Читать книгу The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 7

  Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.

  Rey. I will, my lord.

  Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,

    Before You visit him, to make inquire

    Of his behaviour.

  Rey. My lord, I did intend it.

  Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,

    Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;

    And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,

    What company, at what expense; and finding

    By this encompassment and drift of question

    That they do know my son, come you more nearer

    Than your particular demands will touch it.

    Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;

    As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,

    And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?

  Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.

  Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.

    But if't be he I mean, he's very wild

    Addicted so and so'; and there put on him

    What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank

    As may dishonour him- take heed of that;

    But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips

    As are companions noted and most known

    To youth and liberty.

  Rey. As gaming, my lord.

  Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,

    Drabbing. You may go so far.

  Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.

  Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.

    You must not put another scandal on him,

    That he is open to incontinency.

    That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly

    That they may seem the taints of liberty,

    The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,

    A savageness in unreclaimed blood,

    Of general assault.

  Rey. But, my good lord-

  Pol. Wherefore should you do this?

  Rey. Ay, my lord,

    I would know that.

  Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,

    And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.

    You laying these slight sullies on my son

    As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,

    Mark you,

    Your party in converse, him you would sound,

    Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes

    The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd

    He closes with you in this consequence:

    'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'-

    According to the phrase or the addition

    Of man and country-

  Rey. Very good, my lord.

  Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to

say?

    By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave?

  Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and

    gentleman.'

  Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'– Ay, marry!

    He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman.

    I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,

    Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say,

    There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;

    There falling out at tennis'; or perchance,

    'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'

    Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.

    See you now-

    Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;

    And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,

    With windlasses and with assays of bias,

    By indirections find directions out.

    So, by my former lecture and advice,

    Shall you my son. You have me, have you not

  Rey. My lord, I have.

  Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well!

  Rey. Good my lord! [Going.]

  Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.

  Rey. I shall, my lord.

  Pol. And let him ply his music.

  Rey. Well, my lord.

  Pol. Farewell!

    How now, Ophelia? What's the matter?

  Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

  Pol. With what, i' th' name of God I

  Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,

    Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,

    No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,

    Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;

    Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,

    And with a look so piteous in purport

    As if he had been loosed out of hell

    To speak of horrors- he comes before me.

  Pol. Mad for thy love?

  Oph. My lord, I do not know,

    But truly I do fear it.

  Pol. What said he?

  Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard;

    Then goes he to the length of all his arm,

    And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,

    He falls to such perusal of my face

    As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.

    At last, a little shaking of mine arm,

    And thrice his head thus waving up and down,

    He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound

    As it did seem to shatter all his bulk

    And end his being. That done, he lets me go,

    And with his head over his shoulder turn'd

    He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,

    For out o' doors he went without their help

    And to the last bended their light on me.

  Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.

    This is the very ecstasy of love,

    Whose violent property fordoes itself

    And leads the will to desperate undertakings

    As oft as any passion under heaven

    That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.

    What, have you given him any hard words of late?

  Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,