Hamlet

Claudius    

How do you, pretty lady?

Ophelia

Well God 'ild you. They say the owl was a baker's
daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not
what we may be. God be at your table!    

Claudius    

Conceit upon her father.

Ophelia

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donned his clothes, 
And dupped the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more.    

Claudius    

Pretty Ophelia... 

Messenger

                                 Save yourself, my lord! 
The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impiteous haste
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears 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, "Choose we! Laertes shall be king!"
Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds.
"Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!"

Gertrude

How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! 
Oh, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!    

Claudius

                                 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 does hedge a king,
That Treason can but peep to what it wouldwould,
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,    
Why thou art thus incensed? Let him go, Gertrude.  

Claudius

Who shall stay you? 

Laertes

                                  My will, not all the world.
And for my means, I'll husband them so well
They shall go far with little.

Claudius

                                               Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?    

Laertes 

                               None but his enemies. 

Claudius

Will you know them, then?

Laertes

To his good friends, thus wide I'll ope my arms,
And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.    

Claudius 

                                                  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 pierce,
As day does to your eye.

Claudius 

                                                  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 pierce,
As day does to your eye.
Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you, on this fair mountain, leave to feed
And batten on this moor? Ha! 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? What devil was't
That thus has cozened you at hoodman-blind?    
Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you, on this fair mountain, leave to feed
And batten on this moor? Ha! 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? What devil was't
That thus has cozened you at hoodman-blind?    
Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you, on this fair mountain, leave to feed
And batten on this moor? Ha! 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? What devil was't
That thus has cozened you at hoodman-blind?    
Oh shame, where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, 
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth, let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame    
When the compulsive ardor gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively does burn,
And reason pardons will.

Gertrude

Hamlet

Gertrude

Hamlet

Gertrude

[Enter Ghost.]

Hamlet   

[Seeing the Ghost]

Gertrude   

Hamlet

Ghost

[The ghost gestures toward Gertrude]

Hamlet   

Gertrude   

Hamlet

Gertrude   

Hamlet   

Gertrude

Hamlet   

Gertrude   

Hamlet

[Exit Ghost.]

Gertrude

Hamlet   

Gertrude

Hamlet

[Pointing to Polonius' body]
[Pointing to dead Polonius]

Gertrude

Hamlet

Gertrude

Hamlet

Gertrude

Hamlet 

[Pointing to Polonius' body] 
[Exit Hamlet, dragging Polonius.]

Pages