Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Adaptations; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Stories, plots, etc. -- Juvenile literature
Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to tax him in the roundest
way with his actions and behaviour, and she told him that he had given
great offence to his father, meaning the king, his uncle, whom, because
he had married her, she called Hamlet's father. Hamlet, sorely
indignant that she should give so dear and honoured a name as father
seemed to him, to a wretch who was indeed no better than the murderer
of his true father, with some sharpness replied: 'Mother, you have much
offended my father.' The queen said that was but an idle answer. 'As
good as the question deserved,' said Hamlet. The queen asked him if he
had forgotten who it was he was speaking to? 'Alas!' replied Hamlet, 'I
wish I could forget. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
and you are my mother: I wish you were not what you are.' 'Nay, then,'
said the queen, 'if you show me so little respect, I will set those to
you that can speak,' and was going to send the king or Polonius to him.
But Hamlet would not let her go, now he had her alone, till he had
tried if his words could not bring her to some sense of her wicked
life; and, taking her by the wrist, he held her fast, and made her sit
down. She, affrighted at his earnest manner, and fearful lest in his
lunacy he should do her a mischief, cried out; and a voice was heard
from behind the hangings: 'Help, help, the queen!' which Hamlet
hearing, and verily thinking that it was the king himself there
concealed, he drew his sword and stabbed at the place where the voice
came from, as he would have stabbed a rat that ran there, till the
voice ceasing, he concluded the person to be dead. But when he dragged
for the body, it was not the king, but Polonius, the old officious
counsellor, that had planted himself as a spy behind the hangings. 'Oh
me!' exclaimed the queen, 'what a rash and bloody deed have you done!'
'A bloody deed, mother,' replied Hamlet, 'but not so bad as yours, who
killed a king, and married his brother.' Hamlet had gone too far to
leave off here. He was now in the humour to speak plainly to his
mother, and he pursued it. And though the faults of parents are to be
tenderly treated by their children, yet in the case of great crimes the
son may have leave to speak even to his own mother with some harshness,
so as that harshness is meant for her good, and to turn her from her
wicked ways, and not done for the purpose of upbraiding. And now this
virtuous prince did in moving terms represent to the queen the
heinousness of her offence, in being so forgetful of the dead king, his
father, as in so short a space of time to marry with his brother and
reputed murderer: such an act as, after the vows which she had sworn to
her first husband was enough to make all vows of women suspected, and
ail virtue to be accounted hypocrisy, wedding contracts to be less than
gamesters' oaths, and religion to be a mockery and a mere form of
words. He said she had done such a deed, that the heavens blushed at
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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