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Hamlet. Macbeth / Гамлет. Макбет
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Ophelia
I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt]
Scene IV
The platform
Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus
Hamlet
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Horatio
It is a nipping and an eager air.
Hamlet
What hour now?
Horatio
I think it lacks of twelve.
Marcellus
No, it is struck.
Horatio
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?
Hamlet
The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
Horatio
Is it a custom?
Hamlet
Ay marry is't;
And to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,
By their o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'erleavens
The form of plausive manners;-that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt]
Scene IV
The platform
Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus
Hamlet
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Horatio
It is a nipping and an eager air.
Hamlet
What hour now?
Horatio
I think it lacks of twelve.
Marcellus
No, it is struck.
Horatio
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?
Hamlet
The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
Horatio
Is it a custom?
Hamlet
Ay marry is't;
And to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,
By their o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'erleavens
The form of plausive manners;-that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
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