Hamlet Act 5 Scene 1 Translation | Modern English, Line by Line

Hamlet Act 5 Scene 1

A churchyard.

The Original

Plain Modern English

Enter two Clowns, with spades.

First Clown

Is she to be buried in Christian burial that

wilfully seeks her own salvation?

First Clown

Is she to have a Christian burial, when she

deliberately sought her own salvation? (He means damnation. He gets almost every word wrong.)

Second Clown

I tell thee she is: and therefore make her grave

straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it

Christian burial.

Second Clown

I'm telling you she is. So dig her grave

right away. The coroner has examined the case and ruled

for Christian burial.

First Clown

How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her

own defence?

First Clown

How can that be, unless she drowned herself in

self-defence?

Second Clown

Why, 'tis found so.

Second Clown

Well, that's the ruling.

First Clown
It must be 'se offendendo;' it cannot be else. For
here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly,
it argues an act: and an act hath three branches: it
is, to act, to do, to perform: argal, she drowned
herself wittingly.

First Clown
It must be 'self-offence' — it can't be anything else.
Here's the point: if I drown myself knowingly,
that's an act. And an act has three branches:
to act, to do, and to perform. Therefore, she drowned
herself knowingly.

Second Clown

Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,—

Second Clown

But listen here, old digger—

First Clown
Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here
stands the man; good; if the man go to this water,
and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he
goes,—mark you that; but if the water come to him
and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he
that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

First Clown
Let me finish. Here's the water — good. Here
stands the man — good. If the man goes to the water
and drowns himself, then like it or not, he's the one
who went — mark that. But if the water comes to him
and drowns him, he hasn't drowned himself. Therefore, a man
who isn't guilty of his own death doesn't shorten his own life.

Second Clown

But is this law?

Second Clown

But is that the law?

First Clown

Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest law.

First Clown

It certainly is — coroner's inquest law.

Second Clown

Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been

a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o'

Christian burial.

Second Clown

Do you want the truth of it? If she hadn't been

a gentlewoman, she'd have been buried outside

consecrated ground.

First Clown
Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that
great folk should have countenance in this world to
drown or hang themselves, more than their even
Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient
gentleman but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers:
they hold up Adam's profession.

First Clown
Now you're talking. And more's the pity that
important people should be allowed in this world
to drown or hang themselves more freely than their fellow
Christians. Give me my spade. There are no old
gentlemen except gardeners, ditch-diggers and grave-makers —
they keep up Adam's profession.

Second Clown

Was he a gentleman?

Second Clown

Was Adam a gentleman?

First Clown

He was the first that ever bore arms.

First Clown

He was the first man who ever bore arms.

Second Clown

Why, he had none.

Second Clown

But he didn't have a coat of arms.

First Clown
What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the
Scripture? The Scripture says 'Adam digged:'
could he dig without arms? I'll put another
question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the
purpose, confess thyself—

First Clown
What, are you a heathen? How do you read
Scripture? Scripture says 'Adam dug.'
Could he dig without arms? Let me ask you another
question — and if you don't answer it properly,
admit you're an—

Second Clown

Go to.

Second Clown

Oh, get on with it.

First Clown

What is he that builds stronger than either the

mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

First Clown

Who builds stronger than the

mason, the shipbuilder, or the carpenter?

Second Clown

The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a

thousand tenants.

Second Clown

The gallows-maker — that frame outlasts a

thousand occupants.

First Clown
I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows
does well; but how does it well? it does well to
those that do in: now thou dost ill to say the
gallows is built stronger than the church: argal,
the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

First Clown
I like your wit, honestly. The gallows
does well — but how does it do well? It does well by
those who do ill. Now you do wrong to say the
gallows is built stronger than the church. Therefore
the gallows might do well by you. Try again.

Second Clown

'Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or

a carpenter?'

Second Clown

'Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipbuilder, or

a carpenter?'

First Clown

Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

First Clown

Yes — answer that and you can knock off.

Second Clown

Marry, now I can tell.

Second Clown

Right, now I've got it.

First Clown

To't.

First Clown

Go on then.

Second Clown

Mass, I cannot tell.

Second Clown

Damn. I can't.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.

First Clown
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull
ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when
you are asked this question next, say 'a
grave-maker: 'the houses that he makes last till
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a
stoup of liquor.

First Clown
Stop beating your brains about it — a dull
donkey won't walk faster for being beaten. And when
you're next asked this question, say 'a
grave-maker' — the houses he builds last until
doomsday. Go on, off to the alehouse and fetch me
a jug of drink.

Exit Second Clown. The First Clown digs and sings.

First Clown

In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,

O, methought, there was nothing meet.

First Clown

In youth, when I did love, did love,

I thought it was very sweet,

to shorten, oh, the time, for, ah, my benefit,

oh, I thought, there was nothing better.

Hamlet

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he

sings at grave-making?

Hamlet

Has this man no sense of what he's doing, singing

while digging a grave?

Horatio

Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

Horatio

Habit has made it an easy thing for him.

Hamlet

'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath

the daintier sense.

Hamlet

Exactly so. The hand that does little work has

the more delicate feeling.

First Clown

But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath claw'd me in his clutch,

And hath shipped me intil the land,

As if I had never been such.

First Clown

But age, with his creeping steps,

has caught me in his grip,

and has shipped me off into the ground

as if I'd never been young at all.

He throws up a skull.

Hamlet
That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once:
how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were
Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It
might be the pate of a politician, which this ass
now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God,
might it not?

Hamlet
That skull had a tongue in it once, and could sing.
Look how the rogue slams it on the ground, as if it were
Cain's jawbone that did the first murder. It
might be the skull of a schemer that this fool
is now outmanoeuvring — someone who'd have outwitted God,
mightn't it?

Horatio

It might, my lord.

Horatio

It might, my lord.

Hamlet

Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good morrow,

sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might

be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord

such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?

Hamlet

Or a courtier's, who could say 'Good morning,

dear lord! How are you, good lord?' This might

be Lord So-and-so, who praised Lord

So-and-so's horse when he was angling to be given it, mightn't it?

Horatio

Ay, my lord.

Horatio

Yes, my lord.

Hamlet
Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and
knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade:
here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to
see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding,
but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on't.

Hamlet
Just so. And now it belongs to Lady Worm — jawless, and
banged about the head with a gravedigger's spade.
There's a fine reversal, if we had the knack of
seeing it. Did these bones cost so little to grow
that they end up as skittles? Mine ache thinking about it.

He throws up another skull.

Hamlet
There's another: why may not that be the skull of a
lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets,
his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he
suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the
sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of
his action of battery? ... is this the fine of his fines, and
the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
pate full of fine dirt?

Hamlet
There's another. Why couldn't that be a
lawyer's skull? Where are his fine distinctions now, his quibbles,
his cases, his land-titles and his tricks? Why does he
let this rough fellow knock him about the
head with a dirty shovel without threatening him with
an assault charge? Is this the end of all his legal fines, and
all he recovers from his recoveries — to have his fine
skull full of fine dirt?

Hamlet

I will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?

Hamlet

I'll speak to this fellow. — Whose grave is this, my man?

First Clown

Mine, sir.

First Clown

Mine, sir.

Hamlet

I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't.

Hamlet

I think it is yours, since you're lying in it.

First Clown

You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not

yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.

First Clown

You're lying outside it, sir, so it isn't

yours. As for me, I'm not lying in it — and yet it's mine.

Hamlet

'Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine:

'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

Hamlet

You're lying when you say it's yours while standing in it.

It's for the dead, not the living — so you're lying.

First Clown

'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away gain, from me to you.

First Clown

It's a lively lie, sir — it'll bounce straight back from me to you.

Hamlet

What man dost thou dig it for?

Hamlet

What man are you digging it for?

First Clown

For no man, sir.

First Clown

For no man, sir.

Hamlet

What woman, then?

Hamlet

What woman, then?

First Clown

For none, neither.

First Clown

For no woman either.

Hamlet

Who is to be buried in't?

Hamlet

Who's to be buried in it?

First Clown

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

First Clown

Someone who was a woman, sir — but rest her soul, she's dead.

Hamlet

How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the

card, or equivocation will undo us. ... How long hast thou been a

grave-maker?

Hamlet

How precise the fellow is! We'll have to speak by the

book, or word-play will finish us. — How long have you been a

grave-digger?

First Clown

Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day

that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.

First Clown

Of all the days in the year, I started on the day

our late King Hamlet defeated Fortinbras.

Hamlet

How long is that since?

Hamlet

How long ago was that?

First Clown

Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it

was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that

is mad, and sent into England.

First Clown

Can't you work that out? Any fool knows that. It

was the very day young Hamlet was born — the one who's

mad, and got sent to England.

Hamlet

Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

Hamlet

And why was he sent to England?

First Clown

Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits

there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.

First Clown

Because he was mad. He'll get his wits back

there — or if he doesn't, it won't matter much over there.

Hamlet

Why?

Hamlet

Why?

First Clown

'Twill, a not be seen in him there; there the men

are as mad as he.

First Clown

It won't be noticed there. Over there the men

are all as mad as he is.

Hamlet

How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot?

Hamlet

How long will a man lie in the ground before he rots?

First Clown
I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die—as we
have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce
hold the laying in—he will last you some eight year
or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.
Here's a skull now; this skull has lain in the earth
three and twenty years.

First Clown
Well, if he isn't rotten before he dies — and we get
plenty of diseased corpses these days that barely
hold together for the burial — he'll last you eight
or nine years. A tanner will last you nine.
Here's a skull now. This one has lain in the ground
twenty-three years.

Hamlet

Whose was it?

Hamlet

Whose was it?

First Clown

A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?

First Clown

A crazy devil's, it was. Whose do you think?

Hamlet

Nay, I know not.

Hamlet

I've no idea.

First Clown

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a

flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull,

sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

First Clown

A plague on him for a mad rogue — he once poured a

jug of Rhine wine over my head. This skull,

sir, was Yorick's — the King's jester.

Hamlet

This?

Hamlet

This one?

First Clown

E'en that.

First Clown

That's the one.

Hamlet

Let me see.

Hamlet

Let me see it.

He takes the skull.

Hamlet
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen.
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that.

Hamlet
Oh, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio — a man
of endless jokes, of wonderful imagination. He
carried me on his back a thousand times. And now, how
revolting the thought of it is. It makes me sick.
Here hung the lips that I kissed I don't know
how many times. Where are your jokes now? Your
capering? Your songs? Those flashes of wit
that used to have the whole table roaring? Not one left
to laugh at your own grin now? Completely downcast.
Now go to my lady's dressing room and tell her that,
however thick she puts the make-up on, this is the face
she'll end up with. See if that makes her laugh.

Hamlet

Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hamlet

Tell me one thing, Horatio.

Horatio

What's that, my lord?

Horatio

What's that, my lord?

Hamlet

Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i'

the earth?

Hamlet

Do you think Alexander the Great looked like this

in the ground?

Horatio

E'en so.

Horatio

Just like that.

Hamlet

And smelt so? pah!

Hamlet

And smelt like this? Ugh.

Horatio

E'en so, my lord.

Horatio

Just so, my lord.

Hamlet

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may

not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander,

till he find it stopping a bung-hole?

Hamlet

What low ends we come to, Horatio! Why shouldn't

imagination follow the noble dust of Alexander

until it finds him plugging a barrel?

Horatio

'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Horatio

That would be examining it too closely.

Hamlet
No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with
modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as
thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of
earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he
was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw!
But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.

Hamlet
Not a bit of it — just following him there with
enough restraint, and letting probability guide us. Like
this: Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
Alexander turns to dust; dust is earth; from
earth we make clay — and why shouldn't that clay he turned into
be used to bung up a beer barrel?
Mighty Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
might plug a hole to keep the wind out.
Oh, that the earth which held the world in terror
should patch a wall to keep out a winter draught.
But wait — stand aside. Here comes the King.

Enter a Priest, and a coffin, with Laertes and Mourners following; King Claudius, Queen Gertrude, and their trains.

Hamlet
The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life: 'twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile, and mark.

Hamlet
The Queen, the courtiers. Who is it they're following?
And with such cut-short rites? That suggests
the body they're following took its own life
by its own desperate hand. It was someone of rank.
Let's hide and watch.

Laertes

What ceremony else?

Laertes

What other rites are there?

Hamlet

That is Laertes, a very noble youth: mark.

Hamlet

That's Laertes, a very noble young man. Watch.

Laertes

What ceremony else?

Laertes

What other rites are there?

First Priest
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
As we have warranty: her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers,
Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her;
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,
Her maiden strewments and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

First Priest
Her funeral rites have been extended as far
as we're permitted. Her death was suspicious,
and if a royal command hadn't overruled procedure
she'd have been buried in unconsecrated ground
until Judgment Day. Instead of merciful prayers,
broken pottery, flints and stones should have been thrown on her.
Yet here she's allowed her maiden's garland,
her scattered flowers, and the bringing home
with bell and burial.

Laertes

Must there no more be done?

Laertes

Is nothing more to be done?

First 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.

First Priest

Nothing more!

We'd be profaning the burial service

by singing a requiem and granting her the rest

given to souls who died at peace.

Laertes
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.

Laertes
Lay her in the ground,
and from her fair, unpolluted flesh
may violets grow! I tell you, mean-spirited priest,
my sister will be a ministering angel
while you're howling in hell.

Hamlet

What, the fair Ophelia!

Hamlet

What — the beautiful Ophelia?

Gertrude

Sweets 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.

Gertrude

Sweet flowers for the sweet girl. Goodbye.

I hoped you'd have been my Hamlet's wife.

I thought I'd be decorating your marriage bed, sweet girl,

not scattering flowers on your grave.

Laertes
O, treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:

Laertes
Triple sorrow —
ten times tripled — fall on the cursed head
of the man whose wicked act robbed you
of your fine mind! Hold off the earth a moment,
until I've held her in my arms once more.

He leaps into the grave.

Laertes

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,

Till of this flat a mountain you have made,

To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head

Of blue Olympus.

Laertes

Now pile your earth on the living and the dead,

until you've made a mountain of this flat ground,

higher than Mount Pelion or the sky-touching peak

of blue Olympus.

Hamlet
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.

Hamlet
Who is this whose grief
carries such weight? Whose words of sorrow
summon the wandering planets and stop them
like astonished listeners? This is me:
Hamlet the Dane. (He names himself with the King's title. It's a claim to the throne, made in a grave.)

He leaps into the grave.

Laertes

The devil take thy soul!

Laertes

The devil take your soul!

Hamlet
Thou pray'st not well.
I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
Yet have I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand.

Hamlet
That's a poor prayer.
Please take your fingers off my throat.
Though I'm not hot-tempered and reckless,
there's something dangerous in me
that you'd be wise to fear. Take your hand off.

Claudius

Pluck them asunder.

Claudius

Pull them apart.

Gertrude

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Gertrude

Hamlet! Hamlet!

Horatio

Good my lord, be quiet.

Horatio

My lord, please, be calm.

Hamlet

Why I will fight with him upon this theme

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Hamlet

I'll fight him over this

until my eyelids stop moving.

Gertrude

O my son, what theme?

Gertrude

My son — over what?

Hamlet

I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers

Could not, with all their quantity of love,

Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

Hamlet

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers

couldn't, with all their love put together,

match my total. — What will you do for her?

Claudius

O, he is mad, Laertes.

Claudius

He's mad, Laertes.

Gertrude

For love of God, forbear him.

Gertrude

For God's sake, leave him alone.

Hamlet
'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do:
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?
Woo't drink up 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.

Hamlet
God's wounds — show me what you'll do.
Will you weep? Fight? Starve? Tear yourself apart?
Drink vinegar? Eat a crocodile?
I'll do it. Have you come here to whine?
To outdo me by jumping in her grave?
Be buried alive with her — so will I.
And if you rant about mountains, let them throw
millions of acres on us, until our burial mound
scorches its head against the sun
and makes Mount Ossa look like a wart. If you'll rant,
I can rant as well as you.

Gertrude
This is mere madness:
And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.

Gertrude
This is pure madness.
The fit will work on him for a while,
and then, as patient as a mother dove
when her two golden chicks have hatched,
he'll sit in drooping silence.

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.

Hamlet
Listen, sir —
why are you treating me like this?
I always liked you. But never mind.
Let Hercules himself do what he likes:
the cat will mew and the dog will have his day.

Exit Hamlet.

Claudius

I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

Claudius

Please, Horatio, go with him.

Exit Horatio.

Claudius
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;
We'll put the matter to the present push.
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.

Claudius
Take strength from what we discussed last night.
We'll press ahead with the plan immediately.
Gertrude, have someone watch your son.
This grave will have a living monument.
We'll have a quiet hour soon enough.
Until then, let's proceed patiently.

Exeunt.