Hamlet - William Shakespeare (no david read aloud txt) š
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online Ā«Hamlet - William Shakespeare (no david read aloud txt) šĀ». Author William Shakespeare
Pray you, letās have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this: Sings.
To-morrow is Saint Valentineās day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donnād his clothes,
And duppād the chamber-door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
Indeed, la, without an oath, Iāll make an end onāt: Sings.
By Gis and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will doāt, if they come toāt;
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed.
So would I haā done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.
Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. Exit Horatio.
O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her fatherās death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. First, her father slain:
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Poloniusā death; and we have done but greenly,
In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France;
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his fatherās death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggarād,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death. A noise within.
Save yourself, my lord:
The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
Oāerbears your officers. The rabble call him lord;
And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry āChoose we: Laertes shall be king:ā
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds:
āLaertes shall be king, Laertes king!ā
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile king,
Give me my father!
That drop of blood thatās calm proclaims me bastard,
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
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:
Thereās such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Gertrude.
Speak, man.
How came he dead? Iāll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only Iāll be revenged
Most thoroughly for my father.
My will, not all the world:
And for my means, Iāll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear fatherās death, isāt writ in your revenge,
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?
To his good friends thus wide Iāll ope my arms;
And like the kind life-rendering pelican,
Repast them with my blood.
Why, now you speak
Like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your fatherās death,
And am most sensible in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce
As day does to your eye.
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
O heavens! isāt possible, a young maidās wits
Should be as moral as an old manās life?
Nature is fine in love, and where ātis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
Sings.
They bore him barefaced on the bier;
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
And in his grave rainād many a tear:ā ā
Fare you well, my dove!
LaertesHadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
It could not move thus.
Sings.
You must sing a-down a-down,
An you call him a-down-a.
O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his masterās daughter.
Laertes This nothingās more than matter. Ophelia Thereās rosemary, thatās for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, thatās for thoughts. Laertes A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. OpheliaThereās fennel for you, and columbines: thereās rue for you; and hereās some for me: we may call it herb-grace oā Sundays: O you must wear your rue with a difference. Thereās a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all
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