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Hamlet

Год написания книги
2016
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You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?

You cannot speak of reason to the Dane 245

And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?

The head is not more native to the heart,

The hand more instrumental to the mouth,

Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 250

What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

Laertes. My dread lord,

Your leave and favour to return to France;

From whence though willingly I came to Denmark

To show my duty in your coronation, 255

Yet now I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

Claudius. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?

Polonius. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave 260

By laboursome petition, and at last

Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.

I do beseech you give him leave to go.

Claudius. Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine,

And thy best graces spend it at thy will! 265

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son-

Hamlet.[aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind!

Claudius. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Hamlet. Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun.

Gertrude. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, 270

And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not for ever with thy vailed lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die,

Passing through nature to eternity. 275

Hamlet. Ay, madam, it is common.

Gertrude. If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Hamlet. Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.'

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 280

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,

No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

Nor the dejected havior of the visage,

Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, 285

'That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,

For they are actions that a man might play;

But I have that within which passeth show-

These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Claudius. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 290

To give these mourning duties to your father;

But you must know, your father lost a father;

That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
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