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Hamlet 1

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Hamlet 1
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Texto del Guión Gráfico

  • Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing,Confederate season, else no creature seeing,Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,Thy natural magic and dire propertyOn wholesome life usurp immediately.
  • How fares my lord?
  • Give me some light, away!
  • Give o’er the play.
  • He poisons him i’ th’ garden for ’s estate. His name’s Gonzago.
  • What, frighted with false fire?
  • The king rises.
  • Lights, lights, lights!
  • Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungallèd play. For some must watch while some must sleep. So runs the world away.
  • A whole one, I. For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself. And now reigns here A very, very—pajock.
  • Upon the talk of the poisoning?
  • O good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?
  • Ah ha! Come, some music! Come, the recorders!
  • Very well, my lord.
  • I did very well note him.
  • Half a share.
  • You might have rhymed.
  • Is in his retirement marvelous distempered.
  • Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
  • No, my lord, with choler.
  • The king, sir—
  • Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame and start not so wildly from my affair
  • I am tame, sir. Pronounce.
  • Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor.
  • Ay, sir, what of him?
  • With drink, sir?
  • Sir, a whole history.
  • he queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
  • Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed.
  • Then thus she says: your behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
  • What, my lord?
  • She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
  • We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?
  • O wonderful son that can so ’stonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother’s admiration? Impart.
  • You are welcome.
  • Make you a wholesome answer. My wit’s diseased.
  • Sir, I cannot.
  • Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.
  • My lord, you once did love me.
  • How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?
  • And do still, by these pickers and stealers.
  • Sir, I lack advancement.
  • O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
  • My lord, I cannot.
  • Believe me, I cannot.
  • I do beseech you.
  • Ay, sir, but “While the grass grows—” The proverb is something musty—Oh, the recorders! Let me see one.
  • I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
  • I pray you.
  • You would pluck out the heart of my mystery. You would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass. And there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak?
  • I know no touch of it, my lord.
  • But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill.
  • It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
  • Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me. You would seem to know my stops.
  • My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently
  • It is backed like a weasel.
  • By th’ mass, and ’tis like a camel indeed.
  • Very like a whale.
  • I will say so.
  • Then I will come to my mother by and by.
  • Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?
  • Methinks it is like a weasel.
  • “By and by” is easily said.
  • Or like a whale.
  • God bless you, sir.
  • Leave me, friends.
  • It’s now the time of night when witches roam, when graveyards open and the stench of hell breathes sickness into the world. Now I could drink hot blood and do things so terrible it would make people tremble the next day.
  • But quiet, I must now go to see my mother.—Oh, heart, do not lose your humanity, don’t let yourself become like Nero, that Roman mother-murderer. Let me be cruel, but not inhuman.
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