CLAUDIUS, GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN enter.
CLAUDIUS, GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN enter.
And can you by no drift of conference Get from him why he puts on this confusion, Grating so harshly all his days of quiet With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
And the two of you haven’t been able to figure out by talking with Hamlet why he’s acting so oddly, acting with a wild and dangerous lunacy that’s such a huge shift from his earlier calm behavior?
He does confess he feels himself distracted. But from what cause he will by no means speak.
He admits he feels somewhat crazy, but won’t talk about the cause.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded. But with a crafty madness keeps aloof When we would bring him on to some confession Of his true state.
And he’s not willing to be questioned. His insanity is sly and smart, and he slips away from our questions when we try to get him to tell us about how he’s feeling.
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Did he receive you well?
Did he treat you well?
Most like a gentleman.
Yes, he treated us like a gentleman.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
But also as if he he had to force himself to act that way.
Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply.
He didn’t ask many questions, but answered our questions extensively.
Did you assay him? To any pastime?
Did you try to get him to do something fun?
Madam, it so fell out, that certain players We o’erraught on the way. Of these we told him, And there did seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it. They are about the court, And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him.
Madam, as it happened, we crossed paths with some actors on the way here. When we mentioned them to Hamlet, he seemed to feel a kind of joy. They are at the court now, and I think they’ve been told to perform for him tonight.
‘Tis most true, And he beseeched me to entreat your Majesties To hear and see the matter.
That’s true, and he asked me to beg both of you, your Majesties, to come and watch.
With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, And drive his purpose on to these delights.
With all my heart, I’m glad to hear of his interest. Gentlemen, try to nurture this interest of his, and keep him focused on these amusements.
We shall, my lord.
We will, my lord.
ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN exit.
ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN exit.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too, For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, That he, as ’twere by accident, may here Affront Ophelia. Her father and myself (lawful espials) Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, We may of their encounter frankly judge, And gather by him, as he is behaved, If ’t be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for.
Dear Gertrude, please go as well. We’ve sent for Hamlet as a way for him to meet with Ophelia, seemingly by chance. Her father and I—spying for justifiable reasons—will place ourselves so that we can’t be seen, but can observe the encounter and judge from Hamlet’s behavior whether love is the cause of his madness.
I shall obey you . And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish That your good beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlet’s wildness. So shall I hope your virtues Will bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honors.
I’ll do as you ask.
[To OPHELIA] As for you, Ophelia, I hope that your beauty is the reason for Hamlet’s insane behavior. I hope also that your virtues will get him to return to normality, for both of your benefits.
Madam, I wish it may.
I hope it too, madam.
Ophelia, walk you here. [to CLAUDIUS] Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves. [to OPHELIA] Read on this book That show of such an exercise may color Your loneliness. —We are oft to blame in this, ‘Tis too much proved, that with devotion’s visage And pious action we do sugar o’er The devil himself.
Ophelia, walk over here.
[To CLAUDIUS] Your Majesty, if you agree, let’s go hide.
[To OPHELIA] Read this prayer book, to make you’re being alone seem natural. You know, this is actually something people can be blamed for doing all the time—acting as if they’re religious and devoted to God as a way to hide their bad deeds.
[aside] Oh, ’tis too true! How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it Than is my deed to my most painted word. O heavy burden!
[To himself] Oh, that's all too true! His words are like a whip against my conscience! The whore’s ugly cheek—only made beautiful with make-up—is no more terrible than the things I’ve done and hidden with fine words. Oh, what guilt!
I hear him coming. Let’s withdraw, my lord.
I hear him coming. Quick, let’s hide, my lord.
CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS hide.
CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS hide.
To be, or not to be? That is the question— Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep— No more—and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveler returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. —Soft you now, The fair Ophelia! —Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.
To live, or to die? That is the question. Is it nobler to suffer through all the terrible things fate throws at you, or to fight off your troubles, and, in doing so, end them completely? To die, to sleep—because that’s all dying is—and by a sleep I mean an end to all the heartache and the thousand injuries that we are vulnerable to—that’s an end to be wished for! To die, to sleep. To sleep, perhaps to dream—yes, but there’s there’s the catch. Because the kinds of dreams that might come in that sleep of death—after you have left behind your mortal body—are something to make you anxious. That’s the consideration that makes us suffer the calamities of life for so long. Because who would bear all the trials and tribulations of time—the oppression of the powerful, the insults from arrogant men, the pangs of unrequited love, the slowness of justice, the disrespect of people in office, and the general abuse of good people by bad—when you could just settle all your debts using nothing more than an unsheathed dagger? Who would bear his burdens, and grunt and sweat through a tiring life, if they weren’t frightened of what might happen after death—that undiscovered country from which no visitor returns, which we wonder about and which makes us prefer the troubles we know rather than fly off to face the ones we don’t? Thus, the fear of death makes us all cowards, and our natural willingness to act is made weak by too much thinking. Actions of great urgency and importance get thrown off course because of this sort of thinking, and they cease to be actions at all. But wait, here is the beautiful Ophelia!
[To OPHELIA] Beauty, may you forgive all my sins in your prayers.
Good my lord, How does your honor for this many a day?