William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

LAERTES.

Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,

It could not move thus.

OPHELIA.

You must sing ‘Down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.’ O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s daughter.

LAERTES.

This nothing’s more than matter.

OPHELIA.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.

LAERTES.

A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

OPHELIA.

There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you; and here’s some for me. We may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end.

[ Sings. ] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

LAERTES.

Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself

She turns to favour and to prettiness.

OPHELIA.

[ Sings. ] And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death-bed, He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,

All flaxen was his poll.

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan.

God ha’ mercy on his soul.

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b’ wi’ ye.

[ Exit. ]

LAERTES.

Do you see this, O God?

KING.

Laertes, I must commune with your grief,

Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,

And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me.

If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch’d, we will our kingdom give,

Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours

To you in satisfaction; but if not,

Be you content to lend your patience to us,

And we shall jointly labour with your soul

To give it due content.

LAERTES.

Let this be so;

His means of death, his obscure burial,—

No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones,

No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,—

Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth,

That I must call’t in question.

KING.

So you shall.

And where th’offence is let the great axe fall.

I pray you go with me.

[ Exeunt. ]

Enter HORATIO and a SERVANT.

HORATIO.

What are they that would speak with me?

SERVANT.

Sailors, sir. They say they have letters for you.

HORATIO.

Let them come in.

[ Exit SERVANT. ]

I do not know from what part of the world

I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.

Enter SAILORS.

FIRST SAILOR.

God bless you, sir.

HORATIO.

Let him bless thee too.

FIRST SAILOR.

He shall, sir, and’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir. It comes from th’ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

HORATIO.

[ Reads. ] ‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy. But they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England: of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.’

Come, I will give you way for these your letters,

And do’t the speedier, that you may direct me

To him from whom you brought them.

[ Exeunt. ]

Enter KING and LAERTES.

KING.

Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,

And you must put me in your heart for friend,

Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,

That he which hath your noble father slain

Pursu’d my life.

LAERTES.

It well appears. But tell me

Why you proceeded not against these feats,

So crimeful and so capital in nature,

As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,

You mainly were stirr’d up.

KING.

O, for two special reasons,

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d,

But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother

Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,—

My virtue or my plague, be it either which,—

She’s so conjunctive to my life and soul,

That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,

I could not but by her. The other motive,

Why to a public count I might not go,

Is the great love the general gender bear him,

Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,

Would like the spring that turneth wood to stone,

Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,

Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind,

Would have reverted to my bow again,

And not where I had aim’d them.

LAERTES.

And so have I a noble father lost,

A sister driven into desperate terms,

Whose worth, if praises may go back again,

Stood challenger on mount of all the age

For her perfections. But my revenge will come.

KING.

Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull

That we can let our beard be shook with danger,

And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.

I lov’d your father, and we love ourself,

And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine—

Enter a MESSENGER.

How now? What news?

MESSENGER.

Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.

This to your Majesty; this to the Queen.

KING.

From Hamlet! Who brought them?

MESSENGER.

Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.

They were given me by Claudio. He receiv’d them

Of him that brought them.

KING.

Laertes, you shall hear them.

Leave us.

[ Exit MESSENGER. ]

[ Reads. ] ‘High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your kingdom. Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes. When I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my sudden and more strange return. HAMLET.’

What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?

Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?

LAERTES.

Know you the hand?

KING.

’Tis Hamlet’s character. ’Naked!’

And in a postscript here he says ‘alone.’

Can you advise me?

LAERTES.

I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come,

It warms the very sickness in my heart

That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,

‘Thus diest thou.’

KING.

If it be so, Laertes,—

As how should it be so? How otherwise?—

Will you be rul’d by me?

LAERTES.

Ay, my lord;

So you will not o’errule me to a peace.

KING.

To thine own peace. If he be now return’d,

As checking at his voyage, and that he means

No more to undertake it, I will work him

To exploit, now ripe in my device,

Under the which he shall not choose but fall;

And for his death no wind shall breathe,