William Shakespeare - Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band - Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch)

HAM.

Good.

KING.

So is it, if thou knew’st our purposes.

HAM.

I see a cherub that sees them.—But, come; for England!—

Farewell, dear mother.

KING.

Thy loving father, Hamlet.

Ham. My mother: father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother.—Come, for England!

[Exit.]

KING.

Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;

Delay it not; I’ll have him hence tonight:

Away! for everything is seal’d and done

That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

And, England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,—

As my great power thereof may give thee sense,

Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red

After the Danish sword, and thy free awe

Pays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set

Our sovereign process; which imports at full,

By letters conjuring to that effect,

The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;

For like the hectic in my blood he rages,

And thou must cure me: till I know ‘tis done,

Howe’er my haps, my joys were ne’er begun.

[Exit.]

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A plain in Denmark.

[Enter Fortinbras, and Forces marching.]

FOR.

Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king:

Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras

Craves the conveyance of a promis’d march

Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.

If that his majesty would aught with us,

We shall express our duty in his eye;

And let him know so.

CAPT.

I will do’t, my lord.

FOR.

Go softly on.

[Exeunt all For. and Forces.]

[Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, &c.]

HAM.

Good sir, whose powers are these?

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.]

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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.]

Tomorrow 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.

KING.

Pretty Ophelia!

OPH.

Indeed, la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t:

[Sings.]

By Gis and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do’t if they come to’t;

By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me,

You promis’d me to wed.