Hamlet (1964) - full transcript

Based on the tragedy by

SHAKESPEARE

Part Two

Mother!

My lady!

Tell him your Grace has stood between

Much heat and him.

I'll sconce me even here.

Pray you, be round with him.

Now, mother, what's the matter?

Hamlet, thou have thy father much

offended.

Mother, you have my father much

offended.

- You answer with an idle tongue.

- You question with a wicked tongue.

Why, how now, Hamlet?

- What's the matter now?

- Have you forgot me?

No, by the rood, not so.

You're the queen, your husband's

brother's wife, and, alas, my mother.

Nay, then, I'll set those to you that

can speak.

Come, come!

And sit you down.

You shall not budge.

You go not till I set you up a glass

Where you may see your inmost part.

What will thou do?

Thou will not murder me?

- Help, help, ho!

- What, ho! Help, help, help!

How now! A rat?

Dead for a ducat!

Dead!

- O me, what have thou done?

- Nay, I know not. Is it the king?

O, what a rash and bloody deed is

this!

Almost as bad, good mother,

As kill a king and marry his brother.

As kill a king?

Ay, lady, 'twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool,

farewell!

I took thee for thy better.

Thou find'st to be too busy is some

danger.

Leave wringing of your hands. Sit you

down.

And let me wring your heart,

If it be made of penetrable stuff,

If damned custom have not brazed it so

That it is proof against sense.

What have I done that thou are

So rude against me?

Such an act that...

Look here, upon this picture...

...and on this.

The counterfeit presentment

of two brothers.

See, what a grace was seated on this

brow,

A combination and a form indeed,

Where every god did set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man.

This was your husband. Look you now,

What follows. Here is your husband,

Like a mildewed ear,

Blasting his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes?

You cannot call it love.

For at your age the heyday in the

blood waits upon the judgement.

And whatjudgement

Would step from this to this?

O shame! Where is thy blush?

If you canst mutine in a matron's bones,

To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire!

O Hamlet, speak no more!

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very

soul,

And there I see such black spots

As will not leave their tinct.

Nay, but to live

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,

Stewed in corruption, honeying

Over the nasty sty...

O, speak to me no more!

These words, like daggers,

Enter in mine ears.

...A murderer and a villain,

A slave that is not twentieth part

The tithe of your precedent lord.

A vice of kings,

A cutpurse of the empire and the rule.

Hamlet, no more!

How is it with you?

Whereon do you look?

This is the very coinage of your brain.

My pulse, as yours, does temperately

keep time.

It is not madness that I have

Uttered. Bring me to the test,

And I the matter will re-word, which

Madness would gambol from.

Lay not that flattering unction to

soul,

That not your trespass, but my madness

speaks.

It will but skin and film the ulcer,

Whilst rank corruption infects unseen.

O Hamlet, thou have cleft my heart

in twain!

O, throw away the worser part of it,

And live the purer with the other half.

Good night.

But go not to my uncle's bed.

For this same lord,

I do repent.

I'll bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him.

So, again, good night.

I must be cruel, only to be kind.

Thus bad begins, and worse remains

behind.

One word more, good lady.

What shall I do?

Not this, by no means, that I bid

you do.

Let the bloat king tempt you again

to bed,

And let him, for a pair of reechy

kisses,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,

That I essentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft.

Be thou assured, I have no life

to breathe

What thou have said to me.

- I must to England, you know that?

- Alack.

I had forgot. 'Tis so concluded on.

Good night, mother!

My lord!

My lord!

Lord Hamlet!

What noise?

Who calls on Hamlet?

What have you done, my lord,

with the dead body?

Compounded it with dust, whereto

'tis kin.

Tell us where 'tis, that we may bear

it to the chapel.

- Do not believe it.

- Believe what?

That I can keep your counsel,

and not my own.

Besides, to be demanded

of a sponge!

What replication should be made

by the son of a king?

Take you me for a sponge?

Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's

countenance, his rewards.

But such officers do the king

best services in the end.

He keeps them, like an ape,

in the corner of his jaw,

first mouthed,

to be last swallowed.

When he needs what you have

gleaned, it is but squeezing you,

and, sponge, you shall be dry again.

I understand you not, my lord.

I am glad of it. A knavish speech

sleeps in a foolish ear.

My lord, you must tell us where the

body is, and go with us to the king.

The body is with the king,

but the king is not with the body.

The king is a thing...

- A thing, my lord?

- Of nothing.

Hide fox,

and all after!

Bring me to him.

Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?

At supper.

At supper?

Where?

Not where he eats,

but where he is eaten.

A certain convocation of politic

worms are e'en at him.

Your worm is your only

emperor for diet.

We fat all creatures else

to fat us,

and we fat ourselves

for maggots.

Your fat king

and your lean beggar

is but variable service... two dishes,

but to one table.

That's the end.

Alas, alas!

A man may fish with the worm

that has eat of a king,

and eat of the fish

that has fed of that worm.

What dost thou mean by this?

Nothing but to show you

how a king may go a progress

through the guts of a beggar.

Where is Polonius?

In heaven.

Send thither to see.

If your messenger find him not,

seek him in the other place yourself.

But if you find him not within this

month,

you shall nose him as you go up

the stairs into the lobby.

Go seek him there.

He will stay till ye come.

Hamlet, this deed,

For thine especial safety,

Must send thee

With fiery quickness.

Therefore prepare thyself. The bark

is ready.

And the wind at help, and every thing

Is bent for England.

- For England?

- Ay, Hamlet.

Good.

But, come, for England!

Farewell, dear mother.

- Thy loving father, Hamlet.

- My mother.

Father and mother is man and wife,

man and wife is one flesh.

And so, my mother.

Come!

For England!

Go, captain, from me greet the Danish

king.

Tell him that Fortinbras claims the

conveyance of a march over his kingdom.

You know the rendezvous.

If that his majesty

Would aught with us,

We shall express our duty in his eye.

Go softly on.

- Whose powers are these?

- They are of Norway.

- How purposed?

- Against some part of Poland.

- Who commands them?

- Lord Fortinbras.

Goes it against the main of Poland,

Or for some frontier?

Truly to speak,

We go to gain a little patch of ground

That has in it no profit but the name.

To pay five ducats, five,

I would not farm it, nor

Will it yield to Norway or the Pole

A ranker rate, should it be sold.

Why, then, the Polack never will

defend it.

Yes, it is already garrisoned.

- I humbly thank you, sir.

- God be with you, sir.

Will't please you go, my lord?

I'll be with you straight. Go a little

before.

Two thousand souls

and twenty thousand ducats

Will not debate the question of this

straw!

This is the imposthume of much

wealth and peace,

That inward breaks, and shows no

cause without

Why the man dies.

Farewell...

Farewell...

And do remember me!

Upon arrival in England,

Lord Hamlet

is to be beheaded.

Let it work,

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer

Hoist with his own petar.

But I will delve

one yard below their mines,

And blow them at the moon!

O, 'tis most sweet when in one line

Two crafts directly meet.

On the view and knowing of these

contents,

The bearers should be put to sudden

death,

Not shriving-time allowed.

When sorrows come, they come not

single spies, but in battalions.

First, her father slain.

Next, your son gone,

And he most violent author

Of his own just remove.

The people muddied,

Thick and unwholesome in their

thoughts and whispers,

For good Polonius' death.

Where is the beauteous majesty of

Denmark?

How now, Ophelia?

How should I your true-Iove know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

- Sweet lady, what imports this song?

- Say you? Nay.

Pray you, mark.

Larded with sweet flowers,

Which bewept

to the grave did go

With true love showers.

How do you, pretty lady?

I hope all will be well.

We must be patient.

But I cannot choose but weep,

to think they should lay him

in the cold ground.

My brother shall know of it.

And so I thank you for your good

counsel.

Come, my coach!

Good night, ladies.

Good night, sweet ladies.

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 dupt the chamber-door,

Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.

Save yourself, my lord!

The rioters!

Sirs, stand you all without.

I pray you, give me leave.

I thank you. Keep the door.

O thou vile king,

Where is my father?

- Dead.

- But not by him.

Let him demand his fill.

There's such divinity does hedge

a king,

That treason can but peep to what

it would,

Acts little of his will.

How came he dead?

Good Laertes, if you desire to know

the certainty

Of your dear father's death,

is't writ in your revenge,

That, swoopstake, you will draw

Both friend and foe,

Winner and loser?

- None but his enemies.

- Will you know them, then?

Ay, and to his good friends thus wide

I'll ope my arms.

Why, now you speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's

death,

And am most sensibly in grief for it,

It shall to you be clear as a day.

Let her come in!

They bore him barefaced on the bier,

Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny,

And in his grave rained many a tear,

Fare you well, my dove!

You must sing,

"Down a-down,

an you call him a-down-a."

It is the false steward,

that stole his master's daughter.

Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade

revenge, it could not move thus.

There's rosemary.

That's for remembrance,

pray you, love, remember.

And there is pansies,

that's for thoughts.

There's a daisy.

And here's some for me.

O, you must wear your rue

with a difference.

I would give you some violets,

but they withered all

when my father died.

They say he made a good end.

For bonny sweet Robin,

For bonny sweet Robin

is all my joy...

Do you see this, O God?

Laertes,

I must commune with your grief,

Or you deny me right.

Make choice of whom your wisest

friends you will,

And they shall hear and judge

'twixt you and me.

And we shall jointly labour with

Your soul to give it due content.

Let this be so.

Since you have heard,

That he which has your father slain

Pursued my life.

It well appears.

Why you proceeded not against these

feats,

So crimeful and so capital in nature?

The queen his mother

Lives almost by his looks.

The other motive,

Why to a public count I might not go,

Is the great love the general gender

bear him.

- How now! What news?

- Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.

From Hamlet?

- Who brought them?

- Sailors, my lord, they say.

Laertes,

you shall hear them.

Leave us.

High and mighty,

You shall know I am

set naked

on your kingdom.

Can you advise me?

I'm lost in it, my lord.

But let him come.

Will you be ruled by me?

My lord, I will be ruled.

Horatio!

Thou art e'en as just a man

As e'er my conversation coped withal.

O, my dear lord...

Nay, do not think I flatter.

No, let the candied tongue lick

absurd pomp.

In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah,

my behove,

O, methought there was nothing meet.

But age, with his stealing steps,

Has clawed me in his clutch,

And has shipt me intil the land,

As if I had never been such.

That skull had a tongue in it,

and could sing once.

How the knave jowls it to the ground,

as if it were Cain's jaw-bone,

that did the first murder!

It might be the pate of a politician,

which this ass now over-reaches,

one that would circumvent God,

might it not?

It might, my lord.

Why...

Even so.

And now my Lady Worm's,

chapless, and knockt about the mazard

with a sexton's spade.

Here's fine revolution!

And we had the trick to see it.

Did these bones cost no more,

but to play at loggats with 'em?

Mine ache to think on it.

I will speak to this fellow.

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

- Whose grave's this, sirrah?

- Mine, sir.

I think it be thine, indeed,

for thou liest in it.

'Tis a quick lie, sir. 'Twill away

again, from me to you.

What man dost thou dig it for?

For no man, sir.

- What woman, then?

- For none, neither.

Who is to be buried in it?

One that was a woman, sir,

but, rest her soul,

she's dead.

How absolute the knave is!

We must speak by the card,

or equivocation will undo us.

How long have thou been a grave-

maker?

Of all the days in the year, it was

the day that young Hamlet was born.

He that is mad,

and sent into England.

Ay, marry,

why was he sent into England?

Why, because

a' was mad.

A' shall recover his wits there.

Or, if a' do not,

'tis no great matter there.

Why?

'Twill not be seen in him there.

There the men are as mad as he.

How came he mad?

Very strangely, they say.

How strangely?

Faith, even with losing his wits.

Upon what ground?

Why,

here in Denmark.

How long will a man lie

in the earth ere he rot?

I'faith...

If a' be not rotten before a' die, -

we have many pocky corpses now

that will scarce hold the laying in, -

a' will last some eight or nine year.

A tanner will last you nine year.

Why he more than another?

Why, sir, his hide is so tanned

with his trade

that a' will keep out water a great

while.

And your water

is a sore decayer

of your whoreson

dead body.

Here's a skull now has lain you

in the earth three-and-twenty years.

- Whose was it?

- A whoreson mad fellow's it was.

- Whose do you think it was?

- Nay, I know not.

A pestilence on him

for a mad rogue!

A' poured a flagon of Rhenish

on my head once.

This same skull, sir, was Yorick's

skull,

the king's jester.

This?

E'en that.

Let me see.

Alas, poor Yorick!

I knew him, Horatio.

A fellow of infinite jest,

of most excellent fancy.

He has borne me on his back

a thousand times.

And now, how abhorred in my

imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.

Here hung those lips

that I have kissed

I know not how oft.

Where be your gibes now? Your

gambols? Your flashes of merriment?

Not one now,

to mock your own grinning?

Quite chop-faln?

- Horatio, tell me one thing.

- What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander looked

o' this fashion in the earth?

E'en so.

To what base uses

we may return, Horatio!

Why may not

imagination trace

the noble dust of Alexander

till he find it

stopping a bung-hole?

'Twere to consider too curiously,

to consider so.

No, faith, not a jot.

But to follow him thither

with modesty enough,

and likelihood to lead it,

as thus:

Alexander died,

Alexander was buried,

Alexander returneth into dust,

the dust is earth,

of earth we make loam.

Why of that loam whereto he was turned

might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Imperious Caesar, turned to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

O, that that earth which kept

the world in awe

Should patch a wall t'expel

the winter's flaw!

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

As we have warranties.

Her death was doubtful. And, but the

great command oversways the order,

She should in ground unsanctified

have lodged

Till the last trumpet.

For charitable prayers, shards, flints

And pebbles should be thrown on her.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done.

We should profane the service

To sing a requiem, and such rest

To her, as to peace-parted souls.

Lay her in the earth!

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.

O, treble woe fall ten times treble

On that cursed head

Whose wicked deed thy ingenious

sense deprived thee of!

Hold off the earth awhile,

Till I have caught her in mine arms.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and

dead,

Till of this flat a mountain you have

made

To overtop old Pelion

And blue Olympus.

What is he whose grief

Bears such an emphasis?

This is I, Hamlet the Dane.

The devil take thy soul!

Thou pray not well. Off my throat.

Hold off thy hand!

Gentlemen!

- Pluck them asunder!

- Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet!

Why, I will fight with him

upon this theme

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

- O my son, what theme?

- I loved Ophelia.

Forty thousand brothers could not,

With all their love, make up my sum.

What wilt thou do for her?

- O, he is mad, Laertes.

- For love of God, forbear him.

'Swounds, show me what thou'It do.

Woo't weep? Woo't fight? Woo't fast?

Woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up

eisel? Eat a crocodile?

I'll do it.

Dost thou come here to whine? To

outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her? And so

will I.

And if thou prate of mountains, let

them throw millions of acres on us,

Till our ground, singeing his pate

against the burning zone!

Nay, an thou'It mouth,

I'll rant as well as thou.

Laertes, what is the reason that you

use me thus?

I loved you ever.

But it is no matter...

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have

his day.

You have been talked of much,

And that in Hamlet's hearing,

For a quality wherein you shine.

Your sum of parts did not together

pluck such envy from him,

As did a very riband one,

Your art and exercise in your defence.

Now, out of this...

What out of this, my lord?

Bring you 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 do it.

And for that purpose I'll anoint my

sword.

And that he calls for drink,

I'll have prepared him a chalice

for the nonce,

whereon but sipping,

Our purpose may hold there.

But I am very sorry, good Horatio,

That to Laertes I forgot myself,

For, by the image of my cause, I see

The portraiture of his.

I'll court his favours.

But, sure, the bravery of his grief

did put me

In a towering passion.

Your lordship is right welcome

back to Denmark.

I humbly thank you, sir.

- Dost know this water-fly?

- No, my good lord.

If your lordship were at leisure, I'd

impart a thing to you from his majesty.

I will receive it with all diligence

of spirit.

Put your bonnet to his right use.

'Tis for the head.

I thank your lordship.

It is very hot.

No, 'tis very cold, the wind is

northerly.

It is indifferent cold,

my lord, indeed.

His majesty bade me

signify to you,

that he has laid a wager on your head.

What did he wager?

Here is newly come to court Laertes,

an absolute gentleman,

full of most excellent differences...

What imports the nomination of this

gentleman?

- Of Laertes?

- Of him, sir.

I mean, for his weapon.

In his meed he's unfellowed.

- What's his weapon?

- Rapier and dagger.

That's two of his weapons.

The king has laid, that in a dozen

passes between yourself and him,

Laertes shall not exceed you

three hits.

It would come to immediate trial,

if you would vouchsafe the answer.

How if I answer no?

I mean, my lord, the opposition

of your person in trial.

I will walk here in the hall.

Let the foils be brought.

Shall I re-deliver you e'en so?

To this effect, sir, after what

flourish your nature will.

I commend my duty

to your lordship.

Yours, yours.

You will lose this wager, my lord.

I do not think so. I shall win.

But thou wouldst not think how ill

I feel my heart. But it is no matter.

- Nay, good my lord!

- It is but foolery.

But it is such a kind of gain-giving

as would perhaps trouble a woman.

I'll say you are not fit.

Not a whit.

We defy augury.

If it be now,

'tis not to come.

If it be not now,

yet it will come.

The readiness is all.

Since no man knows aught

of what he leaves,

what is't to leave betimes?

Let be.

Give me your pardon, sir.

I've done you wrong.

This presence knows,

And you must needs have heard,

How I am punished

With sore distraction.

What I have done, what might

Your nature, honour, and exception

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was

madness.

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,

And does he wrong Laertes,

Then Hamlet does it not,

Hamlet denies it.

Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil

free me,

That I have shot mine arrow o'er

The house, and hurt my brother.

I am satisfied in nature,

Whose motive, in this case, should

stir me most to my revenge.

But in my terms of honour

I stand aloof,

And will no reconcilement

Till by some elder masters,

I have a voice and precedent of peace,

To keep my name ungored.

But till that time I do receive your

Offered love, and will not wrong it.

I embrace it freely,

And will this brother's wager play.

Give us the foils. Come on.

Give them the foils, young Osric.

Hamlet, you know the wager?

Very well, my lord. Your Grace

has laid the odds o'th'weaker side.

I do not fear it. I have seen you both.

I'll be your foil. In mine ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star in the

darkest night, stick fiery off indeed.

You mock me, sir.

No, by this hand.

Set me the stoops of wine upon that

table.

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,

Or quit i'answer of the third exchange,

Let all the battlements their ordnance

fire.

The king shall drink to Hamlet's

better breath,

And in the cup an union shall he

throw,

Richer than that which four successive

kings in Denmark's crown have worn.

Come, begin.

Come on, sir.

Come, my lord.

- One!

- No!

Judgement!

- A hit, a very palpable hit.

- Well, again.

One!

Stay, give me drink.

Hamlet, here's to thy health!

This pearl is thine.

Here's your cup.

I'll play this bout first.

Set it by awhile.

Come.

- Another hit, what say you?

- A touch, a touch, I do confess.

Our son shall win.

He's fat, and scant of breath.

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin.

Rub thy brows.

The queen carouses to thy fortune.

Good madam!

Gertrude, do not drink.

I will, my lord. I pray you, pardon me.

Come, Laertes, you but dally.

I pray, pass with your best violence.

I am afeared you make a wanton of me.

Say you so? Come on.

Have at you now!

Part them! They are incensed.

Nay, come, again.

Look to the queen there, ho!

- How does the queen?

- She swounds to see them bleed.

No, no, Hamlet!

The drink, the drink! ...I am poisoned!

O villainy! Treachery!

- Seek it out!

- It is here, Hamlet.

Thou art slain. No medicine

in the world can do thee good.

In thee not half an hour of life.

The foil unbated and envenomed.

The king, the king's to blame!

The point envenomed too?

Then, venom,

to thy work!

The rest is silence.

- Where is this sight?

- What is it ye would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease

your search.

Let four captains bear

Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage.

For he was likely, had he been put on,

To have proved most royally.

And, for his passage,

The soldiers' music and the rites

Of war speak loudly for him.

Take up the bodies.

Such a sight as this becomes the field,

But here shows much amiss.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot!

The End