Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 4

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, and give my greetings to the Danish king. Tell him that, with his permission, Fortinbras asks for safe passage for the march he was promised across his kingdom. You know where we are to meet. If his Majesty wants anything of us, we will come and pay our respects to him in person; tell him that.

I will do’t, my lord.

I will do it, my lord.

Go softly on.

March on slowly.

Good sir, whose powers are these?

Good sir, whose forces are these?

They are of Norway, sir.

They are from Norway, sir.

How purpos’d, sir, I pray you?

What are they intended for, sir, if I may ask?

Against some part of Poland.

Against some part of Poland.

Who commands them, sir?

Who commands them, sir?

The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.

The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.

Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier?

Is it going against the main body of Poland, sir, or only against some border region?

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.

To speak the truth, and without exaggerating, we are going to win a little patch of ground that has nothing valuable in it but its name. I would not rent it for five ducats — five; and it would not bring Norway or the Pole any higher rate if it were sold outright.

Why, then the Polack never will defend it.

Why then, the Pole will never defend it.

Yes, it is already garrison’d.

Yes, there are already troops stationed there.

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 lives and twenty thousand ducats will not settle the argument over this worthless straw! This is the abscess of too much wealth and peace: it bursts inside, and shows no outward reason why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.

God b’ wi’ you, sir.

God be with you, sir.

Will’t please you go, my lord?

Will you be pleased to come along, my lord?

I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.

I'll be with you at once. Go on a little ahead of me.

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 every circumstance testifies against me and drives on my sluggish revenge! What is a man, if the best he does and the whole business of his life is only to sleep and eat? An animal, nothing more. Surely he who made us with such wide-ranging powers of thought, able to look into the past and the future, did not give us that ability and that godlike reason to grow mouldy in us from lack of use. Now, whether it is animal forgetfulness, or some cowardly hesitation that comes of thinking too exactly about the outcome — a thought which, if divided into four, has one part wisdom and always three parts cowardice — I do not know why I am still alive only to say, "This must be done," since I have reason, and will, and strength, and the means to do it. Examples as plain as the earth urge me on. Look at this army, so huge and so costly, led by a refined and gentle prince, whose spirit, swollen with a heaven-sent ambition, makes faces at the outcome he cannot see, and puts everything that is mortal and uncertain at the mercy of whatever fortune, death and danger may do — all for an eggshell. To be truly great is not to take up arms without great cause, but to find great cause for a quarrel in a trifle when honour is what is at risk. Where do I stand then, whose father has been killed and whose mother has been defiled, with my reason and my blood both goaded on, and I let everything sleep, while to my shame I see the coming death of twenty thousand men who, for a fantasy and an empty pretence of fame, go to their graves as if to their beds, fighting for a piece of ground not large enough for all their numbers to fight the battle on, which is not big enough as a grave and a container to bury the dead? Oh, from this moment on, let my thoughts be bloody or be worth nothing.