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