William Shakespeare excerpts from Hamlet

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Prince Hamlet devotes himself to avenging his father’s death, but, because he is contemplative and thoughtful by nature, he delays, entering into a deep melancholy and even apparent madness. William Shakespeare (excerpts) from Hamlet Act 1 Scene 1 Enter Barnardo and Francisco, two sentinels Meeting BARNARDO: Who's there? FRANCISCO: Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself. BARNARDO: Long live the king! FRANCISCO: BARNARDO:? BARNARDO: He. FRANCISCO: You come most carefully upon your hour. BARNARDO: 'Tis now struck twelve: get thee to bed, FRANCISCO:. FRANCISCO: For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BARNARDO: Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO: Not a mouse stirring. BARNARDO: Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus FRANCISCO: I think I hear them.- Stand! Who's there? HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO: Give you goodnight. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier. Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO: BARNARDO: has my place. Give you goodnight. Exit FRANCISCO MARCELLUS: Holla! BARNARDO:! BARNARDO: Say, what, is Horatio there? HORATIO: A piece of him. BARNARDO: Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS: What, has this thing appeared again tonight? BARNARDO: I have seen nothing. MARCELLUS: Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us: Therefore I have entreated him along With us to watch the minutes of this night, That if again this apparition come, He may approve our eyes and speak to it. HORATIO: Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. BARNARDO: Sit down awhile, And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we two nights have seen. HORATIO: Well, sit we down, And let us hear BARNARDO: speak of this. BARNARDO: Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course t'illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one- MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off. Enter the Ghost Look where it comes again. BARNARDO: In the same figure like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS: Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BARNARDO: Looks it not like the king? Mark it, Horatio. HORATIO: Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BARNARDO: It would be spoke to. MARCELLUS: Question it, Horatio. 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! MARCELLUS: It is offended. BARNARDO: See, it stalks away. HORATIO: Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit the Ghost MARCELLUS: 'Tis gone and will not answer. BARNARDO: How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't? HORATIO: Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. MARCELLUS: Is it not like the king? HORATIO: As thou art to thyself. Such was the very armour he had on When he th'ambitious Norway combated: So frowned he once when, in an angry parle, He smote the steelèd pole-axe on the ice. 'Tis strange. MARCELLUS: Thus twice before, and just at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. HORATIO: 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. MARCELLUS: Good now, sit down and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land, And why such daily cast of brazen cannon And foreign mart for implements of war: Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Does not divide the Sunday from the week: What might be toward, that this sweaty haste Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: Who is't that can inform me? HORATIO: That can I, At least, the whisper goes so: our last king, Whose image even but now appeared to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride, Dared to the combat, in which our valiant Hamlet - For so this side of our known world esteemed him - Did slay this Fortinbras, who by a sealed compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seized on to the conqueror: Against the which, a moiety competent Was gagèd by our king, which had returned To the inheritance of Fortinbras, Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same cov'nant, And carriage of the article designed, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Of unimprovèd mettle hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there Sharked up a list of landless resolutes For food and diet to some enterprise That hath a stomach in't, which is no other - And it doth well appear unto our state - But to recover of us, by strong hand And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands So by his father lost: and this, I take it, Is the main motive of our preparations, The source of this our watch and the chief head Of this post-haste and rummage in the land. [...] [...] HAMLET: 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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep .- To sleep, perchance to dream .- aye, 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 poor man's contumely, The pangs of disprized 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 these fardels 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? 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 away, And lose the name of action.

William Shakespeare HOME

Prince Hamlet devotes himself to avenging his father’s death, but, because he is contemplative and thoughtful by nature, he delays, entering into a deep melancholy and even apparent madness.

William Shakespeare

(excerpts)

from Hamlet

Act 1 Scene 1
Enter Barnardo and Francisco, two sentinels Meeting

BARNARDO: Who's there?

FRANCISCO: Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself.

BARNARDO: Long live the king!

FRANCISCO: BARNARDO:?

BARNARDO: He.

FRANCISCO: You come most carefully upon your hour.

BARNARDO: 'Tis now struck twelve: get thee to bed, FRANCISCO:.

FRANCISCO: For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

BARNARDO: Have you had quiet guard?

FRANCISCO: Not a mouse stirring.

BARNARDO: Well, goodnight.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus

FRANCISCO: I think I hear them.- Stand! Who's there?

HORATIO Friends to this ground.

MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane.

FRANCISCO: Give you goodnight.

MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier. Who hath relieved you?

FRANCISCO: BARNARDO: has my place. Give you goodnight.

Exit FRANCISCO

MARCELLUS: Holla! BARNARDO:!

BARNARDO: Say, what, is Horatio there?

HORATIO: A piece of him.

BARNARDO: Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

MARCELLUS: What, has this thing appeared again tonight?

BARNARDO: I have seen nothing.

MARCELLUS: Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night,
That if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

HORATIO: Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

BARNARDO: Sit down awhile,
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.

HORATIO: Well, sit we down,
And let us hear BARNARDO: speak of this.

BARNARDO: Last night of all,
When yond same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course t'illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one-

MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off.

Enter the Ghost

Look where it comes again.

BARNARDO: In the same figure like the king that's dead.

MARCELLUS: Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

BARNARDO: Looks it not like the king? Mark it, Horatio.

HORATIO: Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

BARNARDO: It would be spoke to.

MARCELLUS: Question it, Horatio.

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!

MARCELLUS: It is offended.

BARNARDO: See, it stalks away.

HORATIO: Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit the Ghost

MARCELLUS: 'Tis gone and will not answer.

BARNARDO: How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't?

HORATIO: Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

MARCELLUS: Is it not like the king?

HORATIO: As thou art to thyself.
Such was the very armour he had on
When he th'ambitious Norway combated:
So frowned he once when, in an angry parle,
He smote the steelèd pole-axe on the ice.
'Tis strange.

MARCELLUS: Thus twice before, and just at this dead hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

HORATIO: 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.

MARCELLUS: Good now, sit down and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land,
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon
And foreign mart for implements of war:
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week:
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?

HORATIO: That can I,
At least, the whisper goes so: our last king,
Whose image even but now appeared to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride,
Dared to the combat, in which our valiant Hamlet -
For so this side of our known world esteemed him -
Did slay this Fortinbras, who by a sealed compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seized on to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gagèd by our king, which had returned
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same cov'nant,
And carriage of the article designed,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimprovèd mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
Sharked up a list of landless resolutes
For food and diet to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't, which is no other -
And it doth well appear unto our state -
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch and the chief head
Of this post-haste and rummage in the land.
[...]

[...]
HAMLET:
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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep .-
To sleep, perchance to dream .- aye, 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 poor man's contumely,
The pangs of disprized 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 these fardels 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?
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 away,
And lose the name of action.