The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Уильям Шекспир

immediate to our throne,

          And with no less nobility of love

          Than that which dearest father bears his son

          Do I impart toward you. 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.

        Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.

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

        Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

        King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.

          Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come.

          This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet

          Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,

          No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day

          But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,

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

          Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away.

Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet

        Ham. O that this too too solid 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! 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 would 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 followed 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!

      Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

        Hor. Hail to your lordship!

        Ham. I am glad to see you well.

          Horatio! – or I do forget myself.

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

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

          And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?

          Marcellus?

        Mar. My good lord!

        Ham. I am very glad to see you. – [To Bernardo] Good even, sir. -

          But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

        Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

        Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so,

          Nor shall you do my ear that violence

          To make it truster of your own report

          Against yourself. I know you are no truant.

          But what is your affair in Elsinore?

          We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

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

        Ham. I prithee do not mock me, fellow student.

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

        Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

        Ham. 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.

        Hor. O, where, my lord?

        Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

        Hor. I saw him once. He was a goodly king.

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

          I shall not look upon his like again.

        Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

        Ham. Saw? who?

        Hor. My lord, the King your father.

        Ham. The King my father?

        Hor. Season your admiration for a while

          With an attent ear, till I may deliver

          Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

          This marvel to you.

        Ham. For God's love let me hear!

        Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen

          (Marcellus and Bernardo) on their watch

          In the dead vast and middle of the night

          Been thus encount'red. A figure like your father,

          Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,

          Appears before them and with solemn march

          Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walk'd

          By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,

          Within his truncheon's length; whilst they distill'd

          Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

          Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me

          In dreadful secrecy impart they did,

          And I with them the third night kept the watch;

          Where,