Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Moreover that we much did long to see you,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it,
Since nor th’exterior nor the inward man
Resembles that it was. What it should be,
More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him
So much from th’understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
That, being of so young days brought up with him,
And since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour,
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time, so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures and to gather,
So much as from occasion you may glean,
Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus
That, open’d, lies within our remedy.
Welcome, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Besides wanting to see you, the real reason I sent for you is practical: we need you. You've heard Hamlet has changed, and I don't just mean his mood. He's lost himself completely, and I can't figure out why—it's more than grief for his father. I'm asking you both, since you grew up with him and know him well, to stay here with us for a while. Your company might draw him out, and you might discover what's troubling him. If something is wrong that we don't understand, we can fix it.
Welcome, guys. Look, I'm not going to pretend this is just a social visit. We need your help. Hamlet's acting completely different—and I mean completely. He's not just sad; he's lost in his own head. And I can't figure out what's causing it beyond the obvious grief. Since you two know him from school, I'm asking you to stay here for a bit. Spend time with him, try to get him to open up. See if you can figure out what's going on. If something's fixable, we want to fix it.
come stay find out what's wrong with hamlet he's changed completely we need to know why i can't figure it out
Good gentlemen, he hath much talk’d of you,
And sure I am, two men there are not living
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To show us so much gentry and good will
As to expend your time with us awhile,
For the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king’s remembrance.
Gentlemen, he's spoken of you often and warmly. I can tell you truly: there are no two men living he's closer to than you. If you're willing—if it will please you to spend time with us, to help us, your visit will earn you a king's thanks.
He's talked about you both constantly, and I mean it—you're the two people he cares about most. If you'll stay with us and help us understand what's happening to him, you'll have earned a king's gratitude. I'm not exaggerating that.
he loves you both you're the only ones he talks about stay and help us i promise it means something
Both your majesties
Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.
Your Majesties, we could do what you command without you asking. We owe you that obedience already as your subjects.
We'll do whatever you ask—you don't even need to ask. That's what it means to serve the king.
we're yours command us we exist to serve you
We both obey,
And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet
To be commanded.
Both of us obey. We give ourselves completely—with no reservations—and place our services freely at your feet.
We're with you all the way. Whatever you need, we're ready.
we're in totally we'll do anything
Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
Thank you, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
Thanks. I mean it.
good thanks
Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too much changed son. Go, some of you,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Thank you, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. I'm asking you to visit my son right away. Come with me—these attendants will take you where he is.
Thanks to you too. Please, go see Hamlet now. They'll show you where he is.
go find him now please
Heavens make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him.
May heaven grant that our presence and our behavior will be pleasant and helpful to him.
I hope we can actually help him. I really do.
we just want to help we mean well
Ay, amen.
I hope so.
So do I.
amen
Th’ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
Are joyfully return’d.
The ambassadors from Norway have returned, and they bring good news, my lord.
The guys from Norway are back, and they're happy with how things went.
ambassadors back they're satisfied
Thou still hast been the father of good news.
You've always been good at bringing me good news.
You always manage to get things done right.
good work
Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God and to my gracious King:
And I do think,—or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath us’d to do—that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.
My lord, my liege, I serve God and the king above all. And if I'm right—and I usually am about these political matters—I've discovered the real cause of Hamlet's madness.
I do my duty. And I'm pretty sure I've figured out what's wrong with Hamlet. I think I know why he's acting crazy.
i know what's wrong with hamlet i figured it out i'm sure
O speak of that, that do I long to hear.
I want to hear that.
Tell me.
tell me
Give first admittance to th’ambassadors;
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
First, let me greet the ambassadors—then I'll tell you. My news is the main course of this feast.
Let me talk to the ambassadors first. Then I've got the real story for you.
wait let me handle this first then the good stuff
Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
Go and bring them in.
Go. Get them.
do it
I doubt it is no other but the main,
His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage.
I suspect it's nothing but this: his father's death and our marriage happening so quickly after.
I'm pretty sure I know what it is—his dad dying, and then we got married too fast.
it's the wedding and his father's death too fast too soon
Well, we shall sift him.
Well, we'll investigate him.
Maybe. We'll see.
we'll see
Most fair return of greetings and desires.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His nephew’s levies, which to him appear’d
To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack;
But better look’d into, he truly found
It was against your Highness; whereat griev’d,
That so his sickness, age, and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,
Receives rebuke from Norway; and in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle never more
To give th’assay of arms against your Majesty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee,
And his commission to employ those soldiers
So levied as before, against the Polack:
With an entreaty, herein further shown,
Most gracious return of greetings. At first, King Fortinbras of Norway thought his nephew was mobilizing troops against Poland. But when he looked closer, he discovered that Fortinbras was actually preparing to attack Denmark—your territory, your Highness. The King of Norway was troubled by this news, grieved that age and illness had made him too weak to control his nephew. So he ordered Fortinbras to stop. Fortinbras received a strong rebuke from his uncle and agreed to obey. The old king was overjoyed at this. He gave Fortinbras money and official permission to take his army and march against Poland instead—provided you allow his troops safe passage through your lands. Here's the written agreement.
Norway sent his greetings. He said at first he thought his nephew was going after Poland, but when he checked, he found out the nephew was actually planning to attack you. Norway wasn't happy about that—he's not strong enough to control him, and it made him look bad. So he ordered Fortinbras to back off. Fortinbras did. Norway was so relieved he gave him money and permission to use his army against Poland instead—but only if you let his troops pass through your country. It's all in this letter.
fortinbras was attacking you we stopped him he's attacking poland now needs your permission to pass through
It likes us well;
And at our more consider’d time we’ll read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your rest, at night we’ll feast together:.
Most welcome home.
I like this arrangement. We'll read the letter carefully, think it over, and give you a formal answer soon. For now, thank you for your work. Tonight we feast. You're welcome here.
Sounds good to me. I'll read the details and get back to him. But for now, thanks for handling that. We're having a feast tonight—you two should come.
i'll read it thanks for the work feast tonight relax
This business is well ended.
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 business is settled. Now, Your Majesties, I could explain what makes a king a king, what makes duty real, why night is night and day is day—but that would just waste time. Since the essence of intelligence is brevity, and long-windedness is its enemy, let me be brief. Your son is mad. I call it madness. And if you want to understand what madness truly is, it's simply being unable to do anything but be mad. But let me set that aside.
That's done. Look, I could spend hours explaining the philosophy of kingship and all that, but that would be pointless. Brevity is the key to real wisdom, and I'm nothing if not wise, so let me skip to the point: Hamlet is crazy. He's genuinely insane. And insanity is just—well, it's just being insane. But anyway.
hamlet is mad completely insane i can prove it let me explain
More matter, with less art.
More substance, less style.
Get to the point.
just tell us
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
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 whilst she is mine—
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
I use no style at all, madam. He is mad—that's the truth. It's true, and it's a pity; and that it's true is itself a pity. It's a foolish way of putting it, but I'll say no more about style. He is mad. We can agree on that. What remains is to find the cause, or rather to describe the cause of his effect—his defective condition comes from some cause. Here's what I think: I have a daughter. While she is still mine—I mean, before some man takes her—she's shown me something. Now think about this. She's given me this.
I'm being serious. He's mad. It's true. It's sad. It's truly sad. Look, that's a dumb way to say it, but I'm not going to keep talking around it. The point is, he's mad. We know that. The question is: why? What caused it? And here's what I think—I have a daughter. While I still have her, before she gets married or whatever, she's shown me something. She gave me this. Look at it.
my daughter gave me something that proves it look at this this is the evidence
Came this from Hamlet to her?
Did Hamlet send this to her?
Hamlet wrote that?
hamlet wrote this
Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.
Madam, wait. I'll read you the important part.
Wait. Let me read the important bit.
wait listen to this part
Act 2 Scene 2 is where the delay problem becomes undeniable. Hamlet has the Ghost's testimony, and now — in his soliloquy — he constructs the play as a way to gather more evidence before acting. Critics have argued about this for four hundred years. The main positions: (1) Psychoanalytic — Hamlet is blocked by some deep identification with Claudius, who did what Hamlet wishes he could do (kill his father and marry his mother). (2) Theatrical — Hamlet is a thinker, not a doer; the play shows us someone constitutionally unsuited to action. (3) Political — acting without evidence against a king would be treason, not justice; Hamlet is a legalist who needs proof. (4) Theological — the Ghost could really be a devil; Hamlet's caution is not cowardice but spiritual prudence. What makes the play great is that all four readings survive the text. Hamlet himself gives the theological reason — 'the spirit I have seen may be the devil' — but the soliloquy's tone of self-disgust suggests even he doesn't fully believe that's the whole explanation.
But how hath she receiv’d his love?
How has she received his love?
What did she do about it?
what did she say
What do you think of me?
What do you think of me?
What do you think of me?
what do you think of me
As of a man faithful and honourable.
I think you're a faithful and honorable man.
I think you're honest and loyal.
you're honest
I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
As I perceiv’d it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me, what might you,
Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think,
If I had play’d the desk or table-book,
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,
Or look’d upon this love with idle sight,
What might you think? No, I went round to work,
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 wail for.
Then I would like to prove that. But consider this: when I saw Hamlet's love beginning to show—as I did perceive it—I knew I had to act. Before my daughter even told me, I had to think: what would you, or my lord queen, think if I had seen this and said nothing? If I'd kept quiet, or ignored it, or let my heart turn away? No. I went straight to Ophelia and said this: 'Hamlet is a prince, and you are far below his rank. This cannot happen.' I gave her strict orders to reject him—no visitors, no messages, no gifts. She followed my advice. He was rejected, and the result was: he became sad. Then he stopped eating. Then he couldn't sleep. Then he grew weak. Then he became light-headed and confused, and from there descended into the madness where now he rages. And that's what we all mourn.
I want to prove that I'm trustworthy. Think about this: when I saw Hamlet starting to fall for her, I knew something had to be done. Before she even came to me about it, I was thinking: what would you think of me if I just watched this happen and did nothing? If I didn't intervene? So I called her in and said: 'Hamlet's a prince. You're not. This is not going to happen.' I ordered her to shut him down—no messages, no gifts, nothing. She did what I said. He was rejected. And then he fell apart. First he got depressed. Then he stopped eating. Then he couldn't sleep. Then he got weak. Then disoriented. Then into the madness that we're watching now. And that's what all of this is about.
i stopped them i told her to reject him he fell apart depression starvation insomnia weak mad
Do you think ’tis this?
You think that's the cause?
You really think that's it?
that's really what caused it
It may be, very likely.
It's possible. Very likely, even.
It makes sense. I could see that being it.
yeah that makes sense
Hath there been such a time, I’d fain know that,
That I have positively said ‘’Tis so,’
When it prov’d otherwise?
Have I ever been wrong? Has there ever been a time when I said 'this is so' and it turned out to be otherwise?
Have I ever been wrong about this kind of thing? Have you ever caught me being wrong?
i'm never wrong check my record
Not that I know.
Not that I know of.
Not really.
no
Take this from this, if this be otherwise.
Then cut off my head from my shoulders if I'm wrong about this.
Then call me a liar if I'm not right about this.
i'm willing to bet my head on it
How may we try it further?
How can we test this further?
So how do we find out if that's really it?
how do we test this
You know sometimes he walks four hours together
Here in the lobby.
You know he walks in the lobby here for hours.
He walks around the hallway here all the time.
he paces all day
So he does indeed.
Yes, he does.
He does.
yeah
At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him.
Be you and I behind an arras then,
Mark the encounter. If he love her not,
And be not from his reason fall’n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,
But keep a farm and carters.
I'll let my daughter walk around when he's out there. You and I will hide behind a curtain and watch. If he loves her, we'll see it. If his condition isn't caused by love, then I'll give up politics and become a farmer.
I'll send her to bump into him. You and I hide and watch what happens. If he cares about her, we'll see it. If this isn't the cause, I'll quit and go farm.
i'll put her in his way we hide we watch if he loves her we'll know
We will try it.
We'll try it.
Let's do it.
okay
But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
Look where, sadly, the poor wretch comes, reading.
Look, there he is. He looks terrible. And he's reading.
there he is looks miserable reading
Away, I do beseech you, both away
I’ll board him presently. O, give me leave.
I'm asking you both to leave. Let me speak with him.
You two should go. I'll talk to him.
leave let me handle him
Well, God-a-mercy.
Thank you for your kindness.
Thanks.
thanks
Do you know me, my lord?
Do you know who I am, my lord?
Do you know who I am?
do you know me
Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
Yes, very well. You are a fishmonger.
Yeah. You're a fishmonger.
you're a fishmonger
Not I, my lord.
No, I'm not, my lord.
I'm not.
no i'm not
Then I would you were so honest a man.
Then I wish you were as honest a man as a fishmonger.
Then I wish you were an honest person like a fishmonger is.
i wish you were honest
Honest, my lord?
Honest, my lord?
Honest?
honest
Ay sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out
of ten thousand.
Yes, sir. To be honest, as the world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
Yeah. Being honest in this world—that makes you one in ten thousand. It's almost impossible.
honesty in this world one in ten thousand impossible
That’s very true, my lord.
That's very true, my lord.
That's true.
true
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing
carrion,—
Have you a daughter?
For if the sun can breed maggots in a dead dog—and a good kissing carrion, I mean—do you have a daughter?
Look, if the sun can make maggots come out of a dead body—which is still something you could kiss—do you have a daughter?
sun breeds maggots in dead flesh good kissing carrion do you have a daughter
I have, my lord.
I do, my lord.
Yes.
yes
Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your
daughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t.
Let her not walk in the sun. Pregnancy is a blessing, but not how your daughter might conceive it. Friend, be careful of that.
Don't let her go outside in the sun. Pregnancy is a good thing, but not the way your daughter might get pregnant. Watch out for that.
keep her inside pregnancy is good but not how she'll get it watch her
How say you by that? [_Aside._] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he
knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far
gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very
near this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord?
What's he saying? He keeps harping on my daughter. And yet he didn't recognize me at first—he called me a fishmonger. He's far gone, truly far gone. I remember in my youth, I was love-sick too, in a similar way to this. I need to speak with him again. What are you reading, my lord?
What was that about? He keeps talking about my daughter. But he didn't even recognize me—called me a fishmonger. He's really gone. I was like this once, when I was in love. It's the same pattern. I should try again. What are you reading?
he's obsessed with her talking about her then insulting me he's mad i remember this feeling from love
Words, words, words.
Words, words, words.
Words.
words
What is the matter, my lord?
What is the subject matter, my lord?
What's the book about?
what is it
Between who?
Between whom?
About what?
about what
I mean the matter that you read, my lord.
I mean, the substance of what you're reading.
The content. What it's about.
what's it saying
Slanders, sir. For the satirical slave says here that old men have grey
beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber
and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together
with most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most powerfully and
potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down.
For you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could
go backward.
Slanders, sir. The writer here is a satirist who says that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes leak thick amber, and that they're weak in body. All of which, sir, I believe with power and confidence, yet I refuse to write it down as honest truth. Because you yourself, sir, should be as old as I am if, like a crab, you could walk backwards.
Insults. This book says old men have grey beards and wrinkles and weak bodies. Which is all true—I believe it. But it's bad form to write it down. Especially since, sir, if you could walk backwards like a crab, you'd be my age by now.
old men grey beards wrinkles weak failing bodies it's true but rude to say it
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
Will you leave the fresh air, my lord?
Why don't you go outside for a while?
get some air
Into my grave?
What a wonderful piece of work is a human! How noble in reason! How magnificent in form! In action, how like an angel! In thought, how like a god! The beauty of this world, the majesty of the animals—and yet what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights me not. No, nor any of you; for though you laugh at my jokes, your smiles are the product of habit, not delight.
Man is amazing. Think about it. Beautiful, powerful, intelligent—almost like a god. And yet what is he really? Just a body. I used to think people were wonderful. Not anymore. I don't care about any of you. You laugh because that's what you do; not because anything's funny.
man is amazing beautiful noble intelligent like a god and yet what is it dust nothing i don't feel it anymore
Indeed, that is out o’ the air. [_Aside._] How pregnant sometimes his
replies are! A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and
sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and
suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.
My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.
My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
I'm not thinking anything like that.
that's not what i mean
You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part
withal, except my life, except my life, except my life.
Why, then, it must be your dullness. I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Then it's because you're not thinking deeply enough. Look, I don't know why, but I've lost the ability to enjoy anything lately. I've stopped doing things I used to love. And now when I look at the world—at the earth, the sky, the stars—it's all just rot and poison. Even the most beautiful things seem disgusting now.
i lost my mirth i stopped trying i'm dead inside the world is poison even beauty looks like rot
Fare you well, my lord.
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving, how express and admirable in action! how like an angel in apprehension! how like a god! the beauty of the world. the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me.
This is what I mean. We're capable of so much beauty and intelligence. We can create, understand, become almost divine. And yet it means nothing. To me, humanity is just dust. Nothing delights me.
we're dust beautiful dust but dust nothing matters nothing delights me
These tedious old fools.
I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
that's not what i think
You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is.
I pray you, no. 'Tis as easy as lying: tell me, for why have you not sent to me ere this, that I might know your readiness so to accord yourselves against me.
Don't lie to me. Actually, it's easy for you to lie—you're good at it. But why haven't you come to see me until now? If you were really here as friends, wouldn't you have sought me out?
why are you here suddenly after so long why now
My honoured lord!
To what end, my lord?
For what purpose, my lord?
for what
My most dear lord!
That you must teach me. But, let me conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no.
You need to tell me that. But I'm asking you as people I grew up with, as friends, as people who loved me—be honest. Were you sent here to spy on me or not?
be honest we grew up together we were friends were you sent to spy tell me
My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah,
Rosencrantz. Good lads, how do ye both?
What say you?
What do you say?
well
As the indifferent children of the earth.
Nay, then, I have an eye of you.— If you love me, hold not off.
If you care about me at all, just tell me the truth.
if you care tell the truth
The arrival of the Players is the emotional peak of Act 2 — the one moment where Hamlet's performance mask fully drops. He is genuinely delighted. He quotes theatrical gossip, teases the boy actor about his growth, and greets the lead with real warmth. This matters because the Players represent something Denmark cannot contain: art, the ability to represent reality rather than just participating in it. When Hamlet asks the First Player to recite the Hecuba speech and watches him weep, he is watching someone do with fiction what he cannot do with truth. The famous soliloquy that follows is structured around this shame: the actor feels more than Hamlet feels, for less cause. But Shakespeare gives us the other side too: the actor's weeping is performed. It is craft, not genuine grief. The play scheme Hamlet devises is his attempt to weaponize that same craft against reality — to use fiction to expose fact. It's the most Shakespearean thing in the play: a playwright's solution to a murderer's crime.
Happy in that we are not over-happy;
On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button.
My lord, we were sent for.
My lord, we were sent for.
we were sent for
Nor the soles of her shoe?
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
I'll tell you why, so that when you report back, you'll know I knew. Look, I've lost the ability to enjoy anything. The world that used to seem beautiful now looks poisoned. The sky that used to inspire me looks like stagnant air. And humanity—we're all just rotting.
i lost the ability to feel the world is poison we're rotting everything is decay
Neither, my lord.
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving, how express and admirable in action! how like an angel in apprehension! how like a god! the beauty of the world. the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither.
That's what this is. We're magnificent creatures—intelligent, creative, beautiful. We could be almost divine. And yet none of it means anything to me. Everyone seems dull and boring. Nothing interests me. Not men, not women, nothing.
everyone is dull men women nothing interests me i'm dead inside
Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?
Though this, by your smiling, you seem to say so: nay then, there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.
You're trying to smile and act like I'm just being moody. But that's not it. Everything is only what we think it is. And to me, this whole place—this court—is a prison.
to me this place is a prison demark is prison
Faith, her privates we.
Then is the world one.
Then the whole world is a prison.
then everything is a prison
In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s
the news?
a goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
A large one, full of smaller cages. Denmark is one of the worst of them.
denmark is the worst a prison within a prison
None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.
We think not so, my lord.
That doesn't seem right to us, my lord.
that's not how we see it
Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more
in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of
Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?
Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?
Then either the end of the world is coming, or you're lying. Tell me the truth: what did the king and queen want from you? Why are you really here?
tell me the truth what do they want why are you here
Prison, my lord?
Prison, my lord!
Prison, my lord?
prison
Denmark’s a prison.
Denmark's a prison.
Denmark is a prison.
denmark is a prison
Then is the world one.
Then is the world one.
Then the world is a prison.
the world is a prison
A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons,
Denmark being one o’ th’ worst.
a goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
A big one. With many cells. Denmark is the worst.
denmark the worst cell
We think not so, my lord.
We think not so, my lord.
We don't think that, my lord.
no
Why, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but
thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. Let me have players as I remember, you were said to carry them—what call you the name of the players?
You're lying about something. But anyway—do you remember those theater companies we used to watch? Are any of them still traveling? I'd like to see a play again.
do you know any players any theater companies i want to see a play
Why, then your ambition makes it one; ’tis too narrow for your mind.
Even those you were wont to take delight in, the tragedians of the city.
The same ones you used to like. The tragic actors.
the ones you liked the tragedians
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of
infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
How chances it they travel? their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.
Why are they traveling around? They were doing well in the city. What happened?
why are they on the road they were doing well
Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the
ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.
There's been some kind of ruling against them. New laws or something.
new laws against the players
A dream itself is but a shadow.
Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? are they so followed?
Do people still go see them? Are they still popular?
are they still popular
Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is
but a shadow’s shadow.
No, indeed, are they not.
Not really, no.
not really
Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch’d heroes
the beggars’ shadows. Shall we to th’ court? For, by my fay, I cannot
reason.
ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.
We’ll wait upon you.
How comes it? do they grow rusty?
How so? Are they out of practice?
are they out of practice
No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for,
to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But,
in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?
Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for 't: these are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages—as they call them—that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills; and dare scarce come thither.
No, they work as hard as ever. But there's a new theater company—all kids, really young ones. They do satirical stuff and people love it. They're so popular they're scaring away the older actors. The big shots in town are afraid of being made fun of by a bunch of children.
new kid company satire very popular scaring the adults making fun of important people
To visit you, my lord, no other occasion.
What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no further than they can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own succession?
So they're children? Who's funding them? How long can they keep it up if they're just doing comedy? And won't they regret it later when they grow up and actually need real work in the theater? The writers are setting them up to fail.
they're kids who's paying how long will it last will they regret it later
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you. And sure,
dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent
for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal
justly with me. Come, come; nay, speak.
'Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy: you are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is at his weapon.
There's been a lot of back-and-forth about it. People enjoy the competition. But anyway, I hear Laertes is an amazing swordsman.
there's been controversy people enjoy the fighting laertes is skilled
What should we say, my lord?
What players are they?
Which theater company?
which company
Why, anything. But to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a
kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft
enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.
Even those you were wont to take delight in, the tragedians of the city.
The tragedy company you used to like.
the tragic players
To what end, my lord?
How chances it they travel? their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.
Why are they on the road? They were doing better in the city.
why travel they were doing well
That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the rights of our
fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our
ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could
charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent
for or no.
I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.
There's been some kind of ruling against them.
new regulations
off.
[To clarify — he says 'I am glad of it.'] But we were indeed sent for, my lord.
Right, but we were sent for, my lord.
we were summoned here you called for us
My lord, we were sent for.
My lord, we were sent for.
Yes, my lord, we were.
we were sent here
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery,
and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of
late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom
of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that
this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this
most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging
firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it
appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of
vapours. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite
in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable; in action
how like an angel, in apprehension, how like a god: the beauty of the
world, the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this
quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither,
though by your smiling you seem to say so.
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty!
What a magnificent thing a human is. So intelligent, so capable!
what a piece of work is a man noble infinite
My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
in form and moving, how express and admirable in action! how like an angel in apprehension!
In movement, in action, so graceful and perfect. Almost like an angel in understanding!
in form in action angelic perfect
Why did you laugh then, when I said ‘Man delights not me’?
how like a god! the beauty of the world.
Almost like a god! The beauty of the world!
like a god beauty
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what Lenten entertainment
the players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and
hither are they coming to offer you service.
the paragon of animals.
The best of all creatures.
the paragon of animals
He that plays the king shall be welcome,—his Majesty shall have tribute
of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover
shall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace;
the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o’ th’ sere;
and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt
for’t. What players are they?
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
And yet—what is this really? Just advanced dirt.
what is this quintessence of dust just dirt
Even those you were wont to take such delight in—the tragedians of the
city.
man delights not me: no, nor woman neither.
Nothing about humanity delights me anymore. Not men, not women. Nothing.
man delights not me nor woman nothing no joy
How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and
profit, was better both ways.
Though this, by your smiling, you seem to say so: nay then, there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.
You're trying to smile like I'm just being dramatic. But it's not that simple. Everything is what you think it is, and in my mind, this whole place is a prison.
nothing is good or bad only thinking makes it so to me this place is a prison
I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.
Then is the world one.
Then the whole world is like that.
yes the world
Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are
they so followed?
a goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
A huge prison, with many smaller cells. And Denmark is the worst cell of all.
a big prison many cells denmark the worst
No, indeed, they are not.
We think not so, my lord.
I don't think that, my lord.
no we don't think so
How comes it? Do they grow rusty?
Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?
Then the world must be ending. But you're not telling me the truth. Let me ask you directly: what did you do that the king and queen are sending you here like prisoners?
you're lying why are you here why now
Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an
aerie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question,
and are most tyrannically clapped for’t. These are now the fashion, and
so berattle the common stages—so they call them—that many wearing
rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.
Prison, my lord!
Prison, my lord?
prison
What, are they children? Who maintains ’em? How are they escoted? Will
they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say
afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is
most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong to
make them exclaim against their own succession?
Denmark's a prison.
Denmark is a prison.
denmark is prison
Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it
no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was for a while, no money
bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the
question.
Then is the world one.
Then so is the whole world.
the whole world
Is’t possible?
a goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
A big one. Full of cages. Denmark's the worst.
denmark worst cage
O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
We think not so, my lord.
We don't agree, my lord.
we disagree
Do the boys carry it away?
Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. Let me have players as I remember, you were said to carry them—what call you the name of the players?
You keep lying, so the end must be near. But anyway, I remember theater companies traveling around. Are any still doing that? Tell me.
you're lying do you know players theater companies
Ay, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too.
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. for the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men.
The best theater company in the world. They do everything—tragedy, comedy, history plays, combinations of all of them. They're masters of every style. The best anywhere.
the best company they do everything trагedy comedy history the best
It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that
would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty,
fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood,
there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find
it out.
O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
That's wonderful. I remember them. I'm excited to see them.
wonderful i remember them i'm excited
There are the players.
There are the players, my lord.
There they are, my lord.
the actors arrived they're here
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The
appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you
in this garb, lest my extent to the players, which I tell you must show
fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You
are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.
Gentlemen, welcome to Elsinore. I'm delighted to see you. The proper welcome involves ceremony and good manners. Let me play my part. I assure you — by my dignity, my recent melancholy, and the loss that has made me forget so much — I cannot fathom the reason for your visit, yet I welcome you with a genuine heart. My uncle-king and aunt-queen have sent you some commission, but in my soul I cannot discover the motive. I am nothing more than a beggar — yet in my own regard — I have of late — but why do I darken this matter with such a mood? I have lost all my mirth.
Welcome to Elsinore. Come on, shake my hand. You know how hospitality works — it's about being courteous and proper. I know I'm supposed to be the gracious host here. Look, I'm not going to pretend I'm happy all the time anymore. My sadness is genuine. My uncle and aunt sent you to find out what's wrong with me, didn't they? But I'm just a man now, melancholy and confused. I've lost the ability to be cheerful.
welcome i'm supposed to be happy but i'm not i've lost all my joy no one can fix that
In what, my dear lord?
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I am glad to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. O, my old friend! why, thy face is valanced since I saw thee last; comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady and mistress! By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. Masters, you are all welcome. We'll have a speech straight: none of your jests, unless you were called to't. But come, the nearest reason to the country now is at hand.
Welcome, welcome, my friends! Look at you! You've grown up since I saw you last. You too—you're taller than when I last saw you! Your voice better be as good as ever. But listen, I want to hear a real speech—a real tragedy. Not just jokes. I need to hear something real.
welcome friends you've grown it's been so long i want to hear a speech real tragedy not jokes
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a
hawk from a handsaw.
Ay, my good lord.
Of course, my lord.
yes my lord
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have attracted strong opinions: are they villains, innocents, or mediocrities? Tom Stoppard's 1966 play about them suggests they are simply too small for the drama they've been cast in. The text supports something more uncomfortable: they are people who chose the comfortable path. Claudius offers them royal favor for watching their friend; they accept. They are not cruel — they seem to genuinely like Hamlet. But they will not risk their position to protect him. Hamlet catches them immediately and treats them with something between affection and contempt. He tells them the exact truth about his depression — a confidence they cannot honor. By the time they carry his death warrant to England (5-2), they have long since made their choice. They die not because they were evil but because they made themselves instruments of someone else's agenda without asking what the agenda was.
Well be with you, gentlemen.
Ay, my good lord. What would your lordship have?
Of course. What would you like to hear?
what do you want
Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer. That great
baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts.
I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleased not the million; 'twas caviare to the general: but it was—as I received it, and others, whose judgements in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said there were no sallets in the line to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas Æneas' tale to Dido; but take, O, take the part of Priam's slaughter: if it live in your memory, begin at this line: it is not monstrous if this player here But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd, Being all the substance of it: look, if he hast not turn'd colour.
I remember you doing a speech once that was never really put on stage. It didn't appeal to most people—it was too sophisticated. But those of us who knew real theater thought it was excellent. It was well-written, not overdone, not showy. There was one part of it I loved—Æneas telling Dido about the fall of Troy, especially about Priam's death. Do you still remember that speech? The one that goes—tell it if you can. It's remarkable how an actor can feel something so deeply for a fictional story that his whole face changes color.
i remember that speech it was sophisticated not for everyone but excellent æn eas and dido priam's death can you do it
Happily he’s the second time come to them; for they say an old man is
twice a child.
Ay, my good lord. I do remember it.
Yes, my lord. I remember it.
i remember it
I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.—You say
right, sir: for a Monday morning ’twas so indeed.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; out-Herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.
Speak it naturally—don't overdramatize it like some actors do. I'd rather hear the town crier say my lines than watch you chew the scenery. Don't flail your hands around. Even in the most passionate moments, you need control and smoothness. It kills me when an actor overacts—when he tears the words to pieces trying to impress the cheap seats. That kind of hammy acting is obscene.
speak naturally don't overact don't flail control smoothness i hate bad acting it's obscene
My lord, I have news to tell you.
Ay, my good lord.
I understand, my lord.
yes i understand
My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome—
My lord, I have something to tell you. When Roscius was a famous actor in Rome — there was no actor so skilled —
My lord, listen. There was this actor in Rome once — Roscius — the best actor who ever lived. No one was better —
let me tell you about an ancient actor the greatest of his time
The actors are come hither, my lord.
You look like you're going to perform the speech.
Go ahead, perform it.
perform it
Buzz, buzz.
But soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? But what, in particular, is her anguish? why does her eye wink so? what does her voice betray? She weeps for her father's death. The most lamentable murder of Pyrrhus, when the bleeding Pyrrhus sought for Priam in the dust!
I am performing the speech about Pyrrhus and Priam. Pyrrhus stands over the dead body of the old king, covered in blood. He looks for Priam among the ruins of Troy.
pyrrhus stands over priam blood trroy falls the old king is dead
Upon my honour.
I stake my honor on it.
I swear to it.
i swear it's true
Then came each actor on his ass—
Pyrrhus now is hush'd, and falls not; black as hell. But with a hideous crash, he falls upon the neck of Priam. There is, or if there were a question now; but silent.
Pyrrhus pauses. Then he falls upon Priam's body. Complete silence. Everything is still.
pyrrhus pauses then falls silence stillness
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history,
pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical,
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem
unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light, for the
law of writ and the liberty. These are the only men.
But as we often see, against some storm, a silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, the bold winds speechless and the orb below as hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause, aroused vengeance sets him new a-work; and never did the Cyclops' hammers fall on Mars's armour forced than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword now falls on Priam. But, lo! the prophets weep. But who, ah, who had seen the mobled queen—But there, but there—Here Pyrrhus: mark.
It's like a moment before a storm—everything is silent, the wind stops, the world holds its breath. Then suddenly the thunder crashes. That's Pyrrhus—he pauses, then suddenly—he explodes with vengeance. Every blow lands like thunder. And the women of Troy—old Hecuba, the queen—when she saw what happened, she wept.
silence before storm then thunder vengeance pyrrhus strikes hecuba weeps the queen weeps
O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
Oh, Jephthah, judge of Israel — what a precious daughter you had!
Oh, Jephthah, judge of Israel — what a treasure your daughter was!
jephthah judge of israel your daughter what a loss
What treasure had he, my lord?
What treasure, my lord?
What treasure, my lord?
what treasure what are you talking about
Why—
’One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.’
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? But soft! methinks the Duchess tears fall down her painted cheeks: see, the tears stand in her eyes. But look, the tears! Run down her painted cheeks. She is a queen; she saw her son kill'd before her eyes.
Why would an actor cry for a woman he never knew? Hecuba—who was she to him? But look at his tears. Real tears running down his face. And for a queen, a woman he only knows from stories. A mother who watched her son die.
why does he weep for hecuba he never knew her but his tears are real for a queen for a mother for a son
Am I not i’ th’ right, old Jephthah?
O, such a sight as would make the gods weep, with awful attention, now see, what thou art call'd to witness: Pyrrhus stands, and with a hideous crash takes Priam by the beard.
A sight that would make the gods themselves weep. Pyrrhus seizes the old king by his beard and—
pyrrhus takes priam by the beard a sight that makes gods weep
If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing
well.
If you must call me Jephthah, my lord, then I must tell you: I have a daughter whom I love very dearly.
If you're saying I'm Jephthah, my lord, then yes — I have a daughter, and I love her more than anything.
i have a daughter i love her deeply what's your point why are you saying this
Nay, that follows not.
But, like a neutral to his will and matter, nothing either good or bad but so it goes; but, O, the gods! see, see! how she tears her hair! tears fall down her innocent white arms: see, see, see! The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us.
Hecuba tears her hair. She falls. Her arms are white—innocent. And for what? She did nothing to deserve this. The gods are just—they use our pleasures to destroy us.
hecuba tears her hair her arms are white innocent she did nothing the gods are just our pleasures destroy us
What follows then, my lord?
This is too long.
That's enough.
that's enough
Why,
As by lot, God wot,
and then, you know,
It came to pass, as most like it was.
The first row of the pious chanson will show you more. For look where
my abridgement comes.
It shall to the barber's, with your beard.— Prithee, say on: he's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps: say on: come to Hecuba.
Don't interrupt! Let him finish. Get on with it—to Hecuba!
let him finish to hecuba dont interrupt
What speech, my lord?
What speech would you have me recite, my lord?
Which speech would you like to hear, my lord?
what do you want me to perform
I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted, or if it
was, not above once, for the play, I remember, pleased not the million,
’twas caviare to the general. But it was—as I received it, and others,
whose judgements in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent
play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as
cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make
the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the
author of affectation, but called it an honest method, as wholesome as
sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it, I
chiefly loved. ’Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido, and thereabout of it
especially where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. If it live in your
memory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see:
_The rugged Pyrrhus, like th’ Hyrcanian beast,—_
It is not so: it begins with Pyrrhus—
_The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d
With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot
Now is he total gules, horridly trick’d
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets,
That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
To their vile murders. Roasted in wrath and fire,
And thus o’ersized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks._
So, proceed you.
I heard you recite a speech once, but it was never performed publicly, or if it was, only once. The play didn't appeal to the masses — too restrained in action, too careful in dialogue, yet not without merit. It had a nobility to its restraint. I remember thinking it would live forever if performed by the right actor. The speech begins with the words about Aeneas and Dido, describing the ruin of Troy. Do you remember it?
I heard you do this speech once. It was never actually performed — or barely. The play didn't catch on with audiences. But it was good — really good. Thoughtful, careful, not flashy but well-written. It should have survived. I remember the opening — it was about Troy falling, Aeneas and Dido. Can you still do it?
there was this speech so powerful nobody ever saw it it should have lasted do you remember it
’Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion.
Before God, my lord, that was well spoken — with good delivery and good judgment.
That was beautifully recited, my lord — excellent tone and real understanding.
excellent performance well done impressive
_Anon he finds him,
Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to command. Unequal match’d,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
Th’unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear. For lo, his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ th’air to stick.
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
And like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.
But as we often see against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region; so after Pyrrhus’ pause,
Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work,
And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall
On Mars’s armour, forg’d for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods,
In general synod, take away her power;
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
As low as to the fiends._
Soon he finds the king in the ash and ruins of Troy, striking at the Greeks with his ancient sword, but missing — too short are his strokes at these heavily armored warriors. As Pyrrhus's sword is lifted, it hangs in the air as if all action pauses — then descends in terrible force, splitting the king's body. Yet at this moment — —
Then he finds King Priam in the burning ruins, swinging his old sword at the Greeks, but the strokes aren't long enough — the warriors are too far away, too well-protected. The sword rises, and for a moment everything stops — you can feel the weight of it, the terrible potential — then it falls and splits the king's body in half. But then — —
pyrrhus finds the king in troy's ashes raises his sword everything pauses then violence
This is too long.
This is too long.
That's enough. Too long.
stop too long cut it short
It shall to the barber’s, with your beard.—Prithee say on.
He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps.
Say on; come to Hecuba.
It shall go to the barber and have your beard trimmed along with it. But please, continue. The player will tire of your interruptions. For there is a fellow who lacks wit — he falls asleep unless the performance involves either a bawdy joke or slapstick. But go on with your speech.
Your beard needs cutting too. But come on, the player doesn't want to keep stopping. Look, some audiences have no patience — they need crude jokes or silly physical comedy to stay awake. So let him finish without interruption.
you're interrupting let him finish some people need slapstick to stay awake
_But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen,—_
[Reciting] But who, oh who, had seen the veiled and veiled queen —
[Reciting] But who would have seen the queen, dressed in rags and covered up —
who saw the queen veiled and broken
‘The mobled queen’?
The veiled queen?
The wrapped-up queen?
the veiled queen
That’s good! ‘Mobled queen’ is good.
That's excellent. 'Veiled queen' is a fine phrase.
That's good. That's a beautiful word choice.
excellent great word beautifully put
_Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning the flames
With bisson rheum. A clout upon that head
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
About her lank and all o’erteemed loins,
A blanket, in th’alarm of fear caught up—
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d,
’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounc’d.
But if the gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,
The instant burst of clamour that she made,—
Unless things mortal move them not at all,—
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,
And passion in the gods._
[Reciting] Runs barefoot in the blazing streets, her face streaked with tears, wailing at the very flames themselves. A cloth wraps her head, where her royal diadem once sat. Her state of degradation is complete and absolute.
[Reciting] She runs barefoot through the burning city, tears streaming down her face, screaming at the fire. A rag covers her head — her crown is gone. Everything has been stripped from her.
she runs barefoot through burning streets her crown is gone tears and ashes every dignity lost
Look, where he has not turn’d his colour, and has tears in’s eyes. Pray
you, no more.
Look at him — he hasn't even changed color, yet tears are streaming down his face. Please, no more.
Look at him cry. His face is flushed and he's got tears running down his cheeks. That's enough. Stop.
he's crying look at him stop i can't watch
’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.—Good my
lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be
well used; for they are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time.
After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill
report while you live.
Well done. I'll ask you to recite the rest of this another time. Good my lord, will you see the players properly housed and entertained? Be sure they're treated well. My uncle and Gertrude have extended the invitation.
That's good enough. We can hear the rest later. But listen — make sure the actors are comfortable. Give them nice rooms, good food, treat them well. They're guests of my uncle the king.
excellent we'll hear the rest later make sure they're comfortable take care of them
My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
My lord, I shall treat them according to what they deserve.
Don't worry, I'll treat them fairly.
i'll treat them according to merit
God’s bodikin, man, much better. Use every man after his desert, and who
should ’scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The
less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.
God's body, man, do much better than that! Use every man according to his merit, and who would escape punishment? Use them instead with generosity and honor — the generosity of good people, not the harsh judgment of tyrants.
No, do better than that! If everyone got what they deserved, we'd all be whipped. Treat them with generosity and respect — act like a good person, not a judge of their faults.
no be generous if you judged merit everyone would be whipped that's not how you treat people
Come, sirs.
Come along, sirs.
Come with me, gentlemen.
let's go follow me
Follow him, friends. We’ll hear a play tomorrow.
Follow him, friends. We'll see a play tomorrow.
Go on, follow him. We'll watch your play tomorrow.
follow polonius we'll see you perform tomorrow
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
understood
We’ll ha’t tomorrow night. You could for a need study a speech of some
dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down and insert in’t, could
you not?
We'll perform it tomorrow night. Could you, if needed, learn a speech I'll write for you — about a dozen or sixteen lines — and perform it in the play? Would you do that?
Tomorrow night. Look, I might write you a short speech — fifteen lines or so — and add it into your play. Could you do that? Would you learn it?
i might write a short speech for you to perform in the play can you do it
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
yes i can do it
Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him not.
Good. Follow that lord, and see you don't mock him as you go.
Good. Go with Polonius, and be respectful to him.
follow him treat him well don't mock him
Good my lord.
Good my lord.
Yes, my lord.
understood
Ay, so, God b’ 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,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wan’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!
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
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,
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?
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’ th’ throat
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha! ’Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
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!
Oh 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
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A scullion! Fie upon’t! Foh!
About, my brain! I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene,
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
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 the devil, and the devil hath power
T’assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
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.
The play's the thing / Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
This play will be how I find out if Claudius is guilty.
the play will expose him the play is my proof
The Reckoning
This scene is the structural engine of Act 2. Every piece that will drive Acts 3 and 4 is assembled here. Claudius deploys Rosencrantz and Guildenstern against Hamlet, but Hamlet detects them instantly — his intelligence is so far ahead of the court's surveillance that it makes the court look clumsy. Polonius presents his theory with theatrical pomp and reads Hamlet's letter aloud; Claudius and Polonius plan to eavesdrop on a meeting between Hamlet and Ophelia. Then Hamlet arrives. His 'madness' for Polonius is brilliant, improvised, and laced with real accusations: calling Polonius a fishmonger is an insult that Polonius entirely misses. His conversation with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is ice-cold beneath the warmth — he catches them immediately. The Players' arrival is the genuine emotional peak of the scene: here is something Hamlet loves. And from that love comes the plan: 'The Murder of Gonzago.' His closing soliloquy is the mirror of Act 1's ending — instead of steeling himself, he is attacking himself for failing to act, then constructing the play as a substitute for action. The question the soliloquy leaves open: is the play a plan, or a delay?
If this happened today…
A king's chief of staff calls in two of the prince's college friends and asks them to monitor him. The prince sees through them immediately. Meanwhile an old minister delivers a long-winded presentation concluding that the prince is lovesick. A touring theater company arrives; the prince lights up and books them for a private performance he's quietly rewriting. Late at night, alone, he tears himself apart in his journal: he watched an actor weep for a fictional character while he, who has every reason to act, has done nothing. Then he writes: 'The show is the thing.'