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Modern English
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death The memory be green, and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of woe; Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature That we with wisest sorrow think on him, Together with remembrance of ourselves. Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, Th’imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as’twere with a defeated joy, With one auspicious and one dropping eye, With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole, Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, He hath not fail’d to pester us with message, Importing the surrender of those lands Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, To our most valiant brother. So much for him. Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: Thus much the business is: we have here writ To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress His further gait herein; in that the levies, The lists, and full proportions are all made Out of his subject: and we here dispatch You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand, For bearers of this greeting to old Norway, Giving to you no further personal power To business with the King, more than the scope Of these dilated articles allow. Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.
Although we still grieve the death of Hamlet, our dear brother, And it’s right that we mourn and our whole kingdom Shows our sorrow, Discretion has made us balance grief with reason, So that, with wise sorrow, we think of him, Along with thinking of ourselves. Therefore, our former sister, now our queen, The royal partner of this kingdom, We have, as it were, with a sad joy, With one eye full of hope and one of tears, With celebration at a funeral, and mourning at a wedding, Weighing joy and grief equally, Taken as our wife; and we have not prevented Your good judgment, which has supported this marriage. For all this, we thank you. Now, here’s the matter: You all know young Fortinbras, Who, wrongly thinking we are weak Or that, with our late brother’s death, Our kingdom is falling apart, Has allied himself with this hope of advantage, And has sent us many messages, Demanding the lands lost by his father To be given back, with all legal rights, To our brave brother. That’s enough about him. Now, about our current situation: Here’s the plan: we’ve written to Norway, the uncle of young Fortinbras, Who, weak and bedridden, hardly hears About his nephew’s plans to stop His campaign; since the army, lists, and full plans Are being raised without his approval: so we send You, Cornelius, and you, Voltemand, To deliver this letter to old Norway, Giving you no further authority To deal with the King, beyond the purpose Of this letter. Farewell, and may your haste show your duty.
In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
In that, and everything else, we will do our duty.
We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.
We don’t doubt it at all: farewell, and take care.
And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you? You told us of some suit. What is’t, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
And now, Laertes, what’s going on with you? You mentioned something about a request. What is it, Laertes? You can’t speak reasonably to the Dane, And lose your voice. What is it you want, Laertes, That I won’t offer, or you won’t ask for? The head is no more essential to the heart, The hand more helpful to the mouth, Than the throne of Denmark is to your father. What do you want, Laertes?
Dread my lord, Your leave and favour to return to France, From whence though willingly I came to Denmark To show my duty in your coronation; Yet now I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
Your majesty, I ask your leave and approval to return to France, From where, though I came willingly to Denmark To show my duty at your coronation, Now I must admit, once that duty is done, My thoughts and desires are turning back to France, And I seek your gracious leave and forgiveness.
Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?
Has your father given his consent? What does Polonius say?
He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave By laboursome petition; and at last Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent. I do beseech you give him leave to go.
He has, my lord, after much begging from him, I finally gave my reluctant permission. I do ask that you allow him to go.
Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will! But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—
Take your time, Laertes; time is yours, And may you spend it as you wish! But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—
[
] A little more than family, and less than friendly.
] A little more than kin, and less than kind.
] A little more than family, and less than friendly.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Why do the clouds still hang over you?
Not so, my lord, I am too much i’the sun.
Not so, my lord, I am too much in the spotlight.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust. Thou know’st’tis common, all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
Good Hamlet, shed your dark clothes, And look at Denmark with friendly eyes. Don’t keep searching for your noble father in the grave. You know, it’s normal; everything that lives must die, Passing through life into eternity.
Ay, madam, it is common.
Yes, madam, it is normal.
If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee?
If it’s so normal, Why does it seem so special to you?
Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems. ’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc’d breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, That can denote me truly. These indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play; But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Special, madam! No, it’s not special; I don’t know what “seems” means. It’s not just my black clothes, good mother, Or the customary suits of sorrow, Or the forced sighs I breathe, No, nor the tears that fill my eyes, Nor the sad look on my face, Nor any outward sign of grief, That truly show what’s inside me. These might seem like grief, Because they’re things anyone might do; But inside me, I have something deeper than appearances; These are just the clothes and props of sadness.
’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father; But you must know, your father lost a father, That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness.’Tis unmanly grief, It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, An understanding simple and unschool’d; For what we know must be, and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we in our peevish opposition Take it to heart? Fie,’tis a fault to heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, To reason most absurd, whose common theme Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first corse till he that died today, ‘This must be so.’We pray you throw to earth This unprevailing woe, and think of us As of a father; for let the world take note You are the most 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.
It’s noble and admirable, Hamlet, To honor your father’s memory in this way; But you must understand, your father had a father, And that father lost his father, and the surviving son, Out of duty, must grieve for a while. But to keep grieving stubbornly is wrong, It’s an unholy kind of grief. It shows a will that’s wrong before heaven, A heart that’s weak, a mind that’s impatient, An understanding that’s naive and untrained; For what happens must happen, and it’s as common As any other ordinary thing we experience, So why should we let it trouble us so much? It’s wrong, it’s a fault against heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault against nature, And completely irrational. Death of fathers happens all the time, And it’s always been this way, from the first death to today. We pray you stop this pointless sorrow, and think of us As you would a father. For you’re the closest to our throne, And with the same love a father has for his son, I give you my affection. As for your plans To return to Wittenberg, it goes against our wishes. Please stay here, with us, in the comfort of our sight, Our most important courtier, cousin, and son.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
Don’t let your mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. Please stay with us; don’t go to Wittenberg.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
I will, madam, obey you to the best of my ability.
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 today But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
Why, it’s a loving and fair response. Be like us here in Denmark. Madam, come; This kind and unforced agreement from Hamlet Warmly touches my heart; and in its grace, No cheerful toast that Denmark drinks today Will go unnoticed by the big cannon in the sky, And the King’s feast will make heaven talk again, Repeating the sound of thunder from earth. Come away.
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! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on’t! Oh 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 mine 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.
Oh, that this too solid body would melt, Thaw, and turn into dew! Or that God had not made a rule Against suicide. Oh God! Oh God! How tired, stale, flat, and useless Everything in this world seems to me! Ugh! Oh ugh! It’s like an untended garden That grows weeds; things rotten and ugly take over. How did it come to this? Only two months dead—no, not even that, not two: Such an amazing king; he was like the sun god compared to this Foolish uncle; so loving to my mother, That he wouldn’t let the wind touch her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I really remember this? Why, she would cling to him As if her appetite for love grew stronger By what it fed on; and yet, within a month— Let me not think of it—Frailty, your name is woman! A little month, or before those shoes had worn out With which she followed my poor father’s body Like Niobe, crying all the way.—Why, she, even she— Oh God! A beast without reason Would have mourned longer,—married my uncle, My father’s brother; but he was nothing like my father More than I am like Hercules. Within a month? Before the salt from her most unjust tears Had even dried in her sore eyes, She married. Oh, such wicked haste, to rush Into bed with such skill and speed! This is not, and cannot lead to anything good. But break my heart, for I must keep quiet.
Hail to your lordship!
Hail, my lord!
I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget myself.
I’m happy to see you well: Horatio, unless I’ve forgotten myself.
The same, my lord, And your poor servant ever.
The same, my lord, And always your humble servant.
Sir, my good friend; I’ll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— Marcellus?
Sir, my good friend; I’ll call you by another name: And what brings you here from Wittenberg, Horatio?— Marcellus?
My good lord.
My lord.
I am very glad to see you.—Good even, sir.— But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
I’m very glad to see you.—Good evening, sir.— But really, what brings you from Wittenberg?
A truant disposition, good my lord.
I’ve been a little absent, my lord.
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.
I wouldn’t want to hear your enemy say that; Nor would I let you do that to me, Making me believe your own story About yourself. I know you’re no truant. But what brings you to Elsinore? We’ll teach you to drink heavily before you leave.
My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.
My lord, I came to attend your father’s funeral.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student. I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.
Please don’t make fun of me, fellow student. I think you came to see my mother’s wedding.
Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon.
Indeed, my lord, it followed right after.
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.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The leftover funeral food Was coldly served at the wedding tables. I wish I had met my worst enemy in heaven Or never had to see that day, Horatio. My father,—I think I see my father.
Where, my lord?
Where, my lord?
In my mind’s eye, Horatio.
In my mind’s eye, Horatio.
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
I saw him once; he was a good king.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
He was a man, all things considered, I will never see his like again.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
My lord, I think I saw him last night.
Saw? Who?
Saw? Who?
My lord, the King your father.
My lord, your father the King.
The King my father!
The King my father!
Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear, till I may deliver Upon the witness of these gentlemen This marvel to you.
Please, hold your amazement for a moment And listen carefully, so I can explain What these men have witnessed About this strange event.
For God’s love let me hear.
For God’s sake, let me hear it.
Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie, 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, as they had deliver’d, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes. I knew your father; These hands are not more like.
For two nights in a row, these men, Marcellus and Barnardo, were on watch In the dead of night, When they saw it. A figure like your father, Fully armored, from head to toe, Appeared before them, marching slowly With a serious and solemn pace: three times it walked By their stunned and terrified eyes, Close enough that they could almost touch it; they, frozen With fear, stood silent and didn’t speak to it. They told me In secret, and on the third night, I joined them on watch, Where, just as they described, both in appearance And word-for-word, the figure appeared. I knew your father; These hands are just as similar to his.
But where was this?
But where did this happen?
My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
My lord, on the platform where we were standing guard.
Did you not speak to it?
Did you not speak to it?
My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up it head, and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak. But even then the morning cock crew loud, And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish’d from our sight.
My lord, I did; But it didn’t answer. Yet once, I thought It raised its head, and seemed about to move, As if it was going to speak. But just then, the morning rooster crowed loudly, And at the sound, it quickly shrank back, Vanishing from our sight.
’Tis very strange.
That’s very strange.
As I do live, my honour’d lord,’tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty To let you know of it.
As I live, my honored lord, it’s true; And we thought it was our duty To let you know about it.
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch tonight?
Yes, yes, gentlemen, but this worries me. Are you keeping watch tonight?
Mar. and BARNARDO. We do, my lord.
Mar. and BARNARDO. We are, my lord.
Arm’d, say you?
Armed, you say?
Arm’d, my lord.
Armed, my lord.
From top to toe?
From head to toe?
My lord, from head to foot.
Yes, my lord, from head to foot.
Then saw you not his face?
Then you didn’t see his face?
O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
Oh yes, my lord, he had his visor up.
What, look’d he frowningly?
What, did he look angry?
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
His expression was more sad than angry.
Pale, or red?
Was he pale, or red?
Nay, very pale.
No, very pale.
And fix’d his eyes upon you?
And did he stare at you?
Most constantly.
Yes, constantly.
I would I had been there.
I wish I had been there.
It would have much amaz’d you.
It would have surprised you a lot.
Very like, very like. Stay’d it long?
Very likely, very likely. Did it last long?
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
As long as it would take someone to tell a hundred.
MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. Longer, longer.
MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. Longer, longer.
Not when I saw’t.
Not when I saw it.
His beard was grizzled, no?
His beard was gray, right?
It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver’d.
Yes, just like I’ve seen it when he was alive, It was dark with some gray in it.
I will watch tonight; Perchance’twill walk again.
I’ll keep watch tonight; Maybe it’ll appear again.
I warrant you it will.
I bet it will.
If it assume my noble father’s person, I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap tonight, Give it an understanding, but no tongue. I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well. Upon the platform’twixt eleven and twelve, I’ll visit you.
If it takes the form of my noble father, I’ll talk to it, even if hell itself opens up And tells me to stay quiet. I ask you all, If you’ve kept this sight a secret so far, Keep it secret still; And whatever happens tonight, Understand it, but don’t speak about it. I’ll repay your kindness. So, goodbye. Between eleven and twelve on the platform, I’ll meet you.
Our duty to your honour.
We’re honored to serve you.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
Your kindness, like mine to you: goodbye.
My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.
My father’s ghost in armor! Something’s wrong; I suspect foul play: I wish the night would come! Until then, I’ll stay calm, my soul: bad deeds will rise, Even if the whole world tries to bury them, they’ll still be seen by men.