All language subtitles for öööl_Hamlet.1969.WEB-DL.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

Stand, ho!
Who's there?

Nay, answer me.
Stand and unfold yourself.

Long live the King!
Bernardo?

He.

For this relief much thanks.
'Tis bitter cold and
I am sick at heart.

Have you had quiet guard?
Not a mouse stirring.

If you meet the rivals
of my watch,
bid them make haste.

I think I hear them.
Stand, ho! Who goes there?

Friends to this ground.
And liegemen to the Dane.

Give you good night.

Welcome, Horatio.

Has this thing appear'd
again tonight?
I have seen nothing.

Horatio says 'tis but
our fantasy and will not let
belief take hold of him

touching this dreaded sight,
twice seen of us.

Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Last night of all,
when yond same star that's
westward from the pole...

Look, where it comes again!

In the same figure,
like the King that's dead.

Thou art a scholar,
speak to it, Horatio.

What art thou that usurp'st
this time of night,

together with that fair and
warlike form

in which the majesty
of buried Denmark
did sometimes march?

By heaven I charge thee,
speak!
It is offended.

Stay! Speak, speak!
I charge thee, speak!

'Tis gone, and will not answer.

How now, Horatio? Is not this
something more than fantasy?

Is it not like the King?

As thou art to thyself.
'Tis strange.

Thus twice before,
and jump at this dead hour,

with martial stalk hath
he gone by our watch.

In what particular thought
to work, I know not,

but in the gross and scope
of my opinion,

this bodes some
strange eruption to our state.

But soft, behold!
Lo, where it comes again!

I'll cross it,
though it blast me.

Stay, illusion!

If thou hast any sound
or use of voice, speak to me.

If thou art privy to thy
country's fate, which happily
foreknowing may avoid,

O, speak! Speak of it.
Stay, and speak.

Stop it, Marcellus!
Shall I strike at it
with my partisan?

'Tis gone.

We do it wrong,
being so majestical, to offer
it the show of violence,

for it is, as the air,
invulnerable.

It was about to speak,
when the cock crew.

And then it started like a
guilty thing upon a
fearful summons.

It faded on the
crowing of the cock.

Some say that
ever 'gainst that season comes

wherein our Savior's birth
is celebrated,

the bird of dawning
singeth all night long,

and then, they say,
no spirit dare stir abroad.

So have I heard,
and do in part believe it.

But look, the morn,
in russet mantle clad,

walks o'er the dew
of yon high eastern hill.

Break we our watch up
and by my advice,

let us impart what we have
seen tonight unto
young Hamlet,

for upon my life, this spirit,
dumb to us, will speak to him.

Though yet of Hamlet
our dear brother's death,
the memory be green,

yet so far hath discretion
fought with nature

that we with wisest sorrow
think on him,

together with
remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister,
now our queen,

the imperial jointress
to this warlike state,

have we, as 'twere,
with a defeated joy,

with mirth in funeral,
and with dirge in marriage,
taken to wife.

Now follows, that you know,
young Fortinbras,

holding a weak supposal
of our worth,

he hath not fail'd
to pester us with message,

importing the surrender of
those lands lost by his father
with all bands of law,

to our most valiant brother.

We have here writ to Norway,
uncle of young Fortinbras,

who, impotent and bed-rid...

...scarcely hears of this
his nephew's purpose,

to suppress his
further gait herein.

So much for him!

So, Laertes,
what's the news with you?

My dread lord, your leave
and favor to return
to France...

...from whence though
willingly I came to Denmark

to show my duty in
your coronation, yet now,
I must confess,

that duty done, my thoughts
and wishes bend again
towards France.

Have you your father's leave?
What says Polonius?

He hath, my lord,
wrung from me my slow leave
by laborsome petition.

I do beseech you,
give him leave to go.

Take thy fair hour, Laertes,
time be thine,

and thy best graces
spend it at thy will!

And now, my cousin Hamlet,
and my son,

how is it that the clouds
still hang on you?

Not so, my lord,
I am too much i' the sun.

Good Hamlet,
cast thy nighted color off,

and let thine eye
look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not for ever
with thy vailed lids

seek for thy noble father
in the dust.

Thou know'st 'tis common,
all that lives must die,

passing through nature
to eternity.

Ay, madam, it is common.

If it be,
why seems it so
particular with thee?

Seems? Nay, madam, it is,
I know not "seems."

'Tis not alone my inky cloak,
good mother,

nor customary suits of
solemn black,

nor the dejected 'havior
of the visage,

together with all forms,
moods, shapes of grief,
that can denote me truly.

These, indeed, seem,

for they are actions
that a man might play.

But I have that within
which passeth show,

these but the trappings
and the suits of woe.

'Tis sweet and commendable
in your nature, Hamlet,

to give these mourning duties
to your father,

but you must know
your father lost a father,

that father lost, lost his.

But to persever in obstinate
condolement

is a course of
impious stubbornness,

'tis unmanly grief.

We pray you throw to earth
this unprevailing woe

and think of us as of a father,

for let the world take note
you are the most immediate
to our throne.

For your intent in going
back to school in Wittenberg,

it is most retrograde
to our desire,

and we beseech you,
bend you to remain here,

in the cheer and comfort
of our eye,

our chiefest courtier,
cousin, and our son.

Let not thy mother
lose her prayers, Hamlet.

I pray thee stay with us,
go not to Wittenberg.

I shall in all my best
obey you, madam.

Why, 'tis a fair and
loving reply.

Be as ourself in Denmark.
Madam, come,

this gentle and unforced
accord of Hamlet sits
smiling in my heart,

in grace whereof,
no jocund health that
Denmark drinks today,

but the great cannon
to the clouds shall tell,

the King's rouse the heavens
shall bruit again,

re-speaking earthly thunder.

O, that this too too
sullied flesh would melt,

thaw, and resolve itself
into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had
not fix'd his canon
'gainst self-slaughter!

O God! O God!

How weary, stale,
flat and unprofitable,

seem to me all the
uses of this world.

Fie on't, Ah, fie!

'Tis an unweeded garden,
that grows to seed,

things rank and gross
in nature possess it merely.

That it should come to this.

But two months dead.
Nay, not so much, not two.

So excellent a king
that was to this
hyperion to a satyr,

so loving to my mother,
that he might not beteem
the winds of heaven

visit her face too roughly.

Heaven and earth!
Must I remember?

Why, she should hang on him
as if increase of appetite
had grown

by what it fed on,
and yet, within a month...

Let me not think on't.

Frailty, thy name is woman.

A little month,
or ere those shoes were old

with which she follow'd
my poor father's body,

like Niobe, all tears.

Why she, even she...

O God! A beast that wants
discourse of reason
would have mourn'd longer,

married with my uncle,
my father's brother,

but no more like my father
than I to Hercules.

Within a month,

ere yet the salt of
most unrighteous tears

had left the flushing in her
galled eyes, she married.

O, most wicked speed to post
with such dexterity to
incestuous sheets.

It is not, nor it cannot
come to good.

But break, my heart,

for I must hold my tongue.

Hail to your lordship.

I am glad to see you well.

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

The same, my lord,
and your poor servant ever.

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

And what make you
from Wittenberg, Horatio?

Marcellus.
I am very glad to see you.

Good even, sir.
But what, in faith,
make you from Wittenberg?

A truant disposition,
good my lord.

I would not hear
your enemy say so.

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

My lord,
I came to see your
father's funeral.

I prithee, do not mock me,
fellow-student,

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

Indeed, my lord,
it follow'd hard upon.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio.

The funeral bak'd meats
did coldly furnish forth the
marriage tables.

Would I had met my
dearest foe in heaven

or ever I had seen
that day, Horatio.

My father,
methinks I see my father.

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?

My lord, the King your father.

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 encounter'd.

A figure like your father,
armed at point exactly,
cap-a-pie,

appears before them,
and with solemn march
goes slow and stately by them.

But where was this?

My lord, upon the platform
where we watch.

Did you not speak to it?
My lord, I did,
but answer made it none.

'Tis very strange.

As I do live,
my honor'd lord, 'tis true,

and we did think it writ down
in our duty to
let you know of it.

Indeed, indeed, sirs.
But this troubles me.
Hold you the watch tonight?

We do, my lord.
Arm'd, say you?

My lord, from head to foot.

Then saw you not his face?
O yes, my lord,
he wore his beaver up.

I would I had been there.
It would have much
amaz'd you.

Very like, very like.
Stay'd it long?

While one with
moderate haste
might tell a hundred.

- Longer.
- Not when I saw't.

His beard was grizzl'd, no?

It was as I have seen it
in his life. A sable silver'd.

I will watch tonight.
Perchance 'twill walk again.

I warrant it will.

My necessaries are embark'd.

And, sister, as the winds
give benefit
and convoy is assistant,

do not sleep but
let me hear from you.

Do you doubt that?

For Hamlet, and the
trifling of his favor,

hold it a fashion
and a toy in blood,

a violet in the youth of
primy nature. No more!

No more but so?
Think it no more,

he may not,
as unvalued persons do,
carve for himself,

for on his choice depends
the safety and health
of this whole state.

Then weigh what loss
your honor may sustain,

if with too credent ear
you list his songs,

or lose your heart,
or your chaste treasure open

to his unmast'red importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia,
fear it, my dear sister.

The chariest maid is
prodigal enough if she unmask
her beauty to the moon.

I shall the effect of this
good lesson take as watchman
to my heart.

But, good my brother,
do not, as some
ungracious pastors do,

show me the steep
and thorny way to heaven,

whiles, like a puff'd
and reckless libertine,

himself the primrose path
of dalliance treads

and recks not his own rede.

O, fear me not.

Yet here, Laertes!
Aboard, aboard, for shame!

The wind sits in the shoulder
of your sail,
and you are stay'd for.

There, my blessing with thee.

And these few precepts
in thy memory.

Be thou familiar,
but by no means vulgar.

Those friends thou hast,
and their adoption tried,

grapple them to thy soul
with hoops of steel,

but do not dull thy palm
with entertainment

of each new-hatch'd,
unfledg'd comrade.

Costly thy habit
as thy purse can buy,

but not expressed in fancy,
rich, not gaudy,

for the apparel oft
proclaims the man.

Neither a borrower
nor a lender be,

for loan oft loses
both itself and friend.

This above all,
to thine own self be true,

and it shall follow,
as the night the day,

thou canst not then
be false to any man.

Most humbly do I
take my leave, my lord.

Time invites you,
go, your servants tend.

Farewell, Ophelia,
and remember well
what I have said to you.

'Tis in my memory lock'd,
and you yourself shall
keep the key of it.

Farewell.

What is't, Ophelia,
he hath said to you?

So please you,
something touching
the Lord Hamlet.

Ah, marry, well bethought.
What is between you?
Give me up the truth.

He hath, my lord,
importuned me with love
in honorable fashion.

Ay, fashion you may call it.

And hath given countenance
to his speech

with almost all
the holy vows of heaven.

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks!

From this time be something
scanter of your
maiden presence.

I would not, in plain terms,
have you so slander
any moment's leisure

as to give words or talk
with the Lord Hamlet.

The air bites shrewdly,
it is very cold.

It is a nipping
and an eager air.

What hour now?
I think it lacks of twelve.

No, it is struck.
Indeed? I heard it not.

It then draws near the season
wherein the spirit held
his wont to walk.

What does this mean, my lord?

The King doth wake tonight
and takes his rouse,

keeps wassail and as he drains
his draughts of Rhenish down,

the kettle-drum
and trumpet thus bray out
the triumph of his pledge.

Is it a custom?
Ay, marry, is't,

but to my mind,
though I am native here
and to the manor born,

it is a custom more honored
in the breach
than the observance.

Angels and ministers
of grace defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health
or goblin damn'd,

thou com'st
in such a questionable shape

that I will speak to thee.

I'll call thee Hamlet.

King,

father,

royal Dane.

What may this mean, dead corse,

that thou again
in complete steel revisit'st
thus the glimpses of the moon,

making night hideous
and we fools of nature

so horridly to shake
our dispositions

with thoughts beyond
the reaches of our souls?

Say, why is this?

Wherefore?

What should we do?

It beckons you
to go away with it,

as if it some impartment
did desire to you alone.

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

It will not speak,
then I will follow it.
Do not, my lord.

Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life
at a pin's fee.

And for my soul, what can
it do to that, being a thing
immortal as itself?

It waves me still.
I'll follow it.

You shall not go, my lord.
Hold off your hands.
My fate cries out!

I say, away! Go on,
I'll follow thee.

He waxes desperate
with imagination.

Something is rotten
in the state of Denmark.

Heaven will direct it.
Nay, let's follow him.

Speak. I go no further.

Mark me.

Speak, I am bound to hear.

So art thou to revenge,
when thou shalt hear,

if thou didst ever thy
dear father love.

O God!

Revenge his foul
and most unnatural murder.

Murder!

'Tis given out that,
sleeping in my orchard,
a serpent stung me,

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 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.

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.

O, horrible! O, horrible!
Most horrible!

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

of life, of crown,
of queen at once dispatched.

If thou hast nature in thee,
bear it not,

let not the royal bed of
Denmark be a couch for
luxury and damned incest.

Adieu.

Remember me.

O all you host of heaven!
O earth! What else?

And shall I couple hell?

O, fie!

Hold, hold, my heart,

and you, my sinews,
grow not instant old,

but bear me stiffly up.

Remember thee!

Ay, thou poor ghost,
whiles memory holds a seat
in this distracted globe.

Remember thee!
Yea, from the table
of my memory

I'll wipe away all
trivial fond records,

all saws of books, all forms,
all pressures past,

that youth and observation
copied there,

and thy commandment
all alone shall live

within the book and volume
of my brain, unmixed with
baser matter.

Yes, by heaven!

O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain,
smiling, damned villain!

Meet it is that I set it down

that one may smile,
and smile, and be a villain,

at least I am sure it may be
so in Denmark.

So, uncle, there you are.

Now to my word,

it is
"Adieu, adieu! Remember me."

My lord!

- My lord!
- Lord Hamlet!

Ho, ho!
My lord!

Ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.

How is't my noble lord?
What news, my lord?

O, wonderful!
Good my lord, tell it.

No, you will reveal it.
Not l, my lord. By heaven.

Nor I, my lord.

There's never a villain
dwelling in all Denmark

but he's an arrant knave.

There needs no ghost
come from the grave
to tell us this.

Why, right,
you are in the right,

and so, without more
circumstance at all,

I hold it fit that we
shake hands and part.

You, as your business
and desire shall point you,

for every man hath business
and desire, such as it is,

and for my own poor part,
I will go pray.

These are but wild
and whirling words, my lord.

I am sorry they offend you,
heartily, yes,
faith, heartily.

There's no offense, my lord.

Yes, by Saint Patrick,
but there is, Horatio.

And much offense too.

Touching this vision here,
it is an honest ghost,
that let me tell you.

For your desire to know what
is between us,

o'ermaster't as you may.

But now, good friends,

as you are friends, soldiers,
and scholars,
give me one poor request.

What is't, my lord?
We will.

Never make known
what you have seen tonight.

My lord, We will not.
Nay, but swear't.

O day and night, but this
is wondrous strange.

Therefore as a stranger,
give it welcome.

There are more things
in heaven
and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of
in your philosophy.

Here, as before,

never, so help you mercy,
how strange or odd
some'er I bear myself

as I hereafter shall think
meet to put an antic
disposition on

that you, at such times
seeing me, never shall,

with arms encumb'red thus,
or with this headshake,

or by pronouncing
of some doubtful phrase,

as "Well, well, we know"
or "We could, an if we would,"

or "lf we list to speak"
or "There be,
an if they might,"

or such ambiguous giving out,
denote that you know
aught of me:

this do swear.

So grace and mercy
at your most need help you.

Swear!
Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

So, gentlemen,
with all my love
I do commend me to you,

and what so poor a man
as Hamlet is

may do to express
his love and friending to you,

God willing, shall not lack.

Come, let us go together.

The time is out of joint.

O cursed spite.

That ever I
was born to
set it right!

Give him this money
and these notes, Reynaldo.

I will, my lord.

You shall do
marvelous wisely,
good Reynaldo,

before you visit him,
to inquire of his behavior.

My lord, I did intend it.

Marry, well said,
very well said.

Look you, sir,
enquire me first
what Danskers are in Paris,

that they do know my son,
come you more nearer.

Take you, as 'twere,
some distant knowledge of him,

as, "l know the gentleman,
I saw him yesterday,"
or "t'other day,"

or then, or then,
with such and such.

And, as you say,
"there was a' gaming,

"there o'ertook in's rouse,
there falling out at tennis.

"There perchance
I saw him enter such
a house of sale,

"videlicet, a brothel,"
or so forth.

See you now.

But my good lord...
Wherefore should
you do this?

Ay, my lord, I would know that.

By indirections
find directions out.

You have me, have you not?
My lord, I have.

God be wi' ye, fare ye well.

Good my lord.
Observe his inclinations
in yourself.

I will, my lord.
And let him ply his music.

Good my lord.

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

With what, in the name of God?

My lord, as I was sewing
in my closet, Lord Hamlet,
with his doublet all unbrac'd,

no hat upon his head,
as if he had been
loosed out of hell

to speak of horrors,
he comes before me!

Mad for thy love?
My lord, I do not know.

But truly I do fear it.
He took me by the wrist
and held me hard.

Then goes he to
the length of all his arm,

and, with his other hand thus
o'er his brow,

he falls to such perusal
of my face as I would draw it.

Long stay'd he so.

At last, a little shaking
of mine arm,

and thrice his head
thus waving up and down,

he raised a sigh so piteous
and profound

as it did seem to shatter
all his bulk
and end his being.

I will go seek the King.

This is the very
ecstasy of love.

What, have you given him
any hard words of late?

No, my good lord,
but, as you did command,

I did repel his letters

and denied his access to me.

That hath made him mad.
Come, go we to the King.

Welcome, dear Rosencrantz
and Guildenstern.

Something have you heard
of Hamlet's transformation.

I beseech you both that,
being of so young days
brought up with him,

and sith so neighbor'd
to his youth and havior,

that you vouchsafe
your rest here in our
court some little time,

so by your companies
to draw him on to pleasures,

and to gather so much as
from occasion you may glean,

whether aught to us unknown
afflicts him thus

that, open'd,
lies within our remedy.

Good gentlemen,
he hath much talked of you

and sure I am two men there
is not living to whom
he more adheres.

Both your Majesties might,
by the sovereign power
you have of us,

put your dread pleasures
more into command
than to entreaty.

But we both obey
and here give up
ourselves in the full bent

to lay our service freely
at your feet,
to be commanded.

Thanks, Rosencrantz
and gentle Guildenstern.

Thanks, Guildenstern
and gentle Rosencrantz.

And I beseech you instantly
to visit my too much
changed son.

Go, some of you,
and bring these gentlemen
where Hamlet is.

The ambassadors from Norway,
my good lord,
are joyfully returned.

Thou still hast been
the father of good news.

Have l, my lord?

I assure my good liege
and I do think,

or else this brain of mine
hunts not the trail of policy

so sure as it was wont to do,
that I have found the
very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

O, speak of that,
that do I long to hear.

I doubt it is no other
but the main,
his father's death

and our o'erhasty marriage.

My liege, and madam,

to expostulate what majesty
should be, what duty is,

why day is day,
night is night
and time is time,

were but to waste night,
day and time.

Therefore, since brevity
is the soul of wit

and tediousness
the limbs and
outward flourishes,

I will be brief.

Your noble son is mad.

Mad call I it, for to define
true madness, what is't but to
be nothing else but mad?

But let that go.
More matter with less art.

Madam, I swear
I use no art at all.

That he is mad, 'tis true,
'tis true 'tis pity
and pity 'tis 'tis true.

A foolish figure!
Farewell it,
for I will use no art.

I have a daughter,
have while she is mine,

who in her duty and obedience,
mark, hath given me this.

"Doubt that the stars are fire,

"Doubt that the sun doth move.

"Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.

"Thine evermore, most dear lady,

"whilst this machine is to him,

"Hamlet."

How hath she received his love?

What do you think of me?

As of a man faithful
and honorable.

I would fain prove so.

No, I went round to work

and my young mistress thus
I did bespeak,

"Lord Hamlet is a prince
out of thy star,
this must not be."

And then I prescripts gave her
that she should lock herself
from his resort,

admit no messengers,
receive no tokens.

This done,
she took the fruits
of my advice

and he, repelled,
a short tale to make,

fell into a sadness,
then into a fast,

thence to a watch,
thence to a weakness,

then into a lightness,
and by this declension,

into the madness wherein now
he raves and all we mourn for.

Do you think this?
It may be very like.

Take this from this,
if this be otherwise.

If circumstances lead me,
I will find where
truth is hid,

though it be hid indeed
within the center.

How may we try it further?

You know sometimes
he walks for hours together
here in the lobby.

So he does indeed.

At such a time,
I'll loose my daughter to him.

Read on this book.

That show of such an exercise
may color your loneliness.

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.

No more. 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 wish'd.

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 undiscover'd 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 o'er

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.

The fair Ophelia.

Nymph, in thy orisons
be all my sins remembered.

Good my lord,
how does your honor
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 l, I never
gave you aught.

My honor'd lord,
you know right well you did.

And with them words
of so sweet breath compos'd

as made these things more rich,

their perfume lost,
take these again,
for to the noble mind,

rich gifts wax poor
when givers prove unkind.

There, my lord.

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, my lord,
have better commerce
than with honesty?

Ay, truly,
for the power of beauty

will sooner transform honesty
from what it is into 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 believ'd me,

for virtue cannot so inoculate
our old stock but
we shall relish of it.

I loved you not.

I was the more deceived.

Get thee to a nunnery.

Why wouldst thou
be a breeder of sinners?

I am myself
indifferent honest, but yet

I could accuse me of such things

that it were better
my mother had not borne me.

I am very proud,
revengeful, ambitious.

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

Believe none of us.

Go thy ways to a nunnery.

Where's your father?

At home, my lord.

Let the doors be
shut upon him,
that he may play the fool

nowhere but in's
own house. Farewell.

If thou dost marry,
I'll give thee
this plague for thy dowry,

be thou as chaste as ice,
as pure as snow,

thou shalt not escape calumny.

Get thee to a nunnery.
Farewell. Or if thou wilt
needs marry, marry a fool,

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

To a nunnery, go,
and quickly too. Farewell.

Heavenly powers, restore him!

I have heard of your paintings
well enough.

God hath given you one face,
and you make
yourselves another.

You jig and amble and you lisp,

you nickname God's creatures
and make your wantonness
your ignorance.

Go to, I'll no more on't,
it hath made me mad.

I say we will have
no more marriage,

those that are married already
all but one shall live,

the rest shall keep as they are.

To a nunnery, go!

O, what a noble mind
is here o'erthrown.

The courtier's, soldier's,
scholar's, eye, tongue, sword,

the expectancy and rose
of the fair state,

the glass of fashion
and the mold of form,

the observed of all observers,
quite, quite down!

And l, of ladies most deject
and wretched,

that sucked the honey
of his music vows,

now see that noble
and most sovereign reason,

like sweet bells
jangled out of time and harsh.

Love! His affections
do not that way tend.

Nor what he spake, though it
lacked form a little,
was not like madness.

There's something in his soul
o'er which his melancholy
sits on brood,

and I do doubt the hatch
and disclose will
be some danger,

the which for to prevent,
I have in quick determination
thus set it down,

he shall with speed
to England for the demand
of our neglected tribute.

What think you on't?
It shall do well.

And yet do I believe
the origin and
commencement of his grief

sprang from neglected love.

How now, Ophelia!
You need not tell us
what Lord Hamlet said,

we heard it all.

My lord, do as you please.

I will myself go try him.
Let me alone to
sound the depth of him.

'Tis well.

Madness in great ones
must not unwatch'd go.

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Well, God-a-mercy.

Do you know me, my lord?

Excellent well,
you are a fishmonger.

Not l, 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 pick'd
out of ten thousand.

That's very true, my lord.

Have you a daughter?
I have, my lord.

Let her not walk i' the sun.

Conception is a blessing,
and as your daughter may
conceive, friend, look to't.

How say you by that?
Still harping on my daughter.

O, he's far gone, far gone.

And yet in my youth I suffer'd
much extremity for love.
Very near this.

I'll speak to him again.

What do you read, my lord?
Words, words, words.

What is the matter, my lord?
Between who?

The matter that you read,
my lord.
Slanders, sir.

For the satirical rogue
says here that old men
have gray beards,

that their faces are wrinkled,
their eyes purging thick amber
and plum tree gum,

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

all which, sir,
though I most powerfully
and 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.

Though this be madness,
yet there's method in't.

My noble lord,
I take my leave of you.

You cannot take from me
anything that I will not
more willingly part withal.

Except my life,
except my life,
except my life.

Fare you well, my lord.
These tedious old fools!

You go to seek the
Lord Hamlet, there he is.

My honor'd lord!
My most dear lord!

My excellent good friends!
How dost thou,
Guilden... Er, Rosencrantz?

Good lads, how do you both?
As the indifferent children
of the earth.

Happy in that we are
not over happy.

On Fortune's cap
we are not the very button.

Nor the soles of her shoe.
Neither, my lord.

Then you live about her waist,
or the middle of her favors.

Faith, her privates, we.

In the secret parts of
Fortune? O, most true,
she is a strumpet. What news?

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

Then is doomsday near.
But your news is not true.

Let me question
more in particular.

What have you,
my dear friends, deserved,

at the hands of Fortune
that she sends you
to prison hither?

Prison, my lord?
Denmark's a prison.

Why, then your ambition
makes it one, 'tis
too narrow for your mind.

O God, I could be bounded
in a nutshell and count myself
a king of infinite space,

were it not that
I have bad dreams.

Which dreams,
indeed, are ambition.

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

To visit you, my lord,
no other occasion.

Beggar that I am,
I am even poor in thanks,

but I thank you, and sure,
dear friends, my thanks are
too dear a ha'penny.

Were you not sent for?

Now, come, come,
be even and direct with me,

whether you were sent for or no?

My lord, we were sent for.

I will tell you why.

I have of late, but wherefore
I know not, lost all my mirth,

foregone all
custom of exercises,

and indeed 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, look you,

this brave, o'erhanging
firmament, this majestical
roof fretted with golden fire,

why, it appeareth to me nothing

but a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapors.

What piece of work is a man!

How noble in reason!
How infinite in faculties!

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.

Nor women neither,
though by your smiling
you seem to say so.

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

Why did ye laugh,
then, when I said
"Man delights not me"?

To think, my lord,
if you delight not in man,

what Lenten entertainment
the players shall
receive from you.

We coted them on the way,
and hither they are coming
to offer you service.

He that plays the king
shall be welcome, his majesty
shall have tribute of me.

There are the players.

Gentlemen, you are welcome
to Elsinore. Come then,
your hands, you are welcome.

But my uncle-father
and my 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 handsaw.

My lord, I have
news to tell you.

My lord, I have news
to tell you. When Roscius
was an actor in Rome...

The actors are come
hither, my lord.

Upon my honor...
Then came each
actor on his ass.

The best actors in
the world, either for
tragedy, comedy, history,

pastoral, pastoral-comical,
historical-pastoral,

tragical-historical,
tragical-comical,
historical-pastoral.

Seneca cannot be too heavy
nor Plautus too light.

O Jephthah, judge of Israel,
what a treasure hadst thou!

What a treasure
had he, my lord?
Why...

♪ One fair daughter
and no more

♪ The which he
loved passing well ♪

Am I not i' the right,
old Jephthah?

If you call me Jephthah,
my lord, I have a daughter
that I love passing well.

Yay!

Welcome, masters, welcome, all.

Welcome, good friends.
O, old friend!

Why thy face is valanc'd
since I saw thee last,

com'st thou to beard
me in Denmark?

What, my young lady
and mistress!

We'll e'en to't like
French falconers,
fly at anything we see.

We'll have a speech straight.
Come, a passionate speech.

What speech, my lord?

I heard thee speak
me a speech once,
let me see,

"The rugged Pyrrhus,
like the Hyrcanian beast."

'Tis not so,
it begins with Pyrrhus.

"The hellish Pyrrhus
old grandsire Priam seeks."

"Anon he finds him..."

"Anon he finds him,
striking too short at Greeks,

"his antique sword,
rebellious to his arm,

"lies where it falls,
repugnant to command.

"Unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives,
in rage strikes wide.

"But with the whiff and wind
of his fell sword

"the unnerved father falls.

"Out, out,
thou strumpet, Fortune!

"All you gods in general synod
take away her power,

"break all the spokes and
fellies from her wheel,

"and bowl the round knave
down the hill of heaven,
as low as to the fiends."

This is too long.

Then it shall to the
barbers 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, ah
woe, had seen
the mobled queen?"

That's good,
"mobled queen" is good.

"Run barefoot up and down,
threat'ning the flames
with bisson rheum,

"a clout upon that head
where late the diadem stood.

"But if the gods themselves
did see her then,

"the instant burst of clamor
that she made

"would have made milch
the burning eyes of heaven

"and passion in the gods."

Look, my lord,
whether he has not
turned his color

and has tears in's eyes.

Prithee, no more.

'Tis well, 'tis well.

I'll have thee speak out
the rest of this soon.

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

Do you hear,
let them be well used,

for they are the
abstract and brief
chronicles of the time,

after your death
you were better
have a bad epitaph

than their ill report
while you live.

My lord, I will use them
according to their desert.

God's bodykins,
man, much better.

Use every man after his desert
and who shall 'scape whipping?

Use them after your
own honor and dignity.
Take them in.

Come, sirs.
We'll hear a play tomorrow.

Dost thou hear me, old friend?

My friends, I'll leave you
till night. You are
welcome to Elsinore.

Good my lord.

Can you play
The Murder of Gonzago?
Ay, my lord.

We'll ha't tomorrow night.

You could, for a need,
study a speech of some
dozen lines or sixteen lines

that I would set down
and insert in't,
could you not?

Ay, my lord.

Very well.
Follow that lord,

and look you mock him not.

O, what a rogue
and peasant slave am l!

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 from his working
all his visaged wann'd,

tears in his eyes,
distraction in's aspect,

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?

He would drown
the stage with tears,

and cleave the general air
with horrid speech,

make mad the guilty,
and appall the free,
confound the ignorant,

and amaze indeed the very
faculties of eyes and ears.

Yet l, a dull and
muddy-mettl'd rascal,

peak like John-a-dreams,
unpregnant of my cause,

and can say nothing.

No, not for a king

upon whose property
and most dear life
a damn'd defeat was made.

Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain,
plucks off my beard
and blows it in my face,

tweaks me by the nose and
gives me the lie i' the throat
as deep as to the lungs?

Who does me this? Ha!

'Swounds, I should take it,

for it cannot be that I am
pigeon-livered and lack gall
to make oppression bitter,

or ere this I should
ha' fatted all the region
kites with this slave's offal.

Bloody, bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous,
lecherous, kindless villain!

O, vengeance!

Why, what an ass am l!

This is most brave,

that l, the son of
a dear father murder'd,

prompted to my revenge
by heaven and hell,

must, like a whore,
unpack my heart with words,

and fall a-cursing like
a very drab, a scullion!

Fie upon't! Foh!

About, my brains.

I have heard that guilty
creatures sitting at a play

have, by the very
cunning of the scene,
been struck so to the soul

that presently they have
proclaimed their malefactions.

For murder,
though it hath no tongue,

will speak with
most miraculous organ.

I'll have these players
play something like

the murder of my father
before my uncle.

I'll observe his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick.

If he but blench,
I know my course.

The play's the thing

wherein I'll catch the
conscience of the King.

Speak the speech, I pray you,
as I pronounced it to you,

trippingly on the tongue,

but if you mouth it,
as many of our players do,

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

Nor do not saw the air
too much with your hand,
but use all gently,

for in the very torrent,
tempest, and, as I may say,
whirlwind of your passion,

you must acquire and beget
a temperance that may
give it smoothness.

I warrant your honor.
Be not too tame neither,

but let your own
discretion be your tutor.

Suit the action to the word,
the word to the action.

With this special observance,
that you o'erstep
not the modesty of nature,

for anything so
o'erdone is from
the purpose of playing,

whose end, both
at the first and now,

was and is to hold
the mirror up to nature.

Now, this overdone
or come tardy off,

whiles it makes
the unskillful laugh,

cannot but make the
judicious grieve, the
censure of which one must,

in your opinion,
o'erweigh a whole
theater of others.

I hope we have
reform'd that
indifferently with us, sir.

O, reform it altogether.

And let those that play
your clowns speak no more
than is set down for them,

for there be of them
that will themselves laugh,

to set on some
quantity of barren
spectators to laugh too,

though in the
meantime some necessary
question of the play

be then to be considered.

That's villainous, and
shows a most pitiful ambition
in the fool that uses it.

Go, make you ready.

How now, my lord!

Will the King
hear this piece of work?

Ay, my good lord.
And the Queen too,
and that presently.

Bid the players make haste.

What, ho, Horatio!
Here, sweet lord.

At your service.

Will you two help hasten them?

Ay, my lord.
We will, my lord.

Horatio, thou art e'en as
just a man as e'er my
conversation cop'd withal.

O my dear lord!
Nay, do not think I flatter,

for what advancement
may I hope from thee

that no revenue hast
but thy good spirits
to feed and clothe thee?

For thou hast been
as one in suff'ring
all that suffers nothing,

a man that Fortune's
buffets and rewards hast
ta'en with equal thanks,

give me that man
that is not passion's slave,

and I will wear him
in my heart's core,

ay, in my heart of heart,
as I do thee.

Something too much of this.

There is tonight
a play before the King,

one scene of it
comes near the circumstance

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

I prithee, when thou
seest that act afoot,

even with the very
comment of thy soul,
observe my uncle.

Well, my lord, if he steal
aught the whilst this play is
playing and 'scape detecting,

I will pay the theft.

How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Excellent, i'faith,
of the chameleon's dish.

I eat the air,
promise-cramm'd,
you cannot feed capons so.

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

No, nor mine now.

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

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

What did you enact?
I did enact Julius Caesar,

I was kill'd i' the Capitol,
Brutus kill'd me.

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

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

Come hither,
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.

It's a fair thought
to lie between maids' legs.

You are keen, my lord,
you are keen.

It would cost you a groaning
to take off mine edge.

You are merry, my lord?

What should a man
do but be merry?

For look you how cheerfully
my mother looks,

and my father died
within's two hours.

Nay, 'tis twice two months,
my lord.

What means this, my lord?

Marry, this is
miching mallecho,
it means mischief.

Belike this show imports
the argument of the play.

We shall know by this fellow.

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 forty years are past,
their date is gone,

since happy times joined
both our hearts as one.

And now the blood that filled
my youthful veins runs
weakly in their pipes,

and all the strains
of music which erstwhile
pleas'd mine ear,

are now a burthen
that age cannot bear,

and therefore sweet nature
must have her due,

to heaven must l
and leave the earth with you.

O say not so,
lest that you kill my heart,

when death takes you,
let life from me depart.

Content thyself,
when ended is my date,

thou may'st perchance
find a more noble mate.

O speak no more,
for then I am accurs'd,

none weds the second
but who kills the first.

That's wormwood.
Shh.

A second time I kill my lord
that's dead when second
husband kisses me in bed.

I do believe you, sweet,
what now you speak,

but what we do
determine oft we break,

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,

if once a widow ever I be wife.

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 offense in it?

No, no, they do but jest,
poison in jest,
no offense i' the world.

What do you call the play?
The Mousetrap.

Marry, how? Tropically.

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

Gonzago is the duke's name,
his wife, Baptista.

You shall see anon.
'Tis a knavish piece of work,
but what of that?

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

This is one Lucianus,
brother... Nephew to the King.

You are as good
as a chorus, my lord.

Pox, murderer,
leave thy damnable faces
and begin. Come,

the croaking raven
doth bellow for revenge.

Thoughts black, hands apt,
drugs fit, and time agreeing,

confederate season,
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
usurps immediately.

He poisons him in the
garden for his estate.

His name's Gonzago.

The story is
extant and written
in very choice Italian.

You shall see anon
how the murderer gets
the love of Gonzago's wife.

How fares my lord?

What, frighted with false fire?

Give o'er the play.

Give me some light. Away!

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

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

O sir, would not this
get me a fellowship
in a cry of players?

Half a share.
A whole one, l.

For thou dost know,
O Damon dear,

this realm dismantled
was of Jove himself.

And now reigns here
a very, very paiock

You might have rhymed.

O good Horatio, I'll take
the ghost's word for a
thousand pounds.

Didst perceive?
Very well, my lord.

I did very well note him.

Good my lord.

Come, some music.

Come, the recorders.

For if the King like not
the comedy, why, then belike
he likes it not, perdy.

Good my lord, vouchsafe
me a word with you.

Sir, a whole history.

The Queen, your mother,
in most great affliction of
spirit, hath 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 make me a
wholesome answer,

I will do your
mother's commandment.

Sir, I cannot.
What, my lord?

Make you a wholesome answer,
my wit's diseased.

But such answer as I can
make, you shall command.

Or rather, as you say,
my mother.

She desires to speak
with you in her closet
ere you go to bed.

We shall obey were she
ten times our mother.

Have you any
further trade with us?

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 do surely bar the
door on your own 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 himself

for your succession in Denmark?

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

the proverb is something musty.

O, the recorders.
O come, let me see one.

Will you play upon this pipe?

My lord, I cannot.
I pray you.

Believe me, I cannot.
I do beseech you.

I know no touch of it,
my lord.
It is as easy as lying.

Look you, these are the stops.

But these cannot I command
to any utterance of harmony,
I have not the skill.

Why, 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.

'Sblood, do you think
I'm easier to be played
upon than a pipe?

My lord.
God bless you, sir.

The Queen would speak
with you, and that presently.

Hmm.

Oh!

Do you see yonder cloud
that's almost in the shape
of a camel?

O, yes, by the mass,
and 'tis like
a camel indeed.

Mmm. Methinks
it is like a weasel.

'Tis backed like a weasel.

Or like a whale?

Very like a whale.

Then I will come to
my mother by and by.

I will say so.

"By and by" is easily said.

Leave me, friends.

Let me be cruel, not unnatural.

I will speak daggers
to her, but use none.

He will come straight.
Look you lay home to him,

tell him his pranks
have been too broad
to bear with,

and that your grace
hath screened and stood
between much heat and him.

I'll silence me e'en here.

Pray you, be round with him.

I'll warrant you.
Fear me not.

Now, Mother, what's the matter?

Hamlet, thou hast
thy father much offended.

Mother, you have
my father much offended.

Come, come, you answer
with an idle tongue.

Go, go, 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 are the Queen,
your husband's
brother's wife.

And would it were not so
you are my mother.

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

Come, come, you shall not budge.

You go not till
I set you up a glass

where you may see
the inmost part of you.

What wilt thou do?
Thou wilt not murder me?

Help, ho!

Ho, ho!
Help, help, ho!

How now! A rat?
Dead, for a ducat!

O nay, what hast thou done?

Nay, I know not.

Is it the King?

O, what a rash
and bloody deed is this?

A bloody deed.

Almost as bad, good mother,

as kill a king
and marry with his brother.

As kill a king!

Ay, lady, it was my word.

Thou wretched,
rash, intruding fool!

Farewell!

I took thee for thy better.

Leave wringing of your hands.

Peace, sit you down
and let me wring your heart,

for so I shall
if it be made of
penetrable stuff,

if damned custom
have not braz'd it

so that it be proof
and bulwark against sense.

What have I done that
thou dar'st wag thy tongue

in noise so rude against me?

Such an act that blurs

the grace and blush of modesty,

calls virtue hypocrite,

takes off the rose
from the fair forehead

of an innocent love,

and sets a blister there,

makes marriage vows
as false as dicers' oaths.

Ay me, what act
that roars so loud

and thunders in the index?

Look you upon this picture

and on this,

the counterfeit presentment
of two brothers.

See what a grace was
seated on this brow?

Hyperion's curls,
the front of Jove himself,

an eye like Mars,
to threaten and command,

a station like
the herald Mercury

new lighted on
a heaven-kissing hill,

and this was your husband!

Look you now what follows.

Here is your husband.

Like a mildew'd ear

blasting his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain

leave to feed
and batten on this moor?

Huh?

Have you eyes?

You cannot call it love,

for at your age,

the heyday in the blood is tame,

it's humble and
waits upon the judgment,

and what judgment would
step from this to this?

O, shame!

Where is thy blush?

Rebellious hell,
if thou can'st 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 turns mine eyes
into my very soul,

and there I see
such black and grained spots

as will leave there their tinct.

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

stewed in corruption,
honeying and making love
over the nasty sty!

O, speak to me no more!

A slave that is not
twentieth part the tithe

of your precedent lord.

A king of shreds and patches...

Save me, and hover o'er me

with your wings,
you heavenly guards!

What would your gracious figure?

Alas, he's mad!

Do you not come
your tardy son to chide,

that, laps'd in
time and passion,

lets go by the important acting

of your dread command?

O, say.

To whom do you speak this?

Do you see nothing there?

Nothing at all,

yet all that is, I see.

Nor did you nothing hear?

No, nothing but ourselves.

My father

in his habit,

as he lived.

This is the very coinage
of your brain.

This bodiless
creation ecstasy
is very cunning in.

Ecstasy!

In my pulse as yours
doth temperately keep time,

and makes as healthful music.

Mother,

for love of grace,

lay not that flattering
unction to your soul

that not your trespass
but my madness speaks.

It will but skin and film
the ulcerous place

whiles rank corruption

mining all within
infects unseen.

Confess yourself to heaven,

repent what's past,
avoid what is to come,

and do not spread
the compost on the weeds
to make them ranker.

O Hamlet,
thou hast cleft my heart
in twain.

O, throw away
the worser part of it,

and live the better
with the purer half.

Good night,

but go not to my uncle's bed.

Refrain tonight.

And that shall lend
a kind of easiness
to the next abstinence.

Once more, good night.

And when you are
desirous to be blest,

I'll blessing beg of you.

For this same lord I do repent,

but Heaven hath pleas'd it so

to punish me with this
and this with me,

that I must be
their scourge and minister.

Again, good night.

I must be cruel

only to be kind.

Mother, good night, indeed.

How dangerous is it
that this man goes loose!

Yet may we not put
the strong law on him.

He's loved of
the distracted multitude.

To bear all smooth and even,
this sudden sending him away

must seem deliberate pause.

How now, what news?

Where the dead body
is bestow'd, my lord,

we cannot get from him.

Where is he?
Without, my lord, guarded,
to know your pleasure.

Bring him before us.

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.

Where is Polonius?

In heaven!
Send thither to see,

if your messenger
find him not there,

seek him i' the other
place yourself.

But if, indeed, 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 you come.

Hamlet, this deed,
for thine especial safety

which we do tender,
as we dearly grieve

for that which thou hast done

must send thee hence
with fiery quickness.

Therefore, prepare thyself,

the bark is ready,
the wind at help,

the associates tend,

and everything
is bent for England.

For England? Good!
Ay, Hamlet.

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

I see a cherub that sees them.

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.

But, come, for England!

Follow him at foot,
tempt him with speed aboard.

And, England, if my love
thou hold'st at aught,

as my great power thereof
may give thee sense,

pay homage to us,

and contrive at once
the present death of Hamlet.

Do it, England!

For like the hectic
in my blood he rages,

and thou must cure me.

O, my offense is
rank, it smells
to heaven,

it hath the
primal eldest
curse upon't,

a brother's murder!

What if this cursed hand

were thicker than itself
in brother's blood,

is there not rain enough
in the sweet heavens

to wash it white as snow?

Then I'll look up,
my fault is past.

But O, what form of prayer
can serve my turn?

"Forgive me my foul murder!"

That cannot be,

since I am still possess'd
of those effects

for which I did
the murder, my crown,

mine own ambition and my queen.

May one be pardon'd
and retain the offense?

In the corrupted currents
of this world,

offense's guilded hand
may shove by justice,

and oft 'tis seen the wicked
prize itself buys out the law.

But 'tis not so above.

There is no shuffling,

there the action lies
in his true nature, and...

Help, angels. Make assay.

Bow, stubborn knees,

and, heart,
with strings of steel,

be soft as sinews
of the new-born babe.

All may be well.

My words fly up,
my thoughts remain below.

Words without thoughts
never to heaven go.

Good sir,
whose powers are these?

They are of Norway, sir.

How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?

Against some part of Poland.

Who commands them, sir?

The nephew to
old Norway, Fortinbras.

Goes it against
the main of Poland
or for some frontier?

Truly to speak,
and with no additions,

we go to gain a patch of land

that hath no more profit
in it but the name.

To pay five ducats, five,
I would not farm it.

God be with you, sir.

I humbly thank you, sir.

Will't please you go, my lord?

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

How all occasions
do inform against me,

and spur my dull revenge!

What is a man,

if the 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 th' event,
a thought which, quarter'd,

hath but one part wisdom
and ever three parts coward,

I do not yet know
why I live to say

"This thing's to do,"

sith I have cause,
and will, and strength,

and means to do it.

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 honor's at the stake.

How stand I, then,

that have a father killed,
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!

No, I will not speak with her.

She is importunate,
indeed distract.

Her mood will needs be pitied.

'Twere good
she were spoken with,

for she may strew
dangerous conjectures

in ill-breeding minds.

Let her come in.

Where is the beauteous
majesty of Denmark?

How now, Ophelia!

♪ How should I
your true love know

♪ From the other one?

♪ By his cockle hat and staff

♪ And his sandal shoon

Alas, sweet lady,
what imports this song?

Say you? Nay, pray you mark.

♪ White his shroud
as the mountain snow

♪ Larded o'er
with sweet flowers

♪ Which bewept to
the grave did not go

♪ With true love showers ♪

Alas, look here, my lord.

How do you, pretty lady?

Well, God 'ild you!

They say the owl
was a baker's daughter.

Lord, we know what
we are, but we know not
what we may be.

God be at your table!

Conceit upon her father.

Pray let's have
no words of this!

But when they ask you
what it means, say this.

♪ 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 donn'd his clothes

♪ And dupp'd
the chamber-door

♪ Let in the maid,
that out a maid

♪ Never departed more

Pretty Ophelia!

Indeed, without an oath
I'll make an end on't.

♪ Quoth she,
"Before you tumbled me

♪ "You promised me to wed"

♪ He answers

♪ "So would I ha' done
by yonder sun,

♪ "An hadst thou
not come to my bed" ♪

How long hath she been thus?

I hope all will be well.

We must be patient,

but I cannot choose
but weep to think

they will lay him
i' the cold ground.

My brother shall know of it,

and so I thank you
for your good counsel.

Come, my coach!
Good night, ladies,

sweet ladies,
good night, good night.

Her brother is in secret
come from France,

and wants not buzzers
to infect his ear

with pestilent speeches

wherein necessity,
of matter beggar'd,

will nothing stick our person
to arraign in ear and ear.

O my dear Gertrude,
when sorrows come,

they come not single spies,
but in battalions!

Where are my Switzers?
Let them guard the door.

Young Laertes,
in a riotous head,

o'erbears your officers.

The rabble call him lord,
they cry,

"Choose we,
Laertes shall be king."

How cheerfully
on the false trail they cry!

The doors are broke.

Thou vile king,
give me my father!

Calmly, good Laertes.

That drop of blood
that's calm
proclaims me bastard,

cries cuckold to my father,
brands the harlot even here

between the chaste
unsmirched brows
of my true mother.

What is the cause, Laertes,
that thy rebellion
looks so giant-like?

Let him go, Gertrude,
do not fear our person.

There's such divinity
doth hedge a king

that treason can but
peep at what it would,

acts little of his will.

Where is my father?
Dead.

But not by him.
Let him demand his fill.

How came he dead?
I'll not be juggled with.

To hell, allegiance!
Vows to the blackest devil!

I dare damnation.

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.

Why, now you speak
like a good child

and a true gentleman,

that I am guiltless
of your father's death,

and am most sensible
in grief for it,

it shall as level
to your judgment 'pear

as day does to your eye.

How now! What noise is that?

O heat, dry up my brains!

Rose of May!

Dear maid,
kind sister, sweet Ophelia!

♪ They bore him
barefac'd on the bier

♪ Sing hey nonny,
nonny, hey nonny

♪ And in his grave
rain'd many a tear ♪

Fare you well, my dove!

O, how the wheel becomes it!

It is the false steward

that stole his
master's daughter.

This nothing's more than matter.

Here's rosemary,
that's for remembrance,

pray you, love, remember.

Here's pansies,
that's for thoughts.

A document in madness,

thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Here's fennel for you,
and columbines.

Here's some rue for you,

and here's some for me.

We may call it
herb of grace o' Sundays.

But you must wear your rue
with a difference.

Here is a daisy.

I would give you some violets,

but they wither'd all
when my father died.

They say a' made a good end.

God have mercy on his soul.

And on all you Christian souls,

I pray God.

God be wi' ye.

Is't possible
a young maid's wits

should be as mortal
as an old man's life?

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.

God bless you, sir.

Let him bless thee too.

He shall sir, an't please him.

I've got a letter
here for you, sir.

It comes from
the ambassador as
was bound for England,

if your name be Horatio,
as I'm let to know it is.

"Horatio, 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 valor,

"and in the grapple
I boarded them.

"On the instant
they got clear of our ship,

"so I alone
became their prisoner.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
hold their course for England,

"of them I have
much to tell thee.

"Give these fellows
some means for the King.

"They have letters for him.

"Farewell. He that
thou knowest thine, Hamlet."

I loved your father
as we love our self.

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

How now, what news?

Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.

Hamlet?
Hamlet?

This to your majesty,
this to the Queen.

Laertes, you shall
hear them. Leave us!

"High and Mighty.

"You shall know I am set
naked in your kingdom.

"Tomorrow shall I beg leave
to see your kingly eyes,

"when I shall,
first asking your pardon,

"thereunto recount the occasion

"of my sudden and
more strange return.

"Hamlet."

What should this mean?

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 didst thou."

If it be so,
Laertes, will you
be ruled by me?

Ay, my lord, so you will not
o'errule me to a peace.

Two months since
here was a gentleman
from Normandy.

Upon my life, Lamond.
I know him well.
The very same.

He is the brooch indeed
and gem of all the nation.

He made confession of you,

and gave you
such a masterly report,

for art and exercise
in your defense,

and for your
rapier most especial,

that he cried out
'twould be a sight indeed

if one could match you.

Now, out of this...

What out of this, my lord?

Hamlet comes back,
what would you undertake

to show yourself in deed

your father's son
more than in words?

To cut his throat i' the church.

Will you do this?

Keep close within your chamber.

Hamlet return'd shall know
you are come home.

We'll put on those shall
praise your excellence,

and set a double varnish

on the fame
the Frenchman gave you,

bring you, in fine, 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't,
and for that purpose

I'll anoint my sword.

I bought an unction

off a mountebank that's mortal.

I will touch my point
with this contagion,

that, if I gall him slightly,
it may be death.

I ha't.

When in your motion
you are hot and dry,

as make your bouts
more violent to that end,

and that he calls for drink,

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

whereon but sipping,

if he escape your venom'd stuck,

our purpose may hold there.

How now, sweet Queen?

One woe doth tread
upon another's heel,

so fast do they follow.

There is a willow
grows aslant the brook

that shows his hoar leaves
in the glassy stream.

There with fantastic garlands
did Ophelia come,

of crowflowers, nettles,
daisies and long purples.

There,

on the pendent boughs
her crowned weeds
clambering to hang,

an envious sliver broke.

Then down her weedy
trophies and herself

fell in the weeping brook.

Her clothes spread wide,

and, mermaid-like,
awhile they bore her up.

Which time she chanted
snatches of old lauds,

but long it could not be

till that her
garments, heavy
with their drink

pull'd the poor
wretch from her
melodious lay

to muddy death.

Alack, then, she is drown'd!

Drown'd, drown'd.

Has this fellow
no feeling of his business?

He sings in grave-making!

Custom hath made it in him
a property of easiness.

♪ But age,
with his stealing steps

♪ Hath clawed me in his clutch

♪ And hath shipped me
into the land

♪ As if I had never been such

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

I think it be thine indeed,
for thou liest in't.

You lie out on't, sir,
and therefore 'tis not yours.

For my part, I do not lie in't,

and yet it is mine.

Thou dost lie in't,

to be in't and say it is thine,

'tis for the dead,
not for the quick,

therefore thou liest.

'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't?

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 hast
thou been grave-maker?

Of all the days i' the year,

I came to't that day

that our last King Hamlet
overcame Fortinbras.

How long is that since?

Cannot you tell that?
Every fool can tell that.

It was that very 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.

Here's a skull now

hath lien here i' 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, sir, Yorick's skull,
the King's jester.

This?

E'en that.

Alas, poor Yorick!

I knew him, Horatio,

a fellow of infinite jest,
of most excellent fancy,

he hath 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 kiss'd
I know not how oft.

Where be your jibes now,

your gambols, your songs,

your flashes
of merriment that were

wont to set the table on a roar?

Now get you to my lady's table,

and tell her
let her paint an inch thick,

to this favor she must come.

Make her laugh at that.

Prithee, Horatio,
tell me one thing.

What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander

look'd o' this fashion
i' the earth?

E'en so.

And smelt so?

E'en so, my lord.

To what base uses
we may return, Horatio.

Imperious Caesar dead,
and turn'd to clay,

might stop a hole
to keep the wind away.

But soft.

But soft. But soft awhile.

Here comes the King.
The Queen, the courtiers.

Who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rights?

Couch we awhile, and mark.

What ceremony else?

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

Her death was doubtful,

and, but that great command
o'ersways the order,

she should
in ground unsanctified

have lodg'd till
the last trumpet.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done.

Lay her i' the earth.

And from her fair
and unpolluted flesh

may violets spring!

I tell thee, churlish priest,

a minist'ring angel
shall my sister be

when thou liest howling.

What?

The fair Ophelia!

Sweets to the sweet, farewell!

I hop'd thou shouldst have
been my Hamlet's wife,

I thought thy bride-bed to
have decked, sweet maid,

and not have strew'd thy grave.

O, treble woe fall ten times
double on that cursed head

whose wicked deed
thy most ingenious sense
depriv'd thee of!

Hold off the earth awhile,

till I have caught her
once more in mine arms!

Now pile your dust
upon the quick and dead!

What is he whose grief
bears such an emphasis?

This is I, Hamlet the Dane.

The devil take thy soul!

Thou prayest not well.

I prithee take thy fingers
from my throat.
Pluck them asunder!

Hold off your hand.

Good my lord, be quiet.

I will fight with him
upon this theme

until my eyelids
will no longer wag.

O my son, what theme?

I lov'd Ophelia,

forty thousand brothers
could not,

with all their quantity of love,

make up my sum.

What wilt thou do for her?
O, he is mad, Laertes.

Woo't fast? Woo't fight?
Woo't drink up eisel?
I'll do't.

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

Be buried quick with her,
and so will I.

Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou!

Hear you, sir,
what is the reason
that you use me thus?

I lov'd you ever.
But it is no matter.

Let Hercules himself
do what he may.

The cat will mew
and dog will have his day.

Good Gertrude,
set some watch
over your son.

Strengthen your patience
in our last night's speech,

this grave shall have
a living monument.

Up from my cabin, my sea-gown
scarf'd about me, in the dark.

Grop'd I to find out them,
had my desire,

finger'd their packet,
where I found, Horatio,
O royal knavery,

an exact command that,
on the supervise,
no leisure bated,

no, not to stay
the grinding of the axe,

my head should be struck off.

Is't possible?
Here's the commission,
read it at more leisure.

But wilt thou hear now
how I did proceed?

I beseech you.

I sat me down, devis'd a new
commission, wrote it fair.

An earnest conjuration
from the King,

as England was
his faithful tributary,

he should these bearers
put to sudden death,

not shriving time allow'd.

So Guildenstern and
Rosencrantz go to't.

Why, man, they did
make love to this employment.

They are not near my conscience.

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.

Peace, who comes here?

Oh.

Your lordship is right
welcome back to Denmark.

Dost know this water-fly?

No, my good lord.

Thy state is the more gracious.

Sweet lord, if your lordship
were at leisure,

I should impart a thing
to you from his majesty.

I will receive it, sir,

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, believe me, 'tis very cold,

the wind is northerly.

It is indifferent cold,
my lord, indeed.

But yet methinks
it is very sultry and hot

for my complexion.

Exceedingly, my lord,
it is very sultry,

as 'twere...
I cannot tell how.

But, my lord, his majesty
bade me signify to you

that he has laid
a great wager on your head.

Sir, this is the matter.
I beseech you, remember.

Nay, my good lord,
for mine ease, in good faith.

Sir, here is newly come
to court Laertes,

believe me,
an absolute gentleman,

full of most
excellent differences.

What imports the nomination
of this gentleman?

Of Laertes?
His purse is empty already,

all's golden words are spent.

I know you are not ignorant...

I would you did,
sir, yet, indeed,

if you did it would not much
approve me. Well, sir?

You are not ignorant
of what excellence Laertes is.

I mean, sir, for his weapon.

What's his weapon?

Rapier and dagger.

That's two of his weapons,
but well.

The King, sir, hath wager'd
with him six Barbary horses,

against the which
he has impon'd,
as I take it,

six French swords and poniards,

three of the carriages,
in faith,

are very dear to fancy,

very responsive to the hilts,
most delicate carriages,

and of very liberal conceit.

Six Barbary horses
against six French swords

and three liberal
conceited carriages?

That's the French bet
against the Danish.

Why is this impon'd,
as you call it?

The King, sir, hath laid, sir,

that in a dozen passes
between yourself and him

he shall not...
Exceed you three hits.

He has laid on twelve for nine,

and it should
come to immediate trial

if your lordship would
vouchsafe an answer.

How if I answer no?

I mean, my lord,

the opposition
of your person in trial.

Sir, if it please his majesty,

it is the breathing time
of day with me,

I will win for him and I can,

if not, I shall receive nothing

but my shame and the odd hits.

Shall I redeliver 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, my lord.

I do not think so.

Since he went into France

I have been
in continual practice.

I shall win at the odds.

But thou would'st
not think how ill

all's here about my heart,
but it is no matter.

Nay, good my lord.

If your mind
dislike anything, obey it.

I will forestall
their repair hither

and say you are not fit.

Not a whit,

we defy augury.

There is a special providence
in the fall of a sparrow.

If it be now, 'tis not to come,

if it be not to come,
it will be now,

if it be not now,
yet it will come,

the readiness is all.

Since no man has aught
of what he leaves, then,

what is't to leave betimes?

Let be.

Come, Hamlet, come,
and take this hand from me.

Give me your pardon, sir.
I have done you wrong,

but pardon't as
you are a gentleman.

This presence knows,
and you must
needs have heard

how I am punished
with a sore affliction.

What I have done
that might your nature,

honor and exception
roughly awake,

I here proclaim was madness.

I am satisfied in nature,

whose motive in this case

should stir me
most to my revenge.

But in my terms of honor,
I stand aloof,

and will no reconcilement

till by some elder masters
of known honor,

I have a voice
and precedent of peace

to keep my name ungor'd.

I embrace it freely,

and will this brother's
wager frankly play.

Cousin Hamlet,
you know the wager?

Very well, my lord,

your Grace has laid the odds
o' the weaker side.

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

since he is better,
we have therefore odds.

This is too heavy,
let me see another.

This likes me well.

These foils have all a length?

Ay, my good lord.

Stay!

If Hamlet give
the first or second hit,

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.

And you, the judges,
bear a wary eye.

Come on, sir.
Come, my lord.

One. Judgment?
No!

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Well, again.

Hamlet, this pearl is thine.

Here's to thy health.

I'll play this bout first,
set it by awhile.

Another hit, what say you?

A touch, a touch,
I do confess't.

Our son shall win.

He's fat and scant of breath.

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin,
wipe thy brow.

The Queen carouses
to thy fortune, Hamlet.

Lord Hamlet!

Gertrude, do not drink.

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

I dare not drink yet,
madam, by and by.

My lord, I'll hit him now.

I do not think't.

Come, for the third.
Laertes, you do but dally,

I pray, you pass
with your best violence,

I am afeard you make
a wanton of me.

Say you so? Come on.

Hit! Hit!
No.

Nothing, neither way.

Have at you now!

Part them, they are incens'd.

Nay, come again.

Look to the Queen there, ho!

They bleed on both sides.

How is it, my lord?

How is't, Laertes?

Why, as a woodcock,
to mine own springe, Osric,

I am justly killed
with mine own treachery.

How does the Queen?

She swoons to see them bleed.

No, no...

The drink, the drink!

O, my dear Hamlet!
The drink, the drink!

I am poison'd.

O, treachery! Seek it out.

It is here, Hamlet.

Hamlet, thou art slain.

The treacherous instrument
is in thy hand,
unbated and envenom'd.

The King, the King's to blame.

The point envenom'd too!

Then, venom,

to thy work.

O, yet defend me, friends!

Here, thou incestuous,
murd'rous, damned Dane,

drink off this potion.

Is thy union here?

Follow my mother.

He is justly serv'd.

It is a poison
tempered by himself.

Exchange forgiveness
with me, noble Hamlet.

Mine and my father's death
come not upon thee,

nor thine on me!

Heaven make thee free of it!

I follow thee.

I am dead, Horatio.

Thou livest,

report me and my cause aright
to the unsatisfied.

Never believe it.

I am more an antique Roman
than a Dane,

here's yet some liquor left.

Give me the cup. Let go.
By heaven, I'll have't.

O God! Horatio.

What a wounded name,
things standing thus unknown,

shall I leave behind me.

If thou didst ever
hold me in thy heart,

absent thee
from felicity awhile,

and in this harsh world

draw thy breath in pain
to tell my story.

O, I die, Horatio!

The potent poison
quite o'er-crows my spirit.

The rest is...

...silence.

Now cracks a noble heart.

Good night, sweet prince,

and flights of angels
sing thee to thy rest!

Hamlet was played
by Nicol Williamson.

Horatio, Gordon Jackson.

Claudius, Anthony Hopkins.

Gertrude, Judy Parfitt.

Polonius, Mark Dignam.

Laertes, Michael Pennington.

Ophelia, Marianne Faithfull.

Rosencrantz, Ben Aris.

Guildenstern, Clive Graham.

Osric, Peter Gale.

Player King, John J. Carney.

Player Queen, Richard Everett.

First Player and Gravedigger,
Roger Livesey.

Others taking part were
Robin Chadwick, Ian Collier,
Michael Elphick.

Mark Griffith, Anjelica
Huston, Bill Jarvis,
Roger Lloyd Pack.

John Railton, John Trenaman,
Jennifer Tudor.

The film was made at the Round
House, London, England.

Sound mixing at
Twickenham Studios.

Music composed by
Patrick Gowers.

The film was recorded by
Tony Jackson, edited by
Charles Rees.

Photographed by Gerry Fisher.

Designed by Jocelyn Herbert,
produced by Neil Hartley.

And directed by Tony Richardson.