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HAMLET:
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Ay, so, God be wi' ye!
Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,(545)
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!(550)
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears(555)
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,(560)
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing! No, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?(565)
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Ha!
Ha! 'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be(570)
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!(575)
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words(580)
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A scullion! Fie upon't! Foh!
About, my brain! Hum, I have heard
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene(585)
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ, I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father(590)
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil; and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps(595)
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this. The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.(600)
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HAMLET:
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Yes, so, God be with you!
Now I am alone.
O, what a idle, wandering, and peasant slave I am!
Isn’t it monstrous that this actor here,
Only in a play, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own actions
That his grew pale from the words of the speech,
Tears in his eyes, separation from reality in his face,
A broken voice, and his whole function matching
Forms to his role? And all for nothing!
For Hecuba?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
If he had the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And split the audience’s with horrid speech,
Make the guilty crazy, and shock the innocent,
Confuse the ignorant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,
A dull and muddy-spirited rascal, shrink,
Like a dreamy fellow, not full of my cause,
And can’t say anything, no, not for a king
On whose kingdom and most dear life
Were all brought to nothing. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? Breaks my head across?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? Lies about me in the throat
As deep as the lungs? Who does this to me, huh?
God’s wounds, I should take it, because it can’t be
That I am meek, and lack the nerve
To make oppression bitter, or else
I should have fed all the hunting birds in the region
With my body’s decaying flesh. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass I am! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, release the content of my heart with
words, and fall down cursing like a very drab,
Menial servant in the kitchen!
Shame on it! Argh! Change course, my brain! I have
Heard that guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have been so struck to the soul
By the very cunning of the scene that presently
They have confessed their evil deeds,
Because murder, although it is silent, will speak
With its own most miraculous organ, I’ll have these
Players play something like the murder of my father
Before my uncle. I’ll observe his looks,
I’ll watch his every move. Even if he only winks,
I know what I have to do. The ghost that I have seen
May be the Devil. and the Devil has power
To assume a pleasing shape, yes, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As the Devil is very powerful with such spirits,
The Devil abuses me to damn me. I’ll need to have more
proof than this. The play's the thing
Wherein I’ll see the conscience of the king.
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