All language subtitles for [English kdkssktse

HAMLET

Based on the tragedy by
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Screenplay and Direction by
Grigory KOZINTSEV

Director
I. SHAPIRO

Director of Photography
I. GRITSUS

Production Designers: Ye. YENEY
G. KROPACHEV, S. VIRSALADZE

Music by
DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH

Cast:

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark -
I. SMOKTUNOVSKY

King... M. NAZVANOV
Queen... E. RADZIN

Polonius... Yu. TOLUBEYEV
Ophelia... A. VERTINSKAYA

Horatio... V. ERENBERG

Laertes... S. OLEKSENKO

Guildenstern... V. MEDVEDEV
Rosencrantz... I. DMITRIYEV

Fortinbras, Prince of Norway -
A. KREVALD

Grave-digger... V. KOLPAKOV
First Player... A. CHEKAYEVSKY

Second Player... R. AREN
Third Player... Yu. BERKUN

Priest... A. LAUTER

Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's
death

The memory be green,

Yet so far has discretion fought with
nature,

That we with wisest sorrow think
of him,

Together with remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister,
now our queen,

Have we, as it were with a defeated
joy,

In equal scale weighing delight and
dole,

Taken to wife.

With a defeated joy... In equal scale

weighing delight and dole...

Nor have we herein barred

Your better wisdoms,

...which have freely gone
With this affair along.

For all, our thanks.

Now follows. Young Fortinbras,

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 has not failed to pester us with
message,

Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father.

We have here writ

To Norway, uncle of Fortinbras,

Who, impotent and bed-ridden, scarcely
Hears of this his nephew's purpose,

To suppress his further gait herein.

And now, Laertes, what's the news
with you?

You told us of some suit.
What is it, Laertes?

The head is not more native to
the heart,

The hand more instrumental to
the mouth,

Than is the throne of Denmark to
thy father.

What wouldst thou have?

Dread my lord, your leave and
Favour to return to France,

From whence though willingly I came
To show my duty in your coronation.

Yet now, that duty done, my thoughts
And wishes bend again toward France,

And bow them to your gracious
leave and pardon.

Take thy fair hour, Laertes.

But now, my cousin Hamlet,
and my son.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted
colour off,

And let thine eye look like a friend
on Denmark.

Do not forever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

You know it is common... all that live
must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ay, madam, it is common.

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Seems, madam, nay; it is.

I know not 'seems'.

We pray you, throw to earth this woe.

For let the world take note, you're
The most immediate to our throne.

For your intent

In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire.

Let not thy mother lose her prayers:

Stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.

I shall in all my best obey you,
madam.

Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.

This gentle and unforced accord of
Hamlet sits smiling to my heart,

In grace whereof, no jocund health
That Denmark drinks today,

But the great cannon to the clouds
shall tell;

And the king's rouse the heaven shall
bruit again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder.

Long live the king!

Come away.

How weary, stale, flat, and
unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses
of this world!

Fie on it!

O, fie!

'Tis an unweeded garden,
that grows to seed.

That it should come to this!

But two months dead!

Nay, not so much, not two.

And yet, within a month...

Let me not think on it.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

A little month! Or ever those shoes
were old

With which she followed my father's
body, Like Niobe, all tears.

Why she, even she...

It is not nor it cannot come to good.

But break, my heart, for I must hold
my tongue!

Hail to your lordship!

Horatio!

Your poor servant ever.

Sir, my good friend!
I'll change that name with you.

And what make you
from Wittenberg?

- Marcellus?
- My good lord.

I am very glad to see you.
Good even, sir.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep.

I came to see your father's funeral.

Do not mock me, fellow-student.

I think it was to see my mother's
wedding.

Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio!

The funeral baked meats did coldly
Furnish forth the marriage tables.

My father...

Methinks I see my father.

O, where, my lord?

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

I saw him once, he was a goodly king.

He was a man,
take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

My lord, I think

I saw him yesternight.

Saw? Who?

The king.

Your father.

The king my father!

Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear,

Till I may deliver,

Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

This marvel to you.

For God's love, let me hear!

Two nights together had these
gentlemen,

Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead vast and middle of
the night,

Been thus encountered.

A figure like your father,

Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe,

Appears before them, and with solemn
march

Goes slowly and stately by them.

And I with them the third night kept
the watch,

Where, as they had delivered,
Both in time, form of the thing,

The apparition comes.
As I do live, my lord, 'tis true.

Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this
troubles me.

- Hold you the watch tonight?
- We do, my lord.

I will watch tonight.

- Perchance 'twill walk again.
- I warrant it will.

I'll speak to it, though hell itself
Should gape and bid me hold my peace.

I pray you all,

If you have hitherto concealed this,
Let it be so still.

'Twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

Our duty to your honour.

Your loves, as mine to you.

Farewell.

My father's spirit in arms!

All is not well!

I doubt some foul play.

Would the night were come!

Till then sit still, my soul!

Foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth overwhelm them,

To men's eyes.

My necessaries are embarked. Farewell.

And, sister, as the winds give benefit,

Do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Do you doubt that?

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his
favour,

Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood.
No more.

- No more but so?
- Think it no more.

Fear it, Ophelia, my dear sister,

And keep you in the rear of your
affection, out of the shot of desire.

Yet here, Laertes?

There, my blessings with thee!

And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportioned thought
his act.

Be thou familiar,
but by no means vulgar.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not in fancy; rich, not gaudy.

For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

And they in France of the best rank
Are most select and generous in that.

Farewell, my blessing season this
in thee!

Most humbly do I take my leave.

The time invites you. Go,
your servants tend.

Farewell, Ophelia,

and remember well
What I have said to you.

'Tis in my memory locked,
And you yourself shall keep the key.

Farewell!

What is it, Ophelia, he has said
to you?

So please you, something touching
the Lord Hamlet.

Marry, well bethought.

'Tis told me, he has very oft of late
Given private time to you.

What is between you? Give me up
the truth.

He has, my lord, of late made many
tenders

Of his affection to me.

Affection! Pooh!
You speak like a green girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders,
as you call them?

I do not know what I should think.

Marry, I'll teach you:

Think yourself a baby,
That you have taken them for true pay.

Tender yourself more dearly.

My lord, he has importuned me
With love in honourable fashion.

Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to.

And's given countenance to his speech
With almost all the holy vows.

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks!

I know, when the blood burns, how
Prodigal the soul lends the vows.

For Hamlet, believe so much in him

That he's young, and with a larger
tether

May he walk than may be given you;
in few, do not believe his vows.

- I charge you: Come your ways.
- I shall obey, my lord.

Look, my lord, it comes!

Angels and ministers of grace
defend us!

It beckons you
to go away with it,

As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground.

- But do not go with it.
- No, by no means!

It will not speak here.
Go on! I'll follow thee.

- You shall not go, my lord.
- Hold off your hands!

Be ruled, you shall not go.

My fate cries out.
Unhand me, gentlemen!

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him
that lets me!

I say, away!

Go on. I'll follow you.

Something is rotten in the state of
Denmark.

Heaven will direct it.

Where wilt thou lead me? I'll go no
further.

Mark me.

I will.

And lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Speak, I'm bound to hear.

So art thou to revenge, when thou
shalt hear.

What?

List, list, O, list!

If thou did ever
Thy dear father love.

O God!

Revenge his foul and most unnatural
murder.

Murder!

Murder most foul, as in the best
it is,

But this most foul, strange and
unnatural.

'Tis given out that, sleeping in my
orchard,

A serpent stung me.

The whole Denmark is by a forged
Process of my death rankly abused.

But know,
thou noble youth,

The serpent that did sting thy
father's life

Now wears his crown.

O my prophetic soul!

- My uncle?
- Ay.

That adulterate beast won

To his shameful lust the will of my
queen.

But, soft!

Methinks I scent the morning air.

Brief let me be.

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,

And in my ear poured the distilment.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's
hand

Of life,

of crown,

of queen, at once dispatched.

O, horrible! O horrible! Most horrible!

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,

Not let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother.

Fare thee well at once!

The glow-worm

shows the morn to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Adieu,

adieu,

adieu! Remember me.

Remember me...

The time is out ofjoint. O cursed
spite,

That ever I was born to set it right!

Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.

Give him this money and these notes,
Reynaldo.

I will, my lord.

You shall do marvelous wisely, good
Reynaldo, before you visit him,

To make inquiry of his behaviour.

- God be with ye! Fare ye well!
- Good my lord!

Observe his inclination in yourself.

I shall, my lord.

And let him ply his music.

How now, Ophelia! What's the matter?

O, my lord, my lord!
I have been so affrighted!

With what, in the name of God?

As I was sewing in my chamber,
Lord Hamlet came...

Thou still has been the father of
good news.

Have I, my lord? Assure you I hold
my duty.

And I do think, or else this brain of
mine

Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath used to do,

That I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

I doubt it is no other but the main -

His father's death, and our overhasty
marriage.

My daughter, in her duty and obedience,
hath given me this.

"To the celestial and my soul's idol,
the most beautiful Ophelia"

Came this from Hamlet to her?

But how hath she received his love?

I went round to work, And my young
mistress thus I did bespeak:

"Lord Hamlet is a prince,
out of thy star."

She took the fruits of my advice,

And he, repulsed, a short tale to make,

Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,

Thence to a watch, thence into
a weakness,

Thence to a lightness, and, by this
Declension, into the madness.

Do you think 'tis this?

It may be.

Take this from this,
If this be otherwise.

- How may we try it further?
- You know,

Sometimes he walks four hours together
here.

At such a time I'll loose my daughter
to him. Be you and I behind an arras.

I'll board him presently.
O, give me leave.

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Well, God-a-mercy.

Do you know me, my lord?

Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.

Not I, my lord!

Then I would
you were so honest a man.

- Honest, my lord?
- Ay, sir.

To be honest, as this world goes,
is to be

one man picked out of ten thousand.

That's very true, my lord.

For if the sun...

...breed maggots
in a dead dog,

being a god

kissing carrion.

- Have you a daughter?
- I have, my lord.

Let her not walk in the sun.

Friend, look to it.

What do you read, my lord?

Words, words, words...

What is the matter, my lord?

Between who?

I mean, the matter
that you read, my lord.

Slanders.

The satirical rogue says here,
that old men have gray beards,

that their faces are wrinkled,

that they have a plentiful lack of
wit, together with most weak hams.

All which though I most potently
believe,

yet I hold it not honesty
to have it thus set down.

For yourself, sir, shall grow
old, as I am,

if, like a crab,
you could go backward.

Will you walk out
of the air, my lord?

Into my grave?

Indeed, that is out of the air.

My honourable lord, I will most
humbly take my leave of you.

Cannot take from me anything I'll more
willingly part with, except my life.

Except my life...

Except my life.

- My honoured lord!
- My most dear lord!

My excellent good friends!

How dost thou, Guildenstern?
Ah, Rosencrantz! How do ye both?

As the indifferent children of
the earth.

Happy, in that we're not overhappy:
On Fortune's cap we're not the button.

Nor the soles of her shoe?

- Neither, my lord.
- What's the news?

None, my lord, but that
the world's grown honest.

Then is doomsday near.

But your news is not true.

But what have you deserved
at the hands of Fortune,

that she sends you to prison hither?

- Prison, my lord?
- Denmark's a prison.

Then is the world one.

A goodly one, in which there're many
confines, wards, and dungeons,

Denmark being one of the worst.

We think not so, my lord.

Why, then, 'tis none to you,
for there is nothing

either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so.

To me it is a prison.

Shall we to the court?

For, by my fay, I cannot reason.

We'll follow you

and wait upon you, Prince.

No such matter!

I am most dreadfully attended
by my servants lately.

But, in the beaten way of friendship,
what make you at Elsinore?

To visit you, my lord.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in
thanks. But I thank you.

Were you not sent for?
Is it a free visitation?

Come, deal justly with me.

Come, come; nay, speak.

- What should we say, my lord?
- Why, anything, but to the purpose.

I know the good king and queen
have sent for you.

- To what end, my lord?
- That you must teach me.

But let me conjure you, by the rights
of our fellowship and love,

be even and direct with me:

Whether you were sent for, or no?

- My lord, we were sent for.
- I will tell you why.

So shall my anticipation
prevent your discovery,

and your secrecy to the king
and queen moult no feather.

I have of late -

but wherefore I know not -

lost all my mirth,

forgone all custom of exercises.

It goes so heavily with my disposition

that this goodly frame, the earth,

seems to me a sterile promontory,

this most excellent canopy, the air,
this brave overhanging firmament,

look you, this majestical roof

fretted with golden fire,

it appears no other thing to me than
a pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is man!

How noble in reason!

How infinite
in faculty!

In form and moving
how express and admirable!

In action how like an angel!

In apprehension how like a god!
The beauty of the world!

The paragon of animals!

And yet, to me, what is this
quintessence of dust?

Man delights not me,
no, nor woman neither,

though by your smiling
you seem to say so.

My lord, there was no such
stuff in my thoughts.

Why did you laugh, then, when I said
"man delights not me"?

I thought what lenten entertainment
the players shall receive from you.

We coted them on the way.

And hither are they coming,
to offer you service.

What players are they?

The tragedians of the city. Those you
were wont to take such delight in.

He that plays the king shall be
welcome.

The appurtenance of welcome
is fashion and ceremony.

Let me comply with you in this garb,
lest my extent to the players

should more appear like
entertainment than yours.

You are welcome to Elsinore,
gentlemen.

But my uncle-father and
aunt-mother are deceived.

In what, my dear lord?

I am but mad north-north-west.

When the wind is southerly I know
a hawk from a hand-saw.

You are welcome, masters.

Welcome, all!

O, my old friend!

Why, thy face is valanced
since I saw thee last!

Comest thou
to beard me in Denmark?

I am glad to see thee well!

Your ladyship
is nearer to heaven

than when I saw you last
by the altitude of a chopine.

Pray your voice, like a piece of
uncurrent gold, be not cracked.

Masters, you are all welcome.

Welcome, good friends.

We'll even to it like French falconers,

fly at any thing we see.
Give us a taste of your quality.

Come, a passionate speech.

What speech, my good lord?

I heard thee speak me a speech once,
'twas Aeneas' tale to Dido.

And especially where he speaks of
Priam's slaughter.

If it live in your memory,
begin at this line:

The rugged Pyrrhus, like
the Hyrcanian beast...

It is not so.

It begins with Pyrrhus.

...Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, black
As his purpose, did the night resemble...

That's good!

So, proceed you.

Anon he finds him

Striking too short at Greeks, his
antique sword,

Rebellious to his arm, lies where
it falls,

Repugnant to command. Unequal matcht,

Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage
strikes wide,

But with the whiff and wind of his
fell sword

The unnerved father falls.

This is too long.

It shall to the barber's,
with your beard.

Prithee, say on.

He's for a jig
or a tale of bawdry,

or he sleeps.

Say on.

Come to Hecuba.

But who, O, who had seen the mobled
queen...

Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning
the flames

With bisson rheum, a clout upon that
Head where late the diadem stood,

And for a robe about her lank and all
Over-teemed loins, a blanket.

Who this had seen,

With tongue in venom steeped,

'Gainst Fortune's state would treason
have pronounced!

But if the gods themselves did see
her then,

When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious
sport

In mincing with his sword her
husband's limbs,

The instant burst of clamour that she
made

Would have made milch the burning
eyes of heaven,

And passion in the gods.

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous,
that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of
passion,

Could force his soul so to his own
Conceit, that all his visage waned,

Tears in his eyes,
a broken voice,

And his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit?

And all for nothing!

For Hecuba!

What's Hecuba to him,

Or he to Hecuba,

That he should weep for her?
What would he do,

Had he the motive and the cue for
Passion that I have?

Fie upon it! Foe! About, my brain!

It is well.

- Dost thou hear me, old friend...
- Ay, my lord.

Can you play
the Murder of Gonzago?

- Ay, my lord.
- We'll have it tomorrow night.

You could, for a need, study a speech
of some 12 or 16 lines

which I would set down and insert
in it, could you not?

Ay, my lord.

Very well.

Good my lord, will you see
the players well bestowed?

Take them in.

We'll hear a play tomorrow!

To be, or not to be,

that is the question.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to
suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune,

Or to take arms

Against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing

end them?

To die,

To sleep,

And by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand
Natural shocks that flesh is heir to.

'Tis a consummation devoutly to be
wished.

To die,

To sleep.

To sleep!

Perchance to dream.

Ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what
dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal
coil?

Must give us pause.

There's the respect

That makes calamity
of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and
scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong,
the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's
delay, the insolence of office,

And the spurns that patient merit
of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after
death,

The undiscovered country, from whose
Bourn no traveler returns,

Puzzles the will, and makes us
Rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we
know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards
of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied over with the pale cast
of thought.

And enterprises of great pith and
moment,

With this regard, their currents turn
awry, And lose the name of action.

Soft you now!

Ophelia,
walk you here.

Gracious, so please you,
We will bestow ourselves.

Read on this book.

My lord, how does your honour
for this many a day?

I humbly thank you: Well, well, well.

My lord, I have remembrances of
yours,

That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.

No, not I.

I never gave you aught.

My honoured lord, you know right well
you did.

And, with them, words of so sweet
breath composed

As made the things more rich.

To the noble mind

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove
unkind.

- Ha, ha! Are you honest?
- My lord?

Are you fair?

What means your lordship?

That if you be honest
and fair,

your honesty should admit
no discourse to your beauty.

Could beauty have better
commerce than with honesty?

Ay, truly, the power of beauty will
sooner transform honesty to a bawd

than the force of honesty can
translate beauty into his likeness.

This was sometime a paradox,
but now the time gives it proof.

I did love you once.

Indeed, my lord, you made me
believe so.

You should not have believed me.
I loved you not.

I was the more deceived.

Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst
thou be a breeder of sinners?

What should such fellows as I do
crawling between earth and heaven?

We are arrant knaves, all.

Believe none of us.

Where's your father?

At home, my lord.

Let the doors be shut upon him,

that he may play the fool no where
but in his own house.

- Farewell.
- O, help him, you sweet heavens!

If thou wilt needs marry,
marry a fool.

For wise men know well enough
what monsters you make of them.

Go to.

I'll no more on it. It has made me mad.
We will have no more marriages.

Those that are married already,
all but one, shall live.

The rest shall keep as they are.
To a nunnery, go.

You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet
said. We heard it all.

Go, Ophelia.

If you hold it fit, after the play,

Let his queen mother all alone
entreat him

To show his grief, let her be round
with him.

And I'll be placed in the ear
Of all their conference.

Do not saw the air too with your
hand, thus.

Be not too tame either,

but let your own discretion be your
tutor.

Speak the speech, as I pronounced it
to you, trippingly on the tongue.

But if you mouth it,

I had as life the town-crier spoke
my lines.

I warrant your honour.

Go, make you ready.

Horatio!

There's a play tonight before the king,
One scene comes near the circumstance

Which I have told thee
of my father's death.

I prithee, when thou see that act
a-foot,

Observe my uncle.

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
And after, we'll join ourjudgments.

Well, my lord.

They're coming to the play.
I must be idle.

How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Excellent, in faith.
Of the chameleon's dish:

I eat the air,
promise-crammed.

You cannot feed capons so.

I have nothing with this answer,
these words are not mine.

No, nor mine now.

My lord, you played once
in the university, you say?

That did I, my lord, and was
accounted a good actor.

And what did you enact?

I did enact Julius Caesar.

I was killed in the Capitol.
Brutus killed me.

It was a brute part of him to kill
so capital a calf there.

- Be the players ready?
- Ay, they stay upon your patience.

Come here, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

No, good mother,
here's metal more attractive.

O, ho! Do you mark that?

Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

No, my lord.

I mean,
my head upon your lap?

Ay, my lord.

Do you think I meant country matters?

I think nothing, my lord.

That's a fair thought
to lie between maid's legs.

- What is, my lord?
- Nothing.

You are merry, my lord.

- Who, I?
- Ay, my lord.

O God, your only jig-maker!

What should a man do
but be merry?

How cheerfully my mother looks, and
my father died within two hours.

Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

So long?
Nay, then, let the devil wear black,

for I'll have a suit of sables.
O heavens!

Die two months ago,
and not forgotten yet!

Then there's hope a great man's memory
may outlive his life half a year.

For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.

Is this a prologue,
or the posy of a ring?

'Tis brief, my lord.

As woman's love.

Full thirty times has Phoebus' cart
gone round

Neptune's salt wash and Tellus'
orbed ground,

And thirty dozen moons with borrowed
sheen

About the world have times twelve
thirties been,

Since love our hearts, and Hymen did
our hands

Unite commutual in most sacred bands.

So many journeys may the sun and moon

Make us again count over ere love be
done!

But, woe is me, you're so sick of late,
So far from your former state.

Faith, I must leave thee, love,

and shortly too.

My operant powers their functions
leave to do.

And thou shalt live in this fair world
behind,

Honoured, beloved; and haply one as
kind

For husband shalt thou...

O, confound the rest! Such love
must needs be treason in my breast.

In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the 2nd but who killed the 1st.

The instances that second marriage
move

Are base respects of thrift, but none
of love.

I do believe you think what now you
speak,

But what we do determine oft we break.

Most necessary 'tis that we forget

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is
debt.

So think thou wilt no second husband
wed,

But die thy thoughts when thy first
lord is dead.

Both here and hence pursue me lasting
strife,

lf, once a widow, ever I be wife!

'Tis deeply sworn.

Sweet, leave me here awhile.

I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.

Sleep rock thy brain,

And never come mischance between us
twain!

Madam, how like you this play?

The lady doth protest too much,
methinks.

O, but she'll keep her word.

Have you heard the argument?
Is there no offence in it?

No, they do butjest, poison in jest.
No offence in the world.

What do you call the play?

The Mouse-trap. Marry, how?
Tropically.

This play is the image of a murder
done in Vienna.

You shall see anon.
'Tis a knavish piece of work.

Gonzago is the duke's name.

But what of that?

Your majesty, and we that have free
souls, it touches us not.

Let the galled jade wince.

Our withers are unwrung.

This is one Lucianus,
nephew to the king.

Begin, murderer.

Pox!

Leave thy damnable faces,
and begin. Come!

Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit,

And time agreeing, else no creature
seeing.

Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds
collected,

With Hecate's ban thrice blasted,
thrice infected,

Thy natural magic and dire property,

On wholesome life usurp immediately!

- How fares my lord?
- Give over the play!

Some light!

Lights! Lights!

Why, let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play.

For some must watch, while some must
sleep, so runs the world away.

O good Horatio!

I'll take the ghost's word for
a thousand pounds. Didst perceive?

Very well, my lord.

Upon the talk of the poisoning...

I did very well note him.

Come, some music!
Come, the recorders!

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why, then, belike, he likes it not,
perdy.

Come, some music!

- Good my lord!
- My good lord!

Good my lord, vouchsafe me
a word with you.

Sir, a whole history.

- The king, sir...
- Ay, sir, what of him?

Is, in his retirement,
marvelous distempered.

With drink, sir?

No, my lord, with choler.

Your wisdom should show itself more
richer to signify this to his doctor.

For me to put him to his purgation
would perhaps plunge him

into far more choler.

Good my lord, put your discourse
into some frame.

I am tame, sir.
Pronounce.

The queen, your mother, in great
affliction of spirit, sent me to you.

- You are welcome.
- Nay, good my lord.

This courtesy is not of the right
breed.

- If it shall please you to answer...
- Sir, I cannot.

What, my lord?

Make you a wholesome answer.
My wit's diseased.

Therefore no more. But to the matter.
My mother, you say...

Your behaviour hath struck her into
amazement. She desires to speak to you.

O wonderful son,
that can so astonish a mother!

But is there no sequel at the heels
of this mother's amazement?

My lord, you once did love me.

And do still,
by these pickers and stealers.

Good my lord, what is your
cause of distemper?

You bar the door upon your liberty,
if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Sir, I lack advancement.

How can that be, when you have the
voice of the king for your succession?

Ay, but "While the grass grows..."

The proverb is something musty.

O, the recorders.

Let me see one.

To withdraw with you.

Why do you go about me, as if
you would drive me into a toil?

O, my lord, if my
duty be too bold,

my love is too unmannerly.

I do not well understand that.

Will you play upon the pipe?

- My lord, I cannot.
- I pray you.

I know no touch of it, my lord.

'Tis as easy as lying.

Govern these ventages with your fingers,
give it breath with your mouth,

and it will discourse most eloquent
music.

Look you, these are the stops.

But these cannot I command,
I have not the skill.

Look you now, how unworthy...

a thing you make of me!

You would play upon me.

You would seem
to know my stops.

You would pluck out
the heart of my mystery.

You would sound me from my lowest
note to the top of my compass.

And there is much music,
excellent voice,

in this little organ,

yet cannot you
make it speak.

Do you think I am easier...

...to be played on than a pipe?

Call me what instrument
you will,

though you can fret me,

you cannot play upon me.

I your commission will forthwith
dispatch,

And he to England shall along with you.

The terms of our estate may not
endure

Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly
Grow out of his lunacies.

We will ourselves provide.
Most holy and religious fear it is

To keep those many bodies safe
That live and feed upon your majesty.

God be with ye!

The cease of majesty
Dies not alone.

Like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it.

Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy
voyage.

He's going to his mother's closet.

And, as you said, and wisely was it
said,

'Tis meet that some more audience
than a mother.

Since nature makes them partial,
should overhear

The speech, of vantage.

Thanks, dear my lord.

What if this cursed hand

Were thicker than itself with
brother's blood...

Is there not rain enough in the sweet
heavens

To wash it white as snow?

Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer but this twofold
force -

To be forestalled ere we come to fall?

My fault is past.

O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn?

"Forgive me my foul murder?"

That cannot be.

Since I am still possest

Of those effects for which I did
the murder -

My crown, mine own ambition, and
my queen.

May one be pardoned, and retain
the offence?

But 'tis not so above;
there is no shuffling.

There the action lies
in his true nature

And we ourselves compelled, even to
the teeth and forehead of our faults,

To give in evidence.

End of Part One

Order of Lenin
LENFILM Studio

HAMLET

Based on the tragedy by
SHAKESPEARE

Part Two

Mother!

My lady!

Tell him your Grace has stood between
Much heat and him.

I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.

Now, mother, what's the matter?

Hamlet, thou have thy father much
offended.

Mother, you have my father much
offended.

- You answer with an idle tongue.
- You question with a wicked tongue.

Why, how now, Hamlet?

- What's the matter now?
- Have you forgot me?

No, by the rood, not so.

You're the queen, your husband's
brother's wife, and, alas, my mother.

Nay, then, I'll set those to you that
can speak.

Come, come!

And sit you down.

You shall not budge.

You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see your inmost part.

What will thou do?

Thou will not murder me?

- Help, help, ho!
- What, ho! Help, help, help!

How now! A rat?

Dead for a ducat!

Dead!

- O me, what have thou done?
- Nay, I know not. Is it the king?

O, what a rash and bloody deed is
this!

Almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king and marry his brother.

As kill a king?

Ay, lady, 'twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool,
farewell!

I took thee for thy better.

Thou find'st to be too busy is some
danger.

Leave wringing of your hands. Sit you
down.

And let me wring your heart,
If it be made of penetrable stuff,

If damned custom have not brazed it so
That it is proof against sense.

What have I done that thou are
So rude against me?

Such an act that...

Look here, upon this picture...

...and on this.

The counterfeit presentment
of two brothers.

See, what a grace was seated on this
brow,

A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man.

This was your husband. Look you now,

What follows. Here is your husband,

Like a mildewed ear,

Blasting his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes?
You cannot call it love.

For at your age the heyday in the
blood waits upon the judgement.

And whatjudgement
Would step from this to this?

O shame! Where is thy blush?

If you canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire!

O Hamlet, speak no more!

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very
soul,

And there I see such black spots
As will not leave their tinct.

Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,

Stewed in corruption, honeying
Over the nasty sty...

O, speak to me no more!

These words, like daggers,
Enter in mine ears.

...A murderer and a villain,

A slave that is not twentieth part
The tithe of your precedent lord.

A vice of kings,
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule.

Hamlet, no more!

How is it with you?
Whereon do you look?

This is the very coinage of your brain.

My pulse, as yours, does temperately
keep time.

It is not madness that I have
Uttered. Bring me to the test,

And I the matter will re-word, which
Madness would gambol from.

Lay not that flattering unction to
soul,

That not your trespass, but my madness
speaks.

It will but skin and film the ulcer,
Whilst rank corruption infects unseen.

O Hamlet, thou have cleft my heart
in twain!

O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.

Good night.

But go not to my uncle's bed.

For this same lord,

I do repent.

I'll bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him.

So, again, good night.

I must be cruel, only to be kind.

Thus bad begins, and worse remains
behind.

One word more, good lady.

What shall I do?

Not this, by no means, that I bid
you do.

Let the bloat king tempt you again
to bed,

And let him, for a pair of reechy
kisses,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft.

Be thou assured, I have no life
to breathe

What thou have said to me.

- I must to England, you know that?
- Alack.

I had forgot. 'Tis so concluded on.

Good night, mother!

My lord!

My lord!

Lord Hamlet!

What noise?
Who calls on Hamlet?

What have you done, my lord,
with the dead body?

Compounded it with dust, whereto
'tis kin.

Tell us where 'tis, that we may bear
it to the chapel.

- Do not believe it.
- Believe what?

That I can keep your counsel,
and not my own.

Besides, to be demanded
of a sponge!

What replication should be made
by the son of a king?

Take you me for a sponge?

Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's
countenance, his rewards.

But such officers do the king
best services in the end.

He keeps them, like an ape,
in the corner of his jaw,

first mouthed,
to be last swallowed.

When he needs what you have
gleaned, it is but squeezing you,

and, sponge, you shall be dry again.

I understand you not, my lord.

I am glad of it. A knavish speech
sleeps in a foolish ear.

My lord, you must tell us where the
body is, and go with us to the king.

The body is with the king,
but the king is not with the body.

The king is a thing...

- A thing, my lord?
- Of nothing.

Hide fox,
and all after!

Bring me to him.

Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?

At supper.

At supper?

Where?

Not where he eats,
but where he is eaten.

A certain convocation of politic
worms are e'en at him.

Your worm is your only
emperor for diet.

We fat all creatures else
to fat us,

and we fat ourselves
for maggots.

Your fat king
and your lean beggar

is but variable service... two dishes,
but to one table.

That's the end.

Alas, alas!

A man may fish with the worm

that has eat of a king,

and eat of the fish
that has fed of that worm.

What dost thou mean by this?

Nothing but to show you

how a king may go a progress
through the guts of a beggar.

Where is Polonius?

In heaven.
Send thither to see.

If your messenger find him not,
seek him in the other place yourself.

But if you find him not within this
month,

you shall nose him as you go up
the stairs into the lobby.

Go seek him there.

He will stay till ye come.

Hamlet, this deed,
For thine especial safety,

Must send thee
With fiery quickness.

Therefore prepare thyself. The bark
is ready.

And the wind at help, and every thing
Is bent for England.

- For England?
- Ay, Hamlet.

Good.

But, come, for England!

Farewell, dear mother.

- Thy loving father, Hamlet.
- My mother.

Father and mother is man and wife,
man and wife is one flesh.

And so, my mother.

Come!

For England!

Go, captain, from me greet the Danish
king.

Tell him that Fortinbras claims the
conveyance of a march over his kingdom.

You know the rendezvous.

If that his majesty
Would aught with us,

We shall express our duty in his eye.

Go softly on.

- Whose powers are these?
- They are of Norway.

- How purposed?
- Against some part of Poland.

- Who commands them?
- Lord Fortinbras.

Goes it against the main of Poland,
Or for some frontier?

Truly to speak,
We go to gain a little patch of ground

That has 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.

Why, then, the Polack never will
defend it.

Yes, it is already garrisoned.

- I humbly thank you, sir.
- God be with you, sir.

Will't please you go, my lord?

I'll be with you straight. Go a little
before.

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.

Farewell...

Farewell...

And do remember me!

Upon arrival in England,

Lord Hamlet
is to be beheaded.

Let it work,

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar.

But I will delve

one yard below their mines,

And blow them at the moon!

O, 'tis most sweet when in one line
Two crafts directly meet.

On the view and knowing of these
contents,

The bearers should be put to sudden
death,

Not shriving-time allowed.

When sorrows come, they come not
single spies, but in battalions.

First, her father slain.

Next, your son gone,
And he most violent author

Of his own just remove.

The people muddied,

Thick and unwholesome in their
thoughts and whispers,

For good Polonius' death.

Where is the beauteous majesty of
Denmark?

How now, Ophelia?

How should I your true-Iove know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

- Sweet lady, what imports this song?
- Say you? Nay.

Pray you, mark.

Larded with sweet flowers,

Which bewept

to the grave did go

With true love showers.

How do you, pretty lady?

I hope all will be well.

We must be patient.

But I cannot choose but weep,

to think they should lay him
in the cold ground.

My brother shall know of it.

And so I thank you for your good
counsel.

Come, my coach!

Good night, ladies.

Good night, sweet ladies.

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose, and donned his
clothes,

And dupt the chamber-door,

Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.

Save yourself, my lord!
The rioters!

Sirs, stand you all without.
I pray you, give me leave.

I thank you. Keep the door.

O thou vile king,
Where is my father?

- Dead.
- But not by him.

Let him demand his fill.

There's such divinity does hedge
a king,

That treason can but peep to what
it would,

Acts little of his will.

How came he dead?

Good Laertes, if you desire to know
the certainty

Of your dear father's death,
is't writ in your revenge,

That, swoopstake, you will draw

Both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?

- None but his enemies.
- Will you know them, then?

Ay, and to his good friends thus wide
I'll ope my arms.

Why, now you speak
Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's
death,

And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall to you be clear as a day.

Let her come in!

They bore him barefaced on the bier,

Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny,

And in his grave rained many a tear,

Fare you well, my dove!

You must sing,

"Down a-down,

an you call him a-down-a."

It is the false steward,
that stole his master's daughter.

Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade
revenge, it could not move thus.

There's rosemary.

That's for remembrance,
pray you, love, remember.

And there is pansies,
that's for thoughts.

There's a daisy.

And here's some for me.

O, you must wear your rue
with a difference.

I would give you some violets,

but they withered all
when my father died.

They say he made a good end.

For bonny sweet Robin,

For bonny sweet Robin

is all my joy...

Do you see this, O God?

Laertes,

I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right.

Make choice of whom your wisest
friends you will,

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

And we shall jointly labour with
Your soul to give it due content.

Let this be so.

Since you have heard,

That he which has your father slain
Pursued my life.

It well appears.

Why you proceeded not against these
feats,

So crimeful and so capital in nature?

The queen his mother
Lives almost by his looks.

The other motive,
Why to a public count I might not go,

Is the great love the general gender
bear him.

- How now! What news?
- Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.

From Hamlet?

- Who brought them?
- Sailors, my lord, they say.

Laertes,
you shall hear them.

Leave us.

High and mighty,
You shall know I am

set naked
on your kingdom.

Can you advise me?

I'm lost in it, my lord.

But let him come.

Will you be ruled by me?

My lord, I will be ruled.

Horatio!

Thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coped withal.

O, my dear lord...

Nay, do not think I flatter.

No, let the candied tongue lick
absurd pomp.

In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah,
my behove,

O, methought there was nothing meet.

But age, with his stealing steps,

Has clawed me in his clutch,

And has shipt me intil the land,

As if I had never been such.

That skull had a tongue in it,

and could sing once.

How the knave jowls it to the ground,

as if it were Cain's jaw-bone,
that did the first murder!

It might be the pate of a politician,
which this ass now over-reaches,

one that would circumvent God,
might it not?

It might, my lord.

Why...

Even so.

And now my Lady Worm's,

chapless, and knockt about the mazard
with a sexton's spade.

Here's fine revolution!

And we had the trick to see it.

Did these bones cost no more,
but to play at loggats with 'em?

Mine ache to think on it.

I will speak to this fellow.

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

- Whose grave's this, sirrah?
- Mine, sir.

I think it be thine, indeed,
for thou liest in it.

'Tis a quick lie, sir. 'Twill away
again, from me to you.

What man dost thou dig it for?

For no man, sir.

- What woman, then?
- For none, neither.

Who is to be buried in it?

One that was a woman, sir,

but, rest her soul,
she's dead.

How absolute the knave is!

We must speak by the card,

or equivocation will undo us.

How long have thou been a grave-
maker?

Of all the days in the year, it was
the day that young Hamlet was born.

He that is mad,
and sent into England.

Ay, marry,
why was he sent into England?

Why, because
a' was mad.

A' shall recover his wits there.

Or, if a' do not,
'tis no great matter there.

Why?

'Twill not be seen in him there.
There the men are as mad as he.

How came he mad?

Very strangely, they say.

How strangely?

Faith, even with losing his wits.

Upon what ground?

Why,
here in Denmark.

How long will a man lie
in the earth ere he rot?

I'faith...

If a' be not rotten before a' die, -

we have many pocky corpses now
that will scarce hold the laying in, -

a' will last some eight or nine year.

A tanner will last you nine year.

Why he more than another?

Why, sir, his hide is so tanned
with his trade

that a' will keep out water a great
while.

And your water
is a sore decayer

of your whoreson
dead body.

Here's a skull now has lain you

in the earth three-and-twenty years.

- Whose was it?
- A whoreson mad fellow's it was.

- Whose do you think it was?
- Nay, I know not.

A pestilence on him
for a mad rogue!

A' poured a flagon of Rhenish
on my head once.

This same skull, sir, was Yorick's
skull,

the king's jester.

This?

E'en that.

Let me see.

Alas, poor Yorick!

I knew him, Horatio.

A fellow of infinite jest,
of most excellent fancy.

He has borne me on his back
a thousand times.

And now, how abhorred in my
imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.

Here hung those lips

that I have kissed
I know not how oft.

Where be your gibes now? Your
gambols? Your flashes of merriment?

Not one now,
to mock your own grinning?

Quite chop-faln?

- Horatio, tell me one thing.
- What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander looked
o' this fashion in the earth?

E'en so.

To what base uses
we may return, Horatio!

Why may not
imagination trace

the noble dust of Alexander

till he find it
stopping a bung-hole?

'Twere to consider too curiously,
to consider so.

No, faith, not a jot.

But to follow him thither
with modesty enough,

and likelihood to lead it,
as thus:

Alexander died,
Alexander was buried,

Alexander returneth into dust,
the dust is earth,

of earth we make loam.

Why of that loam whereto he was turned
might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Imperious Caesar, turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

O, that that earth which kept
the world in awe

Should patch a wall t'expel
the winter's flaw!

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
As we have warranties.

Her death was doubtful. And, but the
great command oversways the order,

She should in ground unsanctified
have lodged

Till the last trumpet.

For charitable prayers, shards, flints
And pebbles should be thrown on her.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done.
We should profane the service

To sing a requiem, and such rest
To her, as to peace-parted souls.

Lay her in the earth!

A ministering angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

O, treble woe fall ten times treble
On that cursed head

Whose wicked deed thy ingenious
sense deprived thee of!

Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her in mine arms.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and
dead,

Till of this flat a mountain you have
made

To overtop old Pelion
And blue Olympus.

What is he whose grief
Bears such an emphasis?

This is I, Hamlet the Dane.

The devil take thy soul!

Thou pray not well. Off my throat.
Hold off thy hand!

Gentlemen!

- Pluck them asunder!
- Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet!

Why, I will fight with him
upon this theme

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

- O my son, what theme?
- I loved Ophelia.

Forty thousand brothers could not,
With all their love, make up my sum.

What wilt thou do for her?

- O, he is mad, Laertes.
- For love of God, forbear him.

'Swounds, show me what thou'It do.

Woo't weep? Woo't fight? Woo't fast?

Woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up
eisel? Eat a crocodile?

I'll do it.

Dost thou come here to whine? To
outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her? And so
will I.

And if thou prate of mountains, let
them throw millions of acres on us,

Till our ground, singeing his pate
against the burning zone!

Nay, an thou'It mouth,

I'll rant as well as thou.

Laertes, what is the reason that you
use me thus?

I loved you ever.

But it is no matter...

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have
his day.

You have been talked of much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing,

For a quality wherein you shine.

Your sum of parts did not together
pluck such envy from him,

As did a very riband one,
Your art and exercise in your defence.

Now, out of this...

What out of this, my lord?

Bring you together and wager on your
heads.

He, being remiss,

Most generous, and free from all
contriving,

Will not peruse the foils, so that,
with ease,

Or with a little shuffling, you may
choose

A sword unbated, and, in a pass of
practice,

Requite him for your father.

I will do it.

And for that purpose I'll anoint my
sword.

And that he calls for drink,

I'll have prepared him a chalice
for the nonce,

whereon but sipping,

Our purpose may hold there.

But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself,

For, by the image of my cause, I see
The portraiture of his.

I'll court his favours.

But, sure, the bravery of his grief
did put me

In a towering passion.

Your lordship is right welcome
back to Denmark.

I humbly thank you, sir.

- Dost know this water-fly?
- No, my good lord.

If your lordship were at leisure, I'd
impart a thing to you from his majesty.

I will receive it with all diligence
of spirit.

Put your bonnet to his right use.
'Tis for the head.

I thank your lordship.
It is very hot.

No, 'tis very cold, the wind is
northerly.

It is indifferent cold,
my lord, indeed.

His majesty bade me
signify to you,

that he has laid a wager on your head.

What did he wager?

Here is newly come to court Laertes,

an absolute gentleman,
full of most excellent differences...

What imports the nomination of this
gentleman?

- Of Laertes?
- Of him, sir.

I mean, for his weapon.

In his meed he's unfellowed.

- What's his weapon?
- Rapier and dagger.

That's two of his weapons.

The king has laid, that in a dozen
passes between yourself and him,

Laertes shall not exceed you
three hits.

It would come to immediate trial,
if you would vouchsafe the answer.

How if I answer no?

I mean, my lord, the opposition
of your person in trial.

I will walk here in the hall.
Let the foils be brought.

Shall I re-deliver you e'en so?

To this effect, sir, after what
flourish your nature will.

I commend my duty
to your lordship.

Yours, yours.

You will lose this wager, my lord.

I do not think so. I shall win.

But thou wouldst not think how ill
I feel my heart. But it is no matter.

- Nay, good my lord!
- It is but foolery.

But it is such a kind of gain-giving
as would perhaps trouble a woman.

I'll say you are not fit.

Not a whit.
We defy augury.

If it be now,

'tis not to come.

If it be not now,
yet it will come.

The readiness is all.

Since no man knows aught
of what he leaves,

what is't to leave betimes?

Let be.

Give me your pardon, sir.
I've done you wrong.

This presence knows,
And you must needs have heard,

How I am punished
With sore distraction.

What I have done, what might
Your nature, honour, and exception

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was
madness.

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And does he wrong Laertes,

Then Hamlet does it not,
Hamlet denies it.

Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil
free me,

That I have shot mine arrow o'er
The house, and hurt my brother.

I am satisfied in nature,

Whose motive, in this case, should
stir me most to my revenge.

But in my terms of honour
I stand aloof,

And will no reconcilement
Till by some elder masters,

I have a voice and precedent of peace,
To keep my name ungored.

But till that time I do receive your
Offered love, and will not wrong it.

I embrace it freely,
And will this brother's wager play.

Give us the foils. Come on.

Give them the foils, young Osric.
Hamlet, you know the wager?

Very well, my lord. Your Grace
has laid the odds o'th'weaker side.

I do not fear it. I have seen you both.

I'll be your foil. In mine ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star in the
darkest night, stick fiery off indeed.

You mock me, sir.

No, by this hand.

Set me the stoops of wine upon that
table.

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
Or quit i'answer of the third exchange,

Let all the battlements their ordnance
fire.

The king shall drink to Hamlet's
better breath,

And in the cup an union shall he
throw,

Richer than that which four successive
kings in Denmark's crown have worn.

Come, begin.

Come on, sir.

Come, my lord.

- One!
- No!

Judgement!

- A hit, a very palpable hit.
- Well, again.

One!

Stay, give me drink.
Hamlet, here's to thy health!

This pearl is thine.

Here's your cup.

I'll play this bout first.

Set it by awhile.

Come.

- Another hit, what say you?
- A touch, a touch, I do confess.

Our son shall win.

He's fat, and scant of breath.

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin.
Rub thy brows.

The queen carouses to thy fortune.

Good madam!

Gertrude, do not drink.

I will, my lord. I pray you, pardon me.

Come, Laertes, you but dally.
I pray, pass with your best violence.

I am afeared you make a wanton of me.

Say you so? Come on.

Have at you now!

Part them! They are incensed.

Nay, come, again.

Look to the queen there, ho!

- How does the queen?
- She swounds to see them bleed.

No, no, Hamlet!
The drink, the drink! ...I am poisoned!

O villainy! Treachery!

- Seek it out!
- It is here, Hamlet.

Thou art slain. No medicine
in the world can do thee good.

In thee not half an hour of life.
The foil unbated and envenomed.

The king, the king's to blame!

The point envenomed too?

Then, venom,
to thy work!

The rest is silence.

- Where is this sight?
- What is it ye would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease
your search.

Let four captains bear
Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage.

For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have proved most royally.

And, for his passage,

The soldiers' music and the rites
Of war speak loudly for him.

Take up the bodies.

Such a sight as this becomes the field,
But here shows much amiss.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot!

The End