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Hamlet. Macbeth / Гамлет. Макбет
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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.
Ophelia
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Polonius
Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Ophelia
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Polonius
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.
Ophelia
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.
Polonius
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
Ophelia
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Polonius
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.
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you? Give me up the truth.
Ophelia
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Polonius
Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Ophelia
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Polonius
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.
Ophelia
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.
Polonius
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
Ophelia
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Polonius
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.
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