Tragedies: The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Romeo and Juliet. Macbeth / Трагедии: Трагедия Гамлета, принца Датского. Ромео и Джульетта. Макбет

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.

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.

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,

And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Adieu, adieu, adieu. Hamlet, remember me.

[Exit.]

HAMLET.

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.