HAMLET / LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST – MALES OVER 30
KING CLAUDIUS (persuading Hamlet to stop
mourning his father’s death)
KING CLAUDIUS (expressing remorse for killing
Hamlet’s father)
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father,
But you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief.
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
An understanding simple and unschooled.
For what we know must be and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we in our peevish opposition
Take it to heart? Fie! 'Tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd, whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corpse till he that died today,
'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father; for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne.
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
O, my offence is rank; it smells to heaven.
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder. Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
And like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursèd hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?
That cannot be, since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder:
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen.
May one be pardoned and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above.
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe!
All may be well.
HAMLET / LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST – MALES OVER 30
LORD POLONIUS (explaining Hamlet’s “madness” to
Claudius and Gertrude)
My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: your noble son is mad.
Mad call I it, for, to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure,
But farewell it, for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him, then; and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect –
Or rather say the cause of this defect,
For this effect defective comes by cause.
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend.
I have a daughter – have while she is mine –
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
Reads
'Doubt that the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
'Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst this machine is to
him, HAMLET.'
This in obedience hath my daughter shown me,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star;
This must not be.' And then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens;
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
And he, repulsed – a short tale to make –
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we mourn for.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO
(a silly Spanish nobleman in love with a dairy maid)
I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe,
which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth
tread. I shall be forsworn – which is a great argument of
falsehood – if I love. And how can that be true love which
is falsely attempted? Love is a familiar; Love is a devil.
There is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Samson so
tempted, and he had an excellent strength; yet was
Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's
butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club; and therefore too
much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second
cause will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not,
the duello he regards not. His disgrace is to be called boy,
but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! Rust,
rapier! Be still, drum! For your manager is in love; yea, he
loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I
am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I
am for whole volumes in folio!