Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5

Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further.

Where are you going to lead me? Speak. I'll go no further.

Mark me.

Listen to me.

I will.

I will.

My hour is almost come, When I to sulph’rous and tormenting flames Must render up myself.

My hour is nearly here, when I must give myself up to sulphurous and tormenting flames.

Alas, poor ghost!

Poor ghost!

Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold.

Don't pity me, but listen carefully to what I'm about to reveal.

Speak, I am bound to hear.

Speak. I'm bound to listen.

So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

And you'll be bound to take revenge, once you've heard.

What?

What?

I am thy father’s spirit, Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love—

I am your father's spirit, condemned for a set period to walk about at night, and by day to be confined to fast in fires, until the terrible crimes I committed in my life are burned and purged away. If I weren't forbidden to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could tell you a story whose lightest word would tear up your soul, freeze your young blood, make your two eyes start out of their sockets like stars leaving their spheres, make your tangled and matted hair separate and every single hair stand on end like the quills on an angry porcupine. But this revelation of eternity must not be made to ears of flesh and blood. Listen, listen, oh, listen! If you ever loved your dear father—

O God!

Oh God!

Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Take revenge for his foul and utterly unnatural murder.

Murder!

Murder!

Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Murder that is foul, as even the best murder is; but this one is the most foul, strange, and unnatural of all.

Haste me to know’t, that I, with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love May sweep to my revenge.

Tell me quickly, so that I, on wings as swift as thought or as the thoughts of love, can sweep to my revenge.

I find thee apt; And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. ’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father’s life Now wears his crown.

I find you ready. You'd have to be duller than the fat weed that rots at its ease on the bank of Lethe not to be roused by this. Now, Hamlet, listen. The story put about is that, while I was sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark has been grossly deceived by a faked account of my death. But know this, noble young man: the serpent that stung your father's life now wears his crown.

O my prophetic soul! Mine uncle!

Oh, my soul that guessed it! My uncle!

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,— O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen. O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine. But virtue, as it never will be mov’d, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, Will sate itself in a celestial bed And prey on garbage. But soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment, whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And with a sudden vigour it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark’d about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand, Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhous’led, disappointed, unanel’d; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head. O horrible! O horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But howsoever thou pursu’st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me.

Yes, that incestuous, that adulterous beast. With the witchcraft of his cleverness, with treacherous gifts — oh, wicked cleverness and gifts, that have such power to seduce! — he won over to his shameful lust the desire of my queen, who seemed so virtuous. Oh Hamlet, what a fall that was! From me, whose love had such dignity that it kept in step with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to sink down to a wretch whose natural gifts were poor compared to mine. But just as virtue will never be swayed, even if lewdness woos it in the shape of an angel, so lust, even when it is tied to a shining angel, will grow tired of itself in a heavenly bed and feed on garbage. But wait! I think I smell the morning air. Let me be brief. While I was sleeping in my orchard, as I always did in the afternoon, your uncle crept up on me in that unguarded hour with a vial of cursed hebenon juice, and poured the leprous distillation into the porches of my ears. Its effect is so hostile to human blood that it races as quickly as quicksilver through the natural gates and passages of the body, and with a sudden force it curdles and clots the thin, healthy blood, the way sour drops curdle milk. That's what it did to mine. And instantly a scab crusted over all my smooth body with a vile and loathsome crust, like a leper's. So, while I slept, at a brother's hand I was robbed all at once of my life, my crown, and my queen. Cut down in the full blossom of my sins, without the sacrament, unprepared, without last rites, no account settled, but sent to be judged with all my faults on my head. Oh, horrible! Oh, horrible! Utterly horrible! If you have any natural feeling in you, don't put up with it. Don't let the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for lust and damned incest. But however you go about this deed, don't stain your mind, and don't let your soul plot anything against your mother. Leave her to heaven, and to the thorns that lodge in her breast to prick and sting her. Farewell for now! The glow-worm shows that morning is near, and its ineffective fire is beginning to fade. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Remember me.

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, my heart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix’d with baser matter. Yes, by heaven! O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! My tables. Meet it is I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain! At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.

Oh, all you armies of heaven! Oh, earth! What else? Shall I add hell too? Oh, no! Hold together, my heart, and you, my muscles, don't grow old in an instant, but hold me up firmly. Remember you? Yes, poor ghost, as long as memory has a place in this bewildered head. Remember you? Yes, from the notebook of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial, foolish records, all the sayings from books, all the shapes and impressions of the past that youth and observation wrote there, and your command alone shall live within the book and volume of my brain, unmixed with lesser material. Yes, by heaven! Oh, most destructive woman! Oh, villain, villain, smiling damned villain! My notebook. It's right that I write this down: that a man can smile, and smile, and be a villain. At least I'm sure that can be true in Denmark.

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; It is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me.’ I have sworn’t.

There, uncle, you're written down. Now to my motto: it is "Goodbye, goodbye, remember me." I've sworn to it.

[Within.] My lord, my lord.

[Offstage.] My lord, my lord.

[Within.] Lord Hamlet.

[Offstage.] Lord Hamlet.

[Within.] Heaven secure him.

[Offstage.] May heaven keep him safe.

So be it!

So be it!

[Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

[Offstage.] Hey, ho, ho, my lord!

Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.

Hey, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.

How is’t, my noble lord?

How are things, my noble lord?

What news, my lord?

What news, my lord?

O, wonderful!

Oh, wonderful!

Good my lord, tell it.

Tell us, my good lord.

No, you’ll reveal it.

No, you'll tell others.

Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Not I, my lord, I swear by heaven.

Nor I, my lord.

Nor I, my lord.

How say you then, would heart of man once think it?— But you’ll be secret?

What do you say, then — would any man's heart ever imagine it? But you'll keep it secret?

Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Yes, by heaven, my lord.

There’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he’s an arrant knave.

There isn't a single villain living anywhere in Denmark who isn't a complete scoundrel.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this.

There's no need for a ghost to come from the grave, my lord, to tell us that.

Why, right; you are i’ the right; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part: You, as your business and desire shall point you,— For every man hath business and desire, Such as it is;—and for my own poor part, Look you, I’ll go pray.

Why, quite right; you're right. And so, without any more fuss, I think it best that we shake hands and part: you going wherever your business and your wishes point you — for every man has business and wishes of some sort — and as for my own poor self, look, I'll go and pray.

These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

These are only wild, spinning words, my lord.

I’m sorry they offend you, heartily; Yes faith, heartily.

I'm sorry they offend you, truly sorry; yes, honestly, truly.

There’s no offence, my lord.

There's no offence, my lord.

Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. Touching this vision here, It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. For your desire to know what is between us, O’ermaster’t as you may. And now, good friends, As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, Give me one poor request.

Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, and a great offence too. As for this apparition, it's an honest ghost, let me tell you that much. As for your wish to know what passed between us, get the better of it as best you can. And now, good friends, since you are friends, scholars and soldiers, grant me one small request.

What is’t, my lord? We will.

What is it, my lord? We will.

Never make known what you have seen tonight.

Never tell anyone what you have seen tonight.

My lord, we will not.

My lord, we won't.

Nay, but swear’t.

No, but swear to it.

In faith, my lord, not I.

On my honour, my lord, I won't tell.

Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Nor will I, my lord, on my honour.

Upon my sword.

Swear on my sword.

We have sworn, my lord, already.

We've already sworn, my lord.

Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Really, on my sword, really.

[Cries under the stage.] Swear.

[Calling out from under the stage.] Swear.

Ha, ha boy, sayst thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage. Consent to swear.

Ha, ha, boy, is that what you say? Are you there, honest fellow? Come on, you can hear this fellow down in the cellar. Agree to swear.

Propose the oath, my lord.

Set out the oath, my lord.

Never to speak of this that you have seen. Swear by my sword.

That you'll never speak of what you have seen. Swear on my sword.

[Beneath.] Swear.

[From below.] Swear.

Hic et ubique? Then we’ll shift our ground. Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword. Never to speak of this that you have heard. Swear by my sword.

Hic et ubique? Then we'll move to another spot. Come over here, gentlemen, and put your hands on my sword again. That you'll never speak of what you have heard. Swear on my sword.

[Beneath.] Swear.

[From below.] Swear.

Well said, old mole! Canst work i’ th’earth so fast? A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.

Well said, old mole! Can you burrow through the earth that fast? An excellent digger! Let's move once more, good friends.

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange.

Oh, by day and night, this is amazingly strange.

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come, Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself,— As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on— That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, With arms encumber’d thus, or this head-shake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As ‘Well, we know’, or ‘We could and if we would’, Or ‘If we list to speak’; or ‘There be and if they might’, Or such ambiguous giving out, to note That you know aught of me:—this not to do. So grace and mercy at your most need help you, Swear.

And so, treat it as a stranger and welcome it. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than your philosophy dreams of. But come here: as before, swear — and may mercy help you — that however strange or odd I may act (since I may think it right from now on to put on a mad manner), you, seeing me at such times, will never fold your arms like this, or shake your head like this, or say some doubtful phrase such as 'Well, we know', or 'We could, if we wanted to', or 'If we chose to speak', or 'There are people who could, if they were allowed', or hint in any such ambiguous way that you know anything about me. Swear that you will not do this, and may grace and mercy help you when you need them most.

[Beneath.] Swear.

[From below.] Swear.

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you; And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do t’express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together, And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint. O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right. Nay, come, let’s go together.

Rest, rest, troubled spirit. So, gentlemen, I give myself over to you with all my love; and whatever so poor a man as Hamlet can do to show his love and friendship to you, God willing, he will do. Let us go in together — and keep your fingers on your lips, please. The time is out of joint. Oh, what a cursed misfortune that I was ever born to put it right. No, come, let's go together.