Songtexte Hamlet: Act 5 - Scene 1, "But Soft, But Soft!" (Hamlet) [Part IV] - John Gielgud

HAMLET
What ceremony else?
Priest
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged as we have warranty. Her
Death was doubtful, and, but that great command o'er-sways the
Order, she should in ground unsanctified have lodged till the last
Trumpet. Her charitable prayers, shards, flints, and pebbles
Should be thrown on her; yet here she is allowed her virgin crants
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home of bell and burial
HAMLET
Must there no more be done?
Priest
No more be done. We should profane the service of the dead to
Sing a requiem and such rest to her as to peace-parted souls
HAMLET
Lay her i' the earth, and from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring. I tell thee, churlish priest
A ministering angel shall my sister be when thou liest howling
Priest
What, the fair Ophelia!
OPHELIA
Sweet to the sweet, farewell! I hoped thou shouldst have
Been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have
Deck'd, sweet maid, and not have strew'd thy grave
HAMLET
O treble woe fall ten times double on that cursed head whose wicked
Deed thy most ingenious sense deprives thee of! Hold off the earth
Awhile, till I have caught her once more in mine arms. Now pile
Your dust upon the quick and dead, till of this flat a mountain you
Have made t' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head of blue Olympus
What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis? whose phrase
Of sorrow conjures the wandering stars and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane
Priest
The devil take thy soul!
HAMLET
O priest, not well. I pray thee, take thy fingers from my throat
Though I am not spirited but rash, yet have I
Something in me dangerous which hath thy wiseness
Feared. Hold off thy hand, and pluck no wonder
Priest
My lord, be quiet
HAMLET
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
Until mine eyelids can no longer wag
OPHELIA
O my son, what theme?
HAMLET
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their
Quantity of love, make up my sum. What wouldst thou do for her?
Priest
O, he is mad, Laertes
OPHELIA
For the love of God, forbear him
HAMLET
Swounds, show me what thou'ldst do. Wouldst weep? Wouldst fight?
Wouldst fast? Wouldst tear thyself? Wouldst drink of eisel? Eat a
Crocodile? I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me
With leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw millions of acres on
Us, till our ground, singeing his pate against the burning zone, make
Ossa like a wart. Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou
OPHELIA
This is mere madness and thus awhile of it will work on him
Anon, as patient as the female dove when that her golden
Couplets are disclosed, his silence will sit drooping
HAMLET
Hear you, sir. What is the reason that you use me thus?
I loved you ever. But it is no matter. Let Hercules himself
Do what he may. The cat will mew, and dog will have his day
Priest
I prithee, good Horatio, wait upon him. Now, Laertes, strengthen
Your patience; and our last night's speech will put the matter
To the present bush. Good Gertrude, set some watch over your
Son. This grave shall have a living monument. An hour of quiet
Shortly shall we see; till then, in patience our proceeding be