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Modern English
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant. It out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.
Perform the speech, please, just like I showed you, smoothly and naturally. But if you overdo it, like many actors do, I’d rather have the town crier say my lines. And don’t wave your hands around too much like this, but use them gently. In the middle of strong emotions, you must have a balance that makes it smooth. Oh, it really bothers me to hear some loud, showy actor ruin a scene with overacting, tearing apart emotions until it’s ridiculous, to the point where it hurts the audience’s ears. The common people, who mostly don’t understand much, only enjoy loud noises and silly acting. I would have such an actor punished for overdoing it. It’s worse than what Herod does in plays. Please, avoid that.
I warrant your honour.
I promise, your honor.
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as’twere the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play—and heard others praise, and that highly—not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Don’t be too dull, either; but let your own judgment guide you. Match the action to the words, and the words to the action, with the important rule that you don’t go beyond what’s natural; because anything done too much is not the purpose of acting, which, from the start and even now, is meant to hold up a mirror to nature. To show virtue in its true form, to mock vice for what it is, and to capture the very time and people’s spirit. Now, if something is done too much or too late, it might make the unskilled laugh, but it will only make those who know better feel sad. And you must pay more attention to their judgment than to the laughter of the crowd. Oh, I’ve seen actors—who others praised highly—not to speak too harshly, who, without even resembling human beings, walked and talked in such a ridiculous way that I thought some workers of nature had created them, but not very well, because they imitated people so horribly.
I hope we have reform’d that indifferently with us, sir.
I hope we’ve fixed that problem with us, sir.
O reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That’s villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.
Oh, change it completely. And let those who play the clowns not say more than what’s written for them. Because there are some who will laugh themselves, just to make some group of empty-headed spectators laugh too, even though there’s something important in the play that needs attention. That’s terrible, and shows a pathetic kind of ambition in the fool who does it. Go get ready.
How now, my lord? Will the King hear this piece of work?
How’s it going, my lord? Will the King see this play?
And the Queen too, and that presently.
And the Queen too, and right away.
Bid the players make haste.
Tell the players to hurry up.
Will you two help to hasten them?
Will you two help hurry them along?
We will, my lord.
We will, my lord.
What ho, Horatio!
Hey, Horatio!
.
Enter Horatio.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man As e’er my conversation cop’d withal.
Horatio, you’re just as good a man As anyone I’ve ever talked to.
O my dear lord.
Oh my dear lord.
Nay, do not think I flatter; For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal’d thee for herself. For thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards Hast ta’en with equal thanks. And bles’d are those Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee. Something too much of this. There is a play tonight before the King. One scene of it comes near the circumstance Which I have told thee, of my father’s death. I prythee, when thou see’st that act a-foot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe mine uncle. If his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in one speech, It is a damned ghost that we have seen; And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note; For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; And after we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming.
No, don’t think I’m flattering you; What could I gain from you, When you have no money, just your good heart To keep you fed and clothed? Why should the poor be flattered? No, let the sweet-talking flatterers worship ridiculous pomp, And bow to the rich, where there’s something to be gained. Do you hear me? Since my true soul had the power to choose, And could pick between men, my choice Has chosen you. For you’ve been Like someone who suffers everything, yet suffers nothing, A man who takes both the bad and the good from Fortune With equal thanks. And blessed are those Whose blood and reason mix so well That they aren’t just a puppet for Fortune’s hand To play any tune she likes. Give me that man Who isn’t a slave to his emotions, and I’ll keep him In the core of my heart, yes, in the very heart of my heart, Just like I do you. Enough of this. There’s a play tonight before the King. One scene in it is almost exactly like What I’ve told you about my father’s death. Please, when you see that scene happening, With all the sincerity of your soul, Watch my uncle. If his hidden guilt Doesn’t show in one single speech, Then the ghost we’ve seen is a damned one; And my thoughts are as dark As Vulcan’s forge. Pay close attention to him; Because I’ll keep my eyes fixed on his face; And afterward, we’ll both judge him By how he seems to us.
Well, my lord. If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Well, my lord. If he steals anything while this play is happening, And gets away with it, I’ll take the blame for the theft.
They are coming to the play. I must be idle. Get you a place.
They’re coming to watch the play. I should stay out of sight. Find a place to sit.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
How is our cousin Hamlet?
Excellent, i’faith; of the chameleon’s dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.
I’m great, really; like a chameleon’s meal: I just take in the air, stuffed with promises: you can’t feed chickens like that.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.
I don’t know how to respond to that, Hamlet; those aren’t my words.
No, nor mine now. [
] My lord, you acted once at the university, right?
] My lord, you play’d once i’th’university, you say?
] My lord, you acted once at the university, right?
That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
Yes, my lord, and I was considered a good actor.
What did you enact?
What part did you play?
I did enact Julius Caesar. I was kill’d i’th’Capitol. Brutus killed me.
I played Julius Caesar. I was killed in the Capitol. Brutus killed me.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the players ready?
It was a cruel thing for him to kill such an important person like that. Are the players ready?
Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.
Yes, my lord; they’re just waiting for your cue.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Come here, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
No, good mother, here’s metal more attractive.
No, good mother, this is more interesting.
[
] Oh! Did you see that?
] O ho! do you mark that?
] Oh! Did you see that?
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
Lady, should I lie in your lap?
No, my lord.
No, my lord.
I mean, my head upon your lap?
I mean, my head on your lap?
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Do you think I meant country matters?
Do you think I meant something inappropriate?
I think nothing, my lord.
I think nothing, my lord.
That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’legs.
That’s a nice thought to have between a woman’s legs.
What is, my lord?
What is, my lord?
Nothing.
Nothing.
You are merry, my lord.
You’re in a good mood, my lord.
Who, I?
Who, me?
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within’s two hours.
Oh God, your only entertainer! What should a man do but be happy? Just look at how cheerfully my mother is, and my father died just two hours ago.
Nay,’tis twice two months, my lord.
No, it’s been two months, my lord.
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But by’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is‘For, O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!’
Two months? Well, then, let the devil wear black, because I’ll wear a suit of fur. Oh heavens! He died two months ago and they still haven’t forgotten him? Then maybe there’s hope that a great man’s memory can last half a year after his death. But by God, he must build churches then; otherwise, he’ll be forgotten, like the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgotten!’
What means this, my lord?
What does this mean, my lord?
Marry, this is miching mallicho; it means mischief.
Well, this is sneaky mischief; it means trouble.
Belike this show imports the argument of the play.
This likely shows what the play is about.
.
.
We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they’ll tell all.
We’ll find out from this guy: actors can’t keep secrets; they’ll tell everything.
Will they tell us what this show meant?
Will they tell us what this scene means?
Ay, or any show that you’ll show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll not shame to tell you what it means.
Yes, or any scene you show him. Don’t be embarrassed to show him, he won’t be embarrassed to tell you what it means.
You are naught, you are naught: I’ll mark the play.
You’re awful, you’re awful: I’ll just watch the play.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
Is this a prologue, or the engraving inside a ring?
’Tis brief, my lord.
It’s short, my lord.
As woman’s love.
Just like a woman’s love.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus’cart gone round Neptune’s salt wash and Tellus’orbed ground, And thirty dozen moons with borrow’d sheen About the world have times twelve thirties been, Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
Thirty times has Phoebus’ chariot crossed Neptune’s salty ocean and the Earth’s round ground, And thirty dozen moons with borrowed light Around the world have passed in twelve times thirty years, Since love and marriage united our hearts In the most sacred bonds.
So many journeys may the sun and moon Make us again count o’er ere love be done. But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, So far from cheer and from your former state, That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must: For women’s fear and love holds quantity, In neither aught, or in extremity. Now what my love is, proof hath made you know, And as my love is siz’d, my fear is so. Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
May the sun and moon travel so many paths Before love is finally finished with us. But, oh, I’m so sorry, you’ve been so sick lately, So distant from joy and your old self, That I don’t trust you. Still, though I don’t trust you, I must not make you uncomfortable, my lord: For women’s love and fear are both about the same, Neither too much nor too little, and not in extremes. Now, what my love is, you’ve seen the proof, And as big as my love is, that’s how big my fear is. When love is strong, even the smallest doubts feel like fear; When small fears grow, great love grows with them.
Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too: My operant powers their functions leave to do: And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour’d, belov’d, and haply one as kind For husband shalt thou—
Truly, I must leave you, my love, and soon: My powers to act will soon stop working: And you’ll live on in this beautiful world, Honored, loved, and perhaps with another kind man As your husband—
O confound the rest. Such love must needs be treason in my breast. In second husband let me be accurst! None wed the second but who kill’d the first.
Oh, curse the rest. Such love would be treason in my heart. May I be cursed in my second marriage! No one marries a second husband unless they’ve killed the first.
[
] Bitter, bitter.
] Wormwood, wormwood.
] Bitter, bitter.
The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love. A second time I kill my husband dead, When second husband kisses me in bed.
The reasons for remarriage Are just about money, not love. I kill my husband all over again When the second husband kisses me in bed.
I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine, oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity: Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree, But fall unshaken when they mellow be. Most necessary’tis that we forget To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy. Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. This world is not for aye; nor’tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change, For’tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, The poor advanc’d makes friends of enemies; And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: For who not needs shall never lack a friend, And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. But orderly to end where I begun, Our wills and fates do so contrary run That our devices still are overthrown. Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. So think thou wilt no second husband wed, But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
I believe you mean what you’re saying now; But what we decide, we often end up breaking. Our plans are just slaves to memory, Born with great passion but weak in truth: Like unripe fruit on the tree, They fall off on their own when they’re ripe. It’s necessary that we forget To pay ourselves what we owe ourselves. What we decide in passion, when the passion fades, we forget. The strength of both grief and joy Destroys itself with its own actions. Where joy is most lively, grief is most sorrowful; Grief can turn into joy, joy into grief, over the slightest thing. This world isn’t forever; it’s not strange That even our loves should change with our fortunes, For it’s still a question whether love leads fortune, or fortune leads love. When the great man falls, his favorite flies, The poor man rises and makes enemies into friends; And love always follows fortune: Because those who don’t need will never lack a friend, And those who are in need will find their hollow friend turn on them. But to return to where I started, Our wills and destinies run so opposite That our plans are always overturned. Our thoughts are ours, but the outcomes are never ours. So you may think you’ll never marry again, But your thoughts will die when your first husband does.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light, Sport and repose lock from me day and night, To desperation turn my trust and hope, An anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope, Each opposite that blanks the face of joy, Meet what I would have well, and it destroy! Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, If, once a widow, ever I be wife.
May the earth deny me food, and heaven deny me light, May sport and rest be locked away from me, day and night, May all my trust and hope turn to despair, May my hope be an anchor in prison, May everything that spoils joy Come to me, and destroy what I want to be good! Let lasting strife follow me both here and there, If, once a widow, I ever become a wife again.
[
] If she breaks her word now.
] If she should break it now.
] If she breaks her word now.
’Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile. My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile The tedious day with sleep. [
]
]
]
Sleep rock thy brain, And never come mischance between us twain.
Sleep, may it calm your mind, And may no misfortune come between us.
Madam, how like you this play?
Madam, how do you like this play?
The lady protests too much, methinks.
The lady protests too much, I think.
O, but she’ll keep her word.
Oh, but she’ll keep her promise.
Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in’t?
Have you heard the story? Is there anything wrong with it?
No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i’th’world.
No, no, they’re just joking, there’s poison in the joke; no harm in it at all.
What do you call the play?
What do you call the play?
Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna. Gonzago is the Duke’s name, his wife Baptista: you shall see anon;’tis a knavish piece of work: but what o’that? Your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the gall’d jade wince; our withers are unwrung.
Well, how? Figuratively. This play is about a murder that happened in Vienna. The Duke’s name is Gonzago, his wife is Baptista: you’ll see soon; it’s a tricky piece of work, but so what? Your majesty, and we who have free minds, it doesn’t affect us. Let the sore-ridden horse suffer; we are untouched.
.
.
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
This is Lucianus, the King’s nephew.
You are a good chorus, my lord.
You make a good narrator, my lord.
I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.
I could explain things between you and your love, if I could see the actors playing their parts.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
You’re sharp, my lord, very sharp.
It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
It would take you a sigh to dull my wit.
Still better, and worse.
Even better, and worse.
So you mistake your husbands.—Begin, murderer. Pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
So you’re confusing your husbands. — Start, murderer. Damn you, stop making those awful faces and begin. Come on, the croaking raven calls for revenge.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing, Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately.
Dark thoughts, ready hands, the right poison, and the right time, The season’s perfect, no one else is watching; You, a vile mix of midnight herbs, Cursed by Hecate three times over, thrice polluted, Your unnatural magic and evil powers Immediately take over a healthy life.
He poisons him i’th’garden for’s estate. His name’s Gonzago. The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife.
He poisons him in the garden for his inheritance. His name’s Gonzago. The story is well known, and written in fine Italian. You’ll see soon how the murderer wins the love of Gonzago’s wife.
The King rises.
The King is getting up.
What, frighted with false fire?
What, frightened by fake flames?
How fares my lord?
How is my lord?
Give o’er the play.
Stop the play.
Give me some light. Away.
Bring me some light. Go away.
Lights, lights, lights.
Lights, lights, lights.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep, So runs the world away. Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me; with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?
Why, let the wounded deer cry, The healthy stag run free; Some must stay awake, while others sleep, That’s just how the world works. Wouldn’t this, sir, and a forest of feathers, if my luck changes completely, with two provincial roses on my worn shoes, get me a spot in a group of actors, sir?
Half a share.
Half a share.
A whole one, I. For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself, and now reigns here A very, very—pajock.
A whole share, I say. For you know, dear Horatio, This kingdom was once ruled by Jove himself, And now a very, very—fool reigns here.
You might have rhymed.
You could have made that rhyme.
O good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?
Oh good Horatio, I’ll trust the ghost’s word as if it were worth a thousand pounds. Did you catch that?
Very well, my lord.
Very well, my lord.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?
About the poisoning talk?
I did very well note him.
I noticed it very well.
Ah, ha! Come, some music. Come, the recorders. For if the king like not the comedy, Why then, belike he likes it not, perdie. Come, some music.
Ah, I see! Come, some music. Bring the recorders. If the king doesn’t like the comedy, Well, maybe he just doesn’t like it, of course. Come, some music.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Good my lord, may I have a word with you?
Sir, a whole history.
Sir, a whole story.
The King, sir—
The King, sir—
Ay, sir, what of him?
Yes, sir, what about him?
Is in his retirement, marvellous distempered.
He’s in his room, very upset.
With drink, sir?
From drinking, sir?
No, my lord; rather with choler.
No, my lord; more likely from anger.
Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor, for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far more choler.
You should explain this better to the doctor, because if I try to help him calm down, I might make him even angrier.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Please, my lord, focus and don’t get so off-topic.
I am tame, sir, pronounce.
I’m calm, sir, go ahead.
The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Your mother, the Queen, is in great distress and sent me to you.
You are welcome.
You’re welcome.
Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother’s commandment; if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business.
No, my lord, this isn’t the right kind of response. If you’ll give me a proper answer, I’ll carry out your mother’s wishes; if not, then I’ll take my leave and end my business here.
Sir, I cannot.
Sir, I can’t.
What, my lord?
What, my lord?
Make you a wholesome answer. My wit’s diseased. But, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother. Therefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, you say,—
Give you a proper answer. My mind’s not well. But, sir, whatever answer I can give, you can have; or rather, as you said, my mother. So, no more of this, let’s get to the point. My mother, you say—
Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
She says this: your behavior has shocked and amazed her.
O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother’s admiration?
Oh, what a son I am, to astonish my mother like that! But is there more to this amazement of hers? Any follow-up to it?
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
She wants to talk to you in her room before you go to bed.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?
We’ll do what she asks, even if she were ten times our mother. Do you have any other business with us?
My lord, you once did love me.
My lord, you once cared for me.
And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
And I still do, by these fingers and thieves.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.
Please, my lord, what’s bothering you? You’re locking yourself away from your own freedom if you don’t share your troubles with a friend.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Sir, I lack opportunity.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your succession in Denmark?
How can that be, when you have the King’s support for your future in Denmark?
Ay, sir, but while the grass grows—the proverb is something musty.
Yes, but while the grass is still growing—the saying is getting a little old.
O, the recorders. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?
Oh, the recorders. Let me see one. —To step aside with you, why are you trying to get information from me, as if you’re trying to trap me?
O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
Oh my lord, if my duty seems too forward, my affection is too rude.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
I don’t quite understand that. Will you play this flute?
My lord, I cannot.
My lord, I can’t.
I pray you.
Please.
Believe me, I cannot.
Believe me, I can’t.
I do beseech you.
I beg you.
I know no touch of it, my lord.
I don’t know anything about it, my lord.
’Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
It’s as simple as lying: just control these holes with your finger and thumb, blow air through it with your mouth, and it will make beautiful music. Look, these are the keys.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill.
But I can’t make it produce any sound that makes sense. I don’t have the skill.
Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak.’Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Look how poorly you’re making me out to be! You want to use me; you think you know how to control my secrets; you want to take the heart out of my mystery; you want to measure me from my lowest point to the highest; and there’s a lot of potential, a lot of voice, in this small instrument, yet you can’t get it to speak. Damn, do you think I’m easier to play than a flute? Call me whatever instrument you want, but even if you can annoy me, you can’t make me do what you want.
.
.
God bless you, sir.
God bless you, sir.
My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
My lord, the Queen wants to talk to you, right away.
Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?
Do you see that cloud over there? It looks almost like a camel.
By the mass, and’tis like a camel indeed.
By God, it does look like a camel.
Methinks it is like a weasel.
I think it looks more like a weasel.
It is backed like a weasel.
It’s shaped like a weasel, sure.
Or like a whale.
Or maybe it’s like a whale.
Very like a whale.
Yes, it’s very much like a whale.
Then will I come to my mother by and by.—They fool me to the top of my bent.—I will come by and by.
Then I’ll go to see my mother soon. — They’re tricking me to the limit of my patience. — I will come soon.
I will say so.
I will tell her so.
By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends.
"Soon enough," is easy to say. Leave me, friends.
’Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on. Soft now, to my mother. O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom: Let me be cruel, not unnatural. I will speak daggers to her, but use none; My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites. How in my words somever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent.
It’s now the perfect time of night, When graveyards open up, and hell itself exhales Its poison into the world. Now I could drink hot blood, And do such awful things that the day Would shudder to see. Wait, let me focus on my mother. Oh heart, don’t lose your humanity; don’t let The spirit of Nero enter this steady heart: Let me be cruel, but not inhuman. I’ll speak harshly to her, but I won’t act on it; My words and my soul will be hypocrites in this. However much she may deserve my words, Never let my soul give them any real power.