Hamlet. Macbeth / Гамлет. Макбет - стр. 6

No jocund health that Denmark drinks today

But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,

And the King's rouse the heaven shall

                         bruit again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Exeunt all but Hamlet]

O that this too too solid flesh would melt,

Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! Oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden

That grows to seed; things rank and gross

                         in nature

Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

But two months dead-nay, not so much,

                         not two:

So excellent a king; that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!

Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him

As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on; and yet, within a month —

Let me not think on't-Frailty, thy name

                         is woman!

A little month, or ere those shoes were old

With which she followed my poor father's body

Like Niobe, all tears.-Why she, even she —

O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason

Would have mourn'd longer, – married

                         with mine uncle,

My father's brother; but no more like my father

Than I to Hercules. Within a month,

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

She married. O most wicked speed, to post

With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

[Enter Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo]

Hail to your lordship!

I am glad to see you well:

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

The same, my lord,

And your poor servant ever.

Sir, my good friend;

I'll change that name with you:

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?

                         Marcellus?

My good lord.

I am very glad to see you.-Good even, sir. —

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

A truant disposition, good my lord.

I would not hear your enemy say so;

Nor shall you do my ear that violence,

To make it truster of your own report

Against yourself. I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.