Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.
Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promis’d march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his Majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye;
And let him know so.
Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras craves the conveyance of a promised march over his kingdom.
Tell the Danish king that Fortinbras is passing through on his way to attack Poland.
fortinbras passing through to attack poland
I will do’t, my lord.
I will carry out your orders, my lord.
I'll do it right away, my lord.
ill do it
Go softly on.
Go carefully.
Take it slowly.
go slowly
Good sir, whose powers are these?
Sir, whose army is this?
Whose troops are these?
whose forces
They are of Norway, sir.
They're from Norway, sir.
Norwegian.
norway
Fortinbras appears three times in Hamlet — briefly here, as a letter writer in 4-6, and finally as a conqueror in 5-2 — and he is never a fully developed character. He doesn't need to be. His function is structural: he is the action-figure to Hamlet's thought-figure, the man who does what Hamlet cannot. But Shakespeare is careful not to simply endorse Fortinbras. Hamlet himself says the campaign is absurd — twenty thousand men dying for a straw. The captain confirms it: the land is not worth five ducats. Fortinbras is not wise; he is driven by something the text consistently calls 'honor' but which looks a great deal like the desire for reputation. What shames Hamlet is not that Fortinbras is right, but that Fortinbras acts on a motive far thinner than Hamlet's own. The prince has everything — cause, will, strength, means — and Fortinbras has almost nothing, yet Fortinbras moves. That is the knife in the comparison.
How purpos’d, sir, I pray you?
What's their purpose, if I may ask?
Where are they headed?
where are they going
Against some part of Poland.
Headed toward some region of Poland.
We're marching against Poland.
attacking poland
Who commands them, sir?
Who is in charge of them, sir?
And who's leading them?
whos in charge
The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.
The old Norwegian's nephew, Fortinbras.
Fortinbras. The Norwegian prince.
fortinbras
Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
Or for some frontier?
Are they attacking the whole of Poland or just the border?
Are they going for all of Poland or just hitting the borders?
the whole country or just the frontier
Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath 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 in fee.
Honestly, to be straight with you—we're fighting over a worthless patch of land. I wouldn't rent it for five ducats. It's not worth anything to Norway or Poland, not even if they sold it outright.
To be honest, it's not worth anything. A small strip of empty ground. I wouldn't farm it for five ducats. It's worthless.
just an empty patch worthless nobody even wants it
Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Then the Polish won't bother defending it.
So Poland won't even fight for it.
why would poland even defend it
Yes, it is already garrison’d.
Yes, it's already been garrisoned with soldiers.
Yeah, they've already stationed troops there.
troops are already there
Hamlet has seven soliloquies in the play. This is the last. The choice is significant: after 4-4, Hamlet stops explaining himself to us. He comes back from England changed — faster, less philosophical, more capable of decisive speech. The sea voyage, the pirates, the rewriting of the letters, the killing of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's futures — all of this happens offstage, in the gap between 4-4 and 5-1. The soliloquy form, which has been the play's instrument for getting inside Hamlet's hesitation, disappears because something in Hamlet has closed. He stops needing to explain his delays because he has either stopped delaying or stopped being able to analyze his delays. The readiness that arrives in 5-2 — 'the readiness is all' — is a different register entirely from the tortured self-interrogation of 'How all occasions do inform against me.' The final soliloquy marks the end of a Hamlet who watches himself with horror and the emergence of a Hamlet who simply acts.
Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
Will not debate the question of this straw!
This is th’imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.
Two thousand soldiers and twenty thousand ducats will be spent fighting over a piece of straw. This is what happens when a country is fat with wealth and peace—something breaks inside it, and the disease shows no symptoms until the man dies. I thank you, sir.
Twenty thousand dollars and two thousand soldiers are going to die for a worthless scrap. This is what happens when a country gets too rich and too comfortable—something rots inside and you don't see it until you're already dying.
thousands of men thousands of dollars for nothing for a patch of dirt and no one stops it
God b’ wi’ you, sir.
God be with you, sir.
Goodbye, sir.
goodbye
Will’t please you go, my lord?
Will you come, my lord?
Ready?
let's go
I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.
I'll catch up with you. Go ahead.
In a moment. Go on ahead.
i'll be right there just go
How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge. What is a man
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unus’d. Now whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th’event,—
A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward,—I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing’s to do,
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me,
Witness this army of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d,
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d,
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth.
How all these circumstances accuse me and push me toward revenge. What is a human being if the only thing he does is sleep and eat? A beast, nothing more. Surely the one who made us with the ability to think ahead and remember the past, who gave us the capacity to reason like a god—surely he didn't give us these gifts just to let them waste away unused. Now I don't know if this is bestial forgetfulness or some cowardly hesitation about thinking too carefully about the outcome. A hesitation that, when broken down, has only a quarter wisdom but three quarters cowardice. I don't know why I'm still alive, still saying this needs to be done, when I have the reason, the will, the strength, and the means to do it. Clear examples push me forward—look at this army, so huge and so expensive, led by a young and sensitive prince whose spirit, filled with ambitious dreams, laughs at the unknown future and risks everything—his life and his safety—just for a tiny piece of land. Truly, to be great means not to act without great cause, but to find something worth fighting for in even the smallest matter when honor is at stake. So what about me? I have a father killed, a mother shamed, these facts should fuel my reason and my rage, and yet I let everything sleep while I watch with shame as twenty thousand men march toward their deaths for some fantasy and a reputation, going to their graves like going to bed, fighting for ground that's barely big enough to bury them all in. Oh, from this moment forward, my thoughts will be about nothing but blood and revenge, or they're worthless.
Everything around me is telling me I should take revenge. What's the point of being human if you just sleep and eat? That's what animals do. The one who created us gave us the ability to think, to remember, to reason like gods—surely not just to waste away. Now I'm not sure if I'm just being forgetful or if I'm being a coward about it, thinking too much about what might happen. And really, that's mostly cowardice. So why am I still alive? I have every reason to do this—my father was murdered, my mother is shamed, I have the will to do it, the strength to do it. And look—here's an army of twenty thousand marching off to fight and die for nothing, just for a tiny piece of land and fame. A young prince is risking his life for basically nothing. And I'm just sitting here. That's not how greatness works. A great person finds something to fight for, something that matters for their honor. So where am I? My thoughts need to be bloody from now on, or I'm worthless.
everything tells me to get revenge what am i doing im just sitting here while 20k men die for nothing i gotta be all in no more hesitation my thoughts need to be about revenge or nothing
The Reckoning
This is Hamlet's last soliloquy and his most honest one. In the earlier soliloquies, he has been discovering things about himself he didn't know. Here, he knows exactly what is wrong: he overthinks, he philosophizes, he delays, and men who think far less than he does accomplish far more. Fortinbras is the mirror he can't look away from. Fortinbras marches twenty thousand men across Europe to die for a piece of ground not worth five ducats — and that is honor, that is greatness. Hamlet finds this both absurd and shaming. The argument is not that Fortinbras is right. It is that Fortinbras acts, and Hamlet does not. The soliloquy ends with what sounds like a resolution — 'my thoughts be bloody' — but the audience may already feel that resolutions have been made and broken before. The word 'from this time forth' is doing enormous work. The question is whether this time it will hold.
If this happened today…
A man who has been putting off a difficult confrontation for months watches a colleague pick a pointless fight in a meeting and win — not because the argument was good, but because he was willing to push. On his way out of the building, the first man thinks: I have every reason to act. I have the motive, the cause, the justification. And I keep thinking about it instead of doing it. That's not intellect. That's cowardice dressed up as philosophy.