` Capt. `
` Truly to speak, and with no addition, `
` We go to gain a little patch of ground `
` That hath in it no profit but the name. `
` To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; `
` Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole `
` A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Why, then the Polack never will defend it. `
` `
` Capt. `
` Yes, it is already garrison'd. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats `
` Will not debate the question of this straw: `
` This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace, `
` That inward breaks, and shows no cause without `
` Why the man dies.--I humbly thank you, sir. `
` `
` Capt. `
` God b' wi' you, sir. `
` `
` [Exit.] `
` `
` Ros. `
` Will't please you go, my lord? `
` `
` Ham. `
` I'll be with you straight. Go a little before. `
` `
` [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] `
` `
` How all occasions do inform against me `
` And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, `
` If his chief good and market of his time `
` Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. `
` Sure he that made us with such large discourse, `
` Looking before and after, gave us not `
` That capability and godlike reason `
` To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be `
` Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple `
` Of thinking too precisely on the event,-- `
` A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom `
` And ever three parts coward,--I do not know `
` Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;' `
` Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means `
` To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: `
` Witness this army, of such mass and charge, `
` Led by a delicate and tender prince; `
` Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, `
` Makes mouths at the invisible event; `
` Exposing what is mortal and unsure `
` To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, `
` Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great `
` Is not to stir without great argument, `
` But greatly to find quarrel in a straw `
` When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then, `
` That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, `
` Excitements of my reason and my blood, `
` And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see `
` The imminent death of twenty thousand men `
` That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, `
` Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot `
` Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, `
` Which is not tomb enough and continent `
` To hide the slain?--O, from this time forth, `
` My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! `
` `
` [Exit.] `
` `
` `
` `
` Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. `
` `
` [Enter Queen and Horatio.] `
` `
` Queen. `
` I will not speak with her. `
` `
` Gent. `
` She is importunate; indeed distract: `
` Her mood will needs be pitied. `
` `
` Queen. `
` What would she have? `
` `
` Gent. `
` She speaks much of her father; says she hears `
` There's tricks i' the world, and hems, and beats her heart; `
` Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, `
` That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, `
` Yet the unshaped use of it doth move `
` The hearers to collection; they aim at it, `
` And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; `
` Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, `
` Indeed would make one think there might be thought, `
` Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. `
` 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew `
` Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Let her come in. `
` `
` [Exit Horatio.] `
` `
` To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, `
` Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss: `
` So full of artless jealousy is guilt, `
` It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. `
` `
` [Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia.] `
` `
` Oph. `
` Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? `
` `
` Queen. `
` How now, Ophelia? `
` `
` Oph. [Sings.] `
` How should I your true love know `
` From another one? `
` By his cockle bat and' staff `
` And his sandal shoon. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? `
` `
` Oph. `
` Say you? nay, pray you, mark. `
` [Sings.] `
` He is dead and gone, lady, `
` He is dead and gone; `
` At his head a grass green turf, `
` At his heels a stone. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Nay, but Ophelia-- `
` `
` Oph. `
` Pray you, mark. `
` [Sings.] `
` White his shroud as the mountain snow, `
` `
` [Enter King.] `
` `
` Queen. `
` Alas, look here, my lord! `
` `
` Oph. `
` [Sings.] `
` Larded all with sweet flowers; `
` Which bewept to the grave did go `
` With true-love showers. `
` `
` King. `
` How do you, pretty lady? `
` `
` Oph. `
` Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. `
` Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at `
` your table! `
` `
` King. `
` Conceit upon her father. `
` `
` Oph. `
` Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what `
` it means, say you this: `
` [Sings.] `
` To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day `
` All in the morning bedtime, `
` And I a maid at your window, `
` To be your Valentine. `
` `
` Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes, `
` And dupp'd the chamber door, `
` Let in the maid, that out a maid `
` Never departed more. `
` `
`
` Capt. `
` They are of Norway, sir. `
` `
` Ham. `
` How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? `
` `
` Capt. `
` Against some part of Poland. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Who commands them, sir? `
` `
` Capt. `
` The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, `
` Or for some frontier? `
` `
` Capt. `
` Truly to speak, and with no addition, `
` We go to gain a little patch of ground `
` That hath in it no profit but the name. `
` To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; `
` Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole `
` A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Why, then the Polack never will defend it. `
` `
` Capt. `
` Yes, it is already garrison'd. `
` `
` Ham. `
` Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats `
` Will not debate the question of this straw: `
` This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace, `
` That inward breaks, and shows no cause without `
` Why the man dies.--I humbly thank you, sir. `
` `
` Capt. `
` God b' wi' you, sir. `
` `
` [Exit.] `
` `
` Ros. `
` Will't please you go, my lord? `
` `
` Ham. `
` I'll be with you straight. Go a little before. `
` `
` [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] `
` `
` How all occasions do inform against me `
` And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, `
` If his chief good and market of his time `
` Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. `
` Sure he that made us with such large discourse, `
` Looking before and after, gave us not `
` That capability and godlike reason `
` To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be `
` Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple `
` Of thinking too precisely on the event,-- `
` A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom `
` And ever three parts coward,--I do not know `
` Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;' `
` Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means `
` To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: `
` Witness this army, of such mass and charge, `
` Led by a delicate and tender prince; `
` Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, `
` Makes mouths at the invisible event; `
` Exposing what is mortal and unsure `
` To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, `
` Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great `
` Is not to stir without great argument, `
` But greatly to find quarrel in a straw `
` When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then, `
` That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, `
` Excitements of my reason and my blood, `
` And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see `
` The imminent death of twenty thousand men `
` That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, `
` Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot `
` Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, `
` Which is not tomb enough and continent `
` To hide the slain?--O, from this time forth, `
` My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! `
` `
` [Exit.] `
` `
` `
` `
` Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. `
` `
` [Enter Queen and Horatio.] `
` `
` Queen. `
` I will not speak with her. `
` `
` Gent. `
` She is importunate; indeed distract: `
` Her mood will needs be pitied. `
` `
` Queen. `
` What would she have? `
` `
` Gent. `
` She speaks much of her father; says she hears `
` There's tricks i' the world, and hems, and beats her heart; `
` Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, `
` That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, `
` Yet the unshaped use of it doth move `
` The hearers to collection; they aim at it, `
` And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; `
` Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, `
` Indeed would make one think there might be thought, `
` Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. `
` 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew `
` Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Let her come in. `
` `
` [Exit Horatio.] `
` `
` To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, `
` Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss: `
` So full of artless jealousy is guilt, `
` It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. `
` `
` [Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia.] `
` `
` Oph. `
` Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? `
` `
` Queen. `
` How now, Ophelia? `
` `
` Oph. [Sings.] `
` How should I your true love know `
` From another one? `
` By his cockle bat and' staff `
` And his sandal shoon. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? `
` `
` Oph. `
` Say you? nay, pray you, mark. `
` [Sings.] `
` He is dead and gone, lady, `
` He is dead and gone; `
` At his head a grass green turf, `
` At his heels a stone. `
` `
` Queen. `
` Nay, but Ophelia-- `
` `
` Oph. `
` Pray you, mark. `
` [Sings.] `
` White his shroud as the mountain snow, `
` `
` [Enter King.] `
` `
` Queen. `
` Alas, look here, my lord! `
` `
` Oph. `
` [Sings.] `
` Larded all with sweet flowers; `
` Which bewept to the grave did go `
` With true-love showers. `
` `
` King. `
` How do you, pretty lady? `
` `
` Oph. `
` Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. `
` Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at `
` your table! `
` `
` King. `
` Conceit upon her father. `
` `
` Oph. `
` Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what `
` it means, say you this: `
` [Sings.] `
` To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day `
` All in the morning bedtime, `
` And I a maid at your window, `
` To be your Valentine. `
` `
` Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes, `
` And dupp'd the chamber door, `
` Let in the maid, that out a maid `
` Never departed more. `
` `
`