Hamlet William Shakespeare (love books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online «Hamlet William Shakespeare (love books to read .TXT) đ». Author William Shakespeare
âThus didest thou.â King
If it be so, Laertesâ â
As how should it be so? how otherwise?â â
Will you be ruled by me?
Ay, my lord;
So you will not oâerrule me to a peace.
To thine own peace. If he be now returnâd,
As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it, I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice
And call it accident.
My lord, I will be ruled;
The rather, if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ.
It falls right.
You have been talkâd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamletâs hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him
As did that one, and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.
A very riband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears
Than settled age his sables and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness. Two months since,
Here was a gentleman of Normandy:â â
Iâve seen myself, and served against, the French,
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
Had witchcraft inât; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast: so far he toppâd my thought,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
I know him well: he is the brooch indeed
And gem of all the nation.
He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defence
And for your rapier most especial,
That he cried out, âtwould be a sight indeed,
If one could match you: the scrimers of their nation,
He swore, had had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming oâer, to play with him.
Now, out of thisâ â
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Not that I think you did not love your father;
But that I know love is begun by time;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a plurisy,
Dies in his own too much: that we would do,
We should do when we would; for this âwouldâ changes
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
And then this âshouldâ is like a spendthrift sigh,
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick oâ the ulcer:â â
Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,
To show yourself your fatherâs son in deed
More than in words?
No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.
Hamlet returnâd shall know you are come home:
Weâll put on those shall praise your excellence
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.
I will doât:
And, for that purpose, Iâll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratchâd withal: Iâll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
Letâs further think of this;
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape: if this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
âTwere better not assayâd: therefore this project
Should have a back or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft! let me see:
Weâll make a solemn wager on your cunnings:
I haât.
When in your motion you are hot and dryâ â
As make your bouts more violent to that endâ â
And that he calls for drink, Iâll have prepared him
A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venomâd stuck,
Our purpose may hold there.
One woe doth tread upon anotherâs heel,
So fast they follow: your sisterâs drownâd, Laertes.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead menâs fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pullâd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will: when these are gone,
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord:
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly douts it.
Comments (0)