Hamlet. Macbeth / Гамлет. Макбет - стр. 10

Marry, well bethought:

'Tis told me he hath very oft of late

Given private time to you; and you yourself

Have of your audience been most free

                         and bounteous.

If it be so, – as so 'tis put on me,

And that in way of caution, – I must tell you

You do not understand yourself so clearly

As it behoves my daughter and your honour.

What is between you? Give me up the truth.

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders

Of his affection to me.

Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Marry, I'll teach you; think yourself a baby;

That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,

Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more

                         dearly;

Or, – not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,

Running it thus, – you'll tender me a fool.

My lord, he hath importun'd me with love

In honourable fashion.

Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.

And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,

Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,

Even in their promise, as it is a-making,

You must not take for fire. From this time

Be something scanter of your maiden presence;

Set your entreatments at a higher rate

Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,

Believe so much in him that he is young;

And with a larger tether may he walk

Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,

Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,

Not of that dye which their investments show,

But mere implorators of unholy suits,

Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,

The better to beguile. This is for all:

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth

Have you so slander any moment leisure

As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.

Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.

I shall obey, my lord.

[Exeunt]

The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

It is a nipping and an eager air.

What hour now?

I think it lacks of twelve.

No, it is struck.

Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near

                         the season

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within]

What does this mean, my lord?

The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,