All language subtitles for Hamlet.2025.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264

My lord.

He desires to speak with you.

Hamlet, come.

You are most welcome
back to England.

Though yet of Bhaijan
our dear brother's death

the memory be green,

and it us befits
to bear our hearts in grief,

yet so far has discretion
fought with nature

that we with wisest sorrow
think on him

together with remembrance
of ourselves.

Now,

Gertrude,

our sometime sister,
and our Queen,

will we, as it were
with defeated joy,

with mirth in funeral
and with dirge in marriage...

...take now to wife.

Nor have we herein barred
your better wisdoms,

which have freely gone
with this affair along.

For all, our thanks.

We will hold a voice
and precedent of peace

to keep her name ungored.

My good Hamlet...

...cast your
mourning colour off

and let your eye look
like a friend on Uncle.

We grieved your sickly father
while he lived.

You know it's common, my son.

All that lives must die.

Ay, madam,
it is common.

It is 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.

And we survivors have
in worthiest obligation

for some term
done him obsequious sorrow.

So to persevere
in obstinate condolement

is a course of...

...impious stubbornness.

It is unmanly grief.

But we pray that you
think of us as of a father.

For let the world take note

you are the most immediate
to our throne.

Let not your mother
lose her prayers, Hamlet.

I pray you stay with us.

I shall in all my best
obey you, madam.

It is a loving
and a fair reply.

Be as ourselves in England.

Come away - we'll teach you
to drink deep ere you depart.

They say an old man
is twice a child.

You'll come with us tonight?

Go on, my lord.

O...

...that this too too sullied
flesh would melt,

thaw and resolve itself
into a dew.

Or that the Everlasting

had not fixed her canon
against self-slaughter.

O God,

God...

...how weary, stale,

flat and unprofitable
seem to me

all the uses of this world!

Fie on it - fie -

it is an unweeded garden
that grows to seed.

Things rank and gross in nature

possess it merely -
that it should come to this?

So excellent a king,
that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr.

So loving to my mother

that you might not beteem
the winds of heaven

visit her face too roughly -
heaven and earth,

must I remember?

Why, she would hang on you...

...as if increase of appetite
had grown by what it fed on.

And yet within a week?
O God,

a beast that wants
discourse or reason

would have mourned longer -

married with my uncle?

My father's brother?

He's no more like my father
than I to Hercules.

Within a week she'll marry?

O...

...most wicked speed, to post

with such dexterity
to incestuous sheets.

It is not,
nor can it come to good.

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

Most welcome home.

What is your affair
in Elsinore?

My lord?

I came to see
your father's funeral.

I pray you do not mock me,

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

Indeed.

It follows hard upon.

Funeral baked meats

will coldly furnish forth
the marriage tables.

I'm glad to see you well.

My good lord.

I'm very glad to see you.

Something too much of this.

He was a goodly king.

He was a man.

Take him for all in all.

I shall not look
upon his like again.

Your Uncle?

He does make love
to his employment.

I think I see my father.

Come, my lord,
we stay upon your patience.

Hmm!

For this one and his favour,
my dear sister -

hold it a fashion
and a toy in blood.

Forward, not permanent,
sweet, not lasting,

the perfume and suppliance
of a minute, no more.

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

Perhaps he loves you now -
but you must fear,

his greatness weighed,

his will is not his own.

We must do
your mother's commandment.

Your behaviour has struck her
into amazement and admiration.

A wondrous son
that can so astonish a mother.

Hamlet.

Who goes there?

Please, who goes there?

Stop there. What are you?

Papa?

Say, why is this?

Wherefore, what should I do?

Now where will you lead me?
Speak, I'll go no further.

I will.

Speak, I am bound to hear.

What?

O God!

Murder!

My uncle?

I saw him, Ophelia.

Who, my lord?

In the dead waste,
middle of the night

he comes before me

and with solemn march,

with his oppressed
and fear-surprised eyes.

Saw who?

My God - the King, my father!

The King your father?

The apparition comes.

I know my father.

These hands are not more like.

But...

...where was this?

There, out in the city,
where we build.

And what looked he -
frowningly?

A countenance
more in sorrow than in anger.

- Pale, or red?
- Yeah, most pale.

And fixed his eyes upon you?

Most constantly.

I would that I had been there.

There is a villain
in our dwelling

in our home here.

There needs no ghost,
my lord,

sent from the grave
to tell us this.

Why, right,
yes, you are in the right.

My uncle...

...is the cause of all this.

And those that would
go hard at him

while my father lived

now pay
20, 40, 50, 100,000 apiece

for his friendship
and blessing.

O day and night,
but this is wondrous strange.

Then as a stranger
give it welcome.

There are more things
in heaven and earth, Ophelia,

than are dreamt of
in your philosophy.

And our imaginations
are as foul as devils' houses.

Come -
give me one poor request.

What is it, my lord?

Never make known
what I've seen tonight.

How strange or odd
I bear myself -

as I perhaps hereafter
shall have need

to put
a reckless disposition on -

that you at such time seeing me

never say
that you know what I saw -

this do swear.

Propose the oath, my lord.

Never to speak of this
that I have said -

nor to tell aught of me.

This do swear,

so grace and mercy
at your most needs help you.

This very place
puts toys of desperation

without more motive
into every brain.

It may deprive
your sovereignty of reason.

Observe my uncle.

If his corrupted guilt does not
reveal itself up to me now,

it is a damned ghost

- that I have seen.
- It draws you into madness.

Think of it.

We shall see.

We shall see.

- Hamlet.
- Hmm.

Excellent in faith.

Hmm.

So one may smile and smile,
and be a villain.

At least I am sure
it can be so in our home.

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Well, God-a-mercy.

Do you know me, my lord?

Excellent well.

- You are a fishmonger.
- Ha!

Not I, my lord.

O, 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 10,000.

Do you have a daughter?

Still harping on my daughter?

Yet you knew me not at first.
Said I was a fishmonger.

What do you read, my lord?

Words.

Words, words.

You should walk
out of the air, my lord.

Oh. What, into my grave?

How pregnant
sometimes your replies are.

Oh. A happiness
that often madness hits upon.

My lord...

...shall I take my leave
of you?

Or...

You cannot
take from me anything

that I'll not more willingly
part from now.

Except my life.

No, except my life.

Except my life.

God save you, sir!

O my excellent good friend!
How are you?

Happy,
in that I'm not ever happy.

O lord.

But what, in faith,
brings you from court today?

A truant disposition,
good my lord.

O, I would not hear
your enemy say so.

I know you are no truant.
But your news is not true.

Let me question you more
in particular.

Were you not sent for?

Is it your own inclining?
Is it a free visitation? Hmm?

Come, come,
deal justly with me.

- What should I say, my lord?
- O nothing but to the purpose.

I know the good King and Queen
have called you here.

- My lord, I was sent for...
- Mmm-hmm.

...to draw you on to pleasures.

Or to gather what it is

that to them unknown
afflicts me thus?

That opened
lies within our remedy.

You are much changed now.

Gone all these years.

So far from cheer
and from your former state.

Oh.

I have of late,
but wherefore I know not,

lost all my mirth...

Hmm!

...forgone all custom
of exercises.

Indeed, it goes so heavily
with my disposition

that this goodly frame,
the Earth,

seems to me
a sterile promontory.

What a piece of work is a man?

How noble in reason,

how infinite in faculties,

in form and moving,
how like an angel...

...in apprehension
how like a god?

Yet, to me,

what is this
quintessence of dust?

Man delights not me.

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 smile, then,

when I said
"man delights not me"?

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

what meagre entertainment

those players
shall receive from you.

What players are they?

They shall play at the wedding.

The wedding.

Laertes,
you are welcome in Elsinore.

But my aunt-mother

and my uncle-father
are deceived.

- In what, my lord?
- Oh.

When the wind is southerly

I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Huh.

Oh.

About, my brains.

Excellent, in faith.
Excellent.

I saw you play me a play once.

But it was never acted.
Or if it was, not above once.

For the play, I remember,
pleased not the million,

it was caviar to the general.

They'll have a jig,
this wedding?

You could for need study
some dozen or 16 thoughts,

which I will set down
and insert in it,

- could you not?
- Ay, my lord.

Then we shall speak anon.

Excellent, in faith.

Now I have seen...

...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.

And murder,
though it has no tongue,

will speak
with most miraculous organ.

I'll have these players
play something

like the murder of my father
before you, Uncle.

I'll observe your looks,
I'll tent you to the quick.

If you do blush...

...I know my course.

The spirit that I have seen...

...may be a devil,

and the devil has power
to assume a pleasing shape.

Yes, and perhaps,

out of my weakness
and my melancholy,

abuses me to damn me.

I'll have grounds
more relative than this.

Mmm.

The play's the thing.

Wherein I'll catch
the conscience of the King.

Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain?

Breaks my skull across?

Plucks me by the beard,
blows it in my face,

tweaks me by the nose,

gives the lie in the throat
so deep it's in my lungs -

who does to me this? Ha!

God,

I should take it!

For it cannot be
but I am pigeon-livered

and lack gall
to make oppression bitter -

or by now I should have fatted
the city's rats

with this slave's offal.

Bloody, bawdy villain,

remorseless, treacherous,
lecherous, kindless villain!

What an ass am I.

That this is most brave.

I, the son
of a dear father murdered,

prompted to my revenge
by heaven and hell.

My lord.

How does your honour
for this many a day?

Uh...

I humbly thank you, well.

- My lord...
- Hmm?

What is the cause
of your distemper?

You are so sick of late that...

...we distrust you.

We distrust you.

Where is your father?

Are you fair?

My lord?

- Are you honest?
- What means your lordship?

That if you be fair and honest,

your honesty should have
no discourse with your beauty.

Can beauty, my lord,

have a better commerce
than with honesty?

Ay, truly -
for the power of beauty

will sooner transform honesty

from what it is to a whore...

...than the force of honesty

could translate beauty
into her likeness.

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 you to a nunnery.

Why would you be
a breeder of sinners?

I am myself indifferent honest

if I could accuse me
of such things

it were better my mother
had not borne me.

I am very proud.

Ah, oh, revengeful.
Ambitious...

Have more offences at my beck

than I have thoughts
to put them in,

imagination to give them shape,
and time to act them in.

What should such fellows
as I do, crawling...

- My lord!
- ...between earth and heaven -

we are arrant fools,
all - believe none of us!

If you do marry,

I'll give you this plague
for a dowry -

be you as chaste as ice,
as pure as snow,

you shall not escape hate
from me!

If you must marry,
marry a fool -

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

Stop him.

- My lord.
- Laertes, help him.

No.

I have heard of your paintings
well enough!

God has given you one face

and you make yourselves
another.

- Hamlet.
- Huh.

You jig and you amble,

you lisp and you nickname
God's creatures

and you make your wantonness
ignorance!

Go to, I'll no more of it -
it has made me mad!

We will have no more marriage!

We will have no more marriage!

Those
that are married already...

- God's love stop you now.
- ...all but one shall live.

The rest
shall keep as they are.

My lord, please.

O, what a noble mind
is here overthrown.

To be, or not to be?

That is the question.

Whether it's nobler
in a mind to suffer

the slings and arrows
of outrageous fortune,

or to take arms
against a sea of troubles...

...by opposing, end them.

To die? To sleep...

...no more.

Or by a sleep to say
we end the heartache,

the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to?

It's 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.

Here'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 insolence,

the pangs of despised love,
the law's delay -

when he himself
might his quiet end make

with a dull dagger?

Who would burdens bear

to grunt and sweat
under a weary life,

but that the dread
of something after death,

the undiscovered country

from whose bourn
no traveller returns,

puzzles the will,

and makes us rather bear
those ills we have

than fly to others
that we know not of?

Ha-ha!

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 pitch and moment

with this regard
their currents turn awry,

and lose the name of action.

- Hey, Hamlet!
- It's time to mark the play.

Come mark the play.

Come mark the play.

They will have
the play straight.

Overstep not
the modesty of nature -

for anything so overdone
is from the purpose of playing

whose end,
both at the first and now,

was and is,
to hold as it were

the mirror up to nature:

to show virtue her feature,

scorn her own image

and the very age
and body of the time

its form and pressure.

My lord - will the King
see this piece of work?

And the Queen too,
and that presently.

Bid your players make haste.

Bid your players make haste.

It is now time for the play!

Come mark the play!

Whoo!

Come here now, my dear Hamlet,
come sit by me.

No, good mother.

Where's metal more attractive?

Ooh!

Shh...

Shh...

Lady...

...shall I lie in your lap?

No, my lord.

Did you think
I meant country matters?

I think nothing, my lord.

Well, that's a fair thought
to lie between maids' legs.

What is it, my lord?

No-thing.

Oh!

You are merry, my lord.

Who, I?

Yes, my lord.

What can a man do but be merry?

For look you how cheerfully
my mother looks.

Huh?

And my father died
within these two hours. Ah.

It is twice two months,
my lord.

Hmm?

Hmm?

It is twice two months,
my lord.

So long?

O heavens, died four months ago
and not forgotten yet?

Well then there's hope
a great man's memory

may outlive his life...
half a year?

Ha-ha!

He-he!

Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!

He-he-he! He-he-he!

We must begin.

Lights!

Lights!

Lights!

Drink, drink, more drink!

My Lord Hamlet.

Would not this
get me a fellowship

in a gang of players?

- Half a share.
- No, a full one, I.

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

What ghost, my lord?

Come, some music.

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

...is in his retirement
marvellous distempered.

With drink, sir?

No, my lord, with anger.

Well, for me to put him
to his purgation

will perhaps plunge him
into more anger.

If it should please you
to make me a wholesome answer.

- Sir, I cannot.
- What, my lord?

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

My lord, my lord...

...you once did love him.

- Will you play upon this pipe?
- My lord, I cannot.

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

- Believe me, I cannot.
- I do beseech you.

But I know no touch of it,
my lord.

It is easy as lying.

Govern these ventages
with your finger and thumb,

give it breath with your mouth,

it will let forth
the most eloquent music.

Look you, these are the stops.

Yes, but these I cannot command
to any utterance of harmony.

O, what, 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 sound me
from my lowest note

to the top of my compass.

And there is much music,
excellent voice,

in this little organ.

Yet you cannot make it speak?

God's blood - do you think

I am easier to be played upon
than a pipe?

I will not be juggled with.

Your dreadful black complexion

I will smear
with your young blood.

I'll see you dead.

To hell with allegiance.

Huh!

The Queen,

your mother,

in most great affliction
of spirit

has sent me to you.

And she would see you,
presently.

Huh!

Then I will...

come to my mother,
by and by.

All right, I'll say so.

"By and by" is easily said.

Come, Uncle.

'Doors closing.'

It's now...

...for you, Father.

'Doors opening.'

What do you call that play?

Hamlet, you have your 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.

- Have you forgot me?
- O no, by the gods, not so.

You are the Queen.
Your husband's brother's wife.

And, would it were not so,
you are my mother.

Well then.

I'll set him on you
that can speak.

- Come, come, come.
- Claudius! Claudius!

Sit you down.

You shall not budge.

You go not
till I set you up a glass

where you may see
the inmost part of you.

What will you do?

Good mother.

Good mother.

You will not murder me?

Shh!

Shh!

Dare you strike her!

Be calm.

Let him go, please!

No, no!

- My God!
- My God!

O God!

Oh, no, what have you done?

- Is it the King?
- No!

O God!

Oh, no!

Oh, no!

I took you for your better.

Shh! Shh...!

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, it was my word.

What have I done

that you wag your tongue
in noise so rude against me?

Such an act that blurs
the grace and blush of modesty.

See what a grace there was
on Papa's brow?

That was your husband.

Look you now what follows -
this is your husband -

like a mildewed ear
blasting his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes? Ha!

Have you eyes?

You cannot call it love,

for at your age the heyday
in the blood is tame.

Hush, Hamlet.

But to live in the rank sweat
of an enseamed bed

stewed in corruption,

honeying and making love
over the nasty sty...

- O, sweet Hamlet, no more!
- A murderer

- and a villain!
- Speak no more!

Oh...

No...

No, good mother.

Gertrude?

Gertrude!

- Let us come in!
- Go fast and take the body.

- Gertrude!
- Go!

Make haste, make haste!

Open the door!

Gertrude!

- Go, go!
- Open the door!

Gertrude!

Hamlet! Hamlet!

Hamlet!

Oh, my son.

Alas, you are mad.

Hamlet, this deed,
for your special safety -

which we do tender,

as we dearly grieve
for that which you have done -

must send you hence.

Therefore prepare yourself:

Your associates tend

and everything is bent
for Delhi.

To bear all smooth and even,

this sudden sending you away
must seem deliberate pause.

Diseases desperate grown

by desperate appliance
are relieved,

or not at all.

Come.

Delay it not.

- I'll have him hence tonight.
- Then come, for Delhi.

The expectation
and rose of their fair state.

The observed of all observers -

and I, of ladies most deject
and wretched.

I sucked the honey
of your musicked vows!

Now see that sovereign,
noble reason

blasted with ecstasy!

O... woe is me to have seen
what I have seen,

to see what I see.

Hamlet!

Give me my father!

Give me my father!

Delhi?

My good friends...

Argh!

Lay him on the earth.

A document in madness.

Go!

Play the fool
nowhere but your own house!

You, you have dealt with me
like thieves of mercy.

Go softly on.

They draw blood,
look to your wounds.

Go.

Good sir,
what people are these?

We are just people, sir.

But how purposed, sir,
I pray you?

We try to gain
that little patch of ground

that has in it
no profit but the name.

To pay five pennies - five -
you would not buy it.

What do you call yourselves?

'Fortinbras'.

How long have you lived
on this land, friend?

Since Elsinore did thus
cast out our people.

They did steal in the courts,
all these, our homes.

You know me?

I have seen your kind out there
a thousand times.

Did your bones
cost no more in breeding

but to play at these games
with them?

Mine ache to think on it.

What base uses we will return.

How all occasions
do inform against me

and spur my dull revenge.

Witness your 'army',
of no mass or charge -

whose spirit
with divine ambition puffed

exposes what is mortal

and unsure to all that fortune,
death, and danger dare...

...even for this egg-shell.

And how stand I then?

That has a father killed,
a mother stained,

excitements of my reason
and my blood,

and let all sleep?

What is a man if his chief good
and his market of his time

be but to sleep and feed?

A beast.

No more -
who rots on earth unused.

So whether it be
bestial oblivion

or some craven scruple

of thinking too precisely
on the event -

a thought which quartered...

...has but one part wisdom
and ever three parts coward -

I do not know why yet I live
to say "This thing's to do".

As I have cause and will

and strength
and means to do it.

Examples gross as earth
exhort me.

Give me a voice.

Go, my friend, from here
to the sovereign court.

Tell them that by this license,

you do now have all the rights
of ownership to my fortune.

Why, what king is this?

So I to claim your homes back
here do invite you.

There's a divinity
that shapes our ends,

rough-hew them how we will.

And a man's life's no more
than to say "one".

Now to Elsinore.

From this time forth,
my thoughts be bloody.

Or be nothing worth.

No more done?

What ceremony else?

O God, from her fair
and unpolluted flesh

may violets spring.

The devil take your soul!

- Enough!
- My sister!

Enough! I pray you, stop.

Treble woe
fall ten times double

on that cursed head!

O God!

No! No, stop! No!

No...

Oh, for God's sake,
stop him now!

Hamlet.

O God.

O God, my God.

Ophelia drowned, good Hamlet.

Drowned?

There is the willow
grows beside our brook...

...she to its pendent boughs...

...a crown of weeds
did seek to hang.

Long it could not be
till that her garments,

heavy with their drink,

pulled the poor wretch
to her muddy death.

Alas...

Alas...

It was the poison
of deep grief.

It sprung all
from her father's death.

My lord?

The King, sir,

desires you to use some gentle
reconcilement with Laertes.

How if I say no?

There's special providence
in the fall of a sparrow.

If it be now, it's 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 can know
the world he leaves,

what is it to leave behind?

Let be.

Come, Hamlet.

Come and take his hand
from him.

Give me your pardon, sir.

I have done you wrong.

But pardon it,
as you are a gentleman.

This presence knows,

and you must needs have heard,

how I am punished
with a sore distraction.

What I have done
that might your nature, honour

and exception roughly awake,

I here proclaim was madness.

Let my disclaiming
from a purposed evil

free me so far in your
most generous thoughts...

...that I have shot my arrow
over the house.

And hurt my brother.

I...

I am satisfied in nature,

whose motive in this case

should stir me most
to my revenge.

And for this time...

...I do receive your love
like love...

...and will not wrong it.

We now must drink
to Hamlet's better breath!

Here...

...to his health.

Raise up your cups.

These drinks
all have a strength?

Ay, my good lord.

Then come, Laertes.

For the end.

You do but dally.

The Queen embraces
your good fortune, Hamlet.

Gertrude, do not drink.

I will, my lord.

I pray you pardon me.

No, Mother!

O God!

No.

Mother!

Good Mother!

Oh, Hamlet.

The drink envenomed?

Then, venom, to your work.

Exchange forgiveness with me,
noble Hamlet.

Uncle!

Uncle!

Villainy!

Treachery!

Now they will tell

of carnal, bloody
and unnatural acts.

Of accidental judgements,
casual slaughters -

of deaths put on by cunning -

and for what cause?

Fortinbras.

They have my dying voice.

Their soldiers
work for justice.

Follow my father.

I loved your father.

Let be.

And so I am revenged.