All language subtitles for Hamlet.2025.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.BZ].eng

Downloaded from
YTS.BZ

Official YIFY movies site:
YTS.BZ

My Lord.
Hmm?

He desires
to speak with you.

Hamlet, come.

You are most welcome
back to England.

Though yet of Bhaijaan,
our dear brother's death,

the memory be green,

and it us befits
to bear our hearts in grief,

yet so far has discretion
fought with nature

that we with wisest sorrow
think on him

together with remembrance
of ourselves.

Now, Gertrude,
our sometime sister
and our queen,

will we, as 'twere
with defeated joy,

with mirth in funeral
and with dirge in marriage...

take now to wife.

Nor have we herein barred
your better wisdoms,

which have freely gone
with this affair along.

For all, our thanks.

We will hold a voice
and precedent of peace
to keep her name ungored.

My good Hamlet...

cast your mourning color off
and let your eye
look like a friend on Uncle.

We grieved
your sickly father
while he lived.

You know it's common,
my son...

all that lives must die.

Ay, madam, it is common.

It is sweet and commendable
in your nature, Hamlet,

to give these mourning duties
to your father.

But you must know,
your father lost a father.

That father lost...
lost his.

And we survivors
have in worthiest obligation

for some term
done him obsequious sorrow.

So to persevere
in obstinate condolement

is a course of...

impious stubbornness.

It is unmanly grief.

But we pray
that you think of us
as of a father.

For let the world take note,
you are the most immediate
to our throne.

Let not your mother
lose her prayers, Hamlet.

I pray you stay with us.

I shall,
in all my best,
obey you, madam.

It is a loving
and a fair reply.

Be as ourselves in England.

Come away, we'll teach you
to drink deep ere you depart.

They say
an old man is twice a child.

You'll come
with us tonight?

Go on, My Lord.

That this too,
too sullied flesh
would melt,

thaw and resolve itself
into a dew.

Or that the Everlasting
had not fixed her canon
against self-slaughter.

Oh, God.

God!

How weary, stale,

flat, unprofitable seem to me
all the uses of this world.

Fie on it, fie!

It's an unweeded garden
that grows to seed.

Things rank
and gross in nature
possess it merely,

that it should come to this?

So excellent a king,
that was to this...

Hyperion to a satyr.

So loving to my mother

that you might not beteem
the winds of heaven
visit her face too roughly.

Oh. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember?

Why, she would hang on you

as if increase of appetite
had grown by what it fed on.

And yet within a week?
Oh, God!

A beast that wants
discourse or reason
would have mourned longer.

Marries my uncle?

My father's brother?

He's no more like my father
than I to Hercules.

Within a week
she'll marry! Oh!

Most wicked speed,

to post with such dexterity
to incestuous sheets.

It is not,
nor can it come to good.

But break, my heart,
for I must hold my tongue.

Hamlet!

Most welcome home.

What is your affair
in Elsinore?

My Lord...

I came to see
your father's funeral.

I pray,
do not mock me.

I think it was to see
my mother's wedding.

Indeed.

It follows hard upon.

Mmm, funeral-baked meats
will coldly furnish forth
the marriage tables.

I'm glad to see you well.

My good Lord.

I'm very glad to see you.

Something too much of this.

He was a goodly king.

He was a man.

Take him for all in all.

I shall not look
upon his like again.

Your uncle?

He does, well,
make love to his employment.

I think I see my father.

Come, My Lord,
we stay upon your patience.

Hmm, for this one
and his favor,
my dear sister.

Hold it a fashion
and a toy in blood.

Forward, not permanent.

Sweet, not lasting.

The perfume and suppliance
of a minute, no more.

No more but so?

Think it no more.

Perhaps he loves you now,
but you must fear...

...his greatness weighed,

his will is not his own.

We must do
your mother's
commandment.

Your behavior
has struck her

into amazement
and admiration.

A wondrous son
that can so astonish
a mother.

Hamlet.

Who goes there?

Please, who goes there?

Stop there. What are you?

Papa?

Say, why is this?

Wherefore, what should I do?

Now where
will you lead me?

Speak.
I'll go no further.

I will.

Speak.
I am bound to hear.

What?

Oh, God!

Murder?

My uncle?

I saw him, Ophelia.

Who, My Lord?

In the dead waste,
middle of the night

he comes before me,

and with solemn march,
with his oppressed
and fear-surprised eyes...

Saw who?

My God, the king,
my father!

The king, your father?

The apparition comes. It...

I know my father.

These hands
are not more like.

But...

Where was this?

There, out in the city,
where we build...

And what looked he,
frowningly?

A... a countenance
more in sorrow
than in anger.

Pale or red?
Yeah, most pale.

And fixed his eyes
upon you?

Most constantly.

I would that
I had been there.

There is a villain
in our dwelling,

in our home here.

There needs no ghost,
My Lord, sent from the grave
to tell us this.

Why, why, yes,
you are in the right.

My uncle

is the cause of all this.

And those that would
go hard at him
while my father lived

now pay 20, 40, 50,
100,000 apiece

for his friendship
and blessing.

Oh, day and night.

But this is
wondrous strange...

And as a stranger
give it welcome.

There are more things

in heaven
and earth, Ophelia,

than are dreamt of
in your philosophy.

And our imaginations
are as foul
as devil's houses.

Come, give me
one poor request.

What is it, My Lord?

Never make known
what I've seen tonight.

How strange or odd
I bear myself

as I perhaps hereafter
shall have need

to put a reckless
disposition on...

that you, at such time,
seeing me

never say that
you know what I saw.

This do swear.

Propose the oath,
My Lord...

And never to speak...
...of this,
that I have said,

nor to tell
aught of me.

This do swear,
so grace and mercy

at your most needs
help you.

This very place
puts toys of desperation

without more motive
into every brain.

It may deprive
your sovereignty of reason.

Observe my uncle.

If his corrupted guilt
does not reveal itself
up to me now,

it is a damned ghost
that I have seen...

It draws you into madness.

Think of it.

We shall see.

We shall see.

Hamlet.
Hmm?

Hmm.

Hmm, so one may
smile and smile,
and be a villain.

At least I am sure
it can be so in our home.

How does my good
Lord Hamlet, hmm?

Well, God have mercy. Yeah.

Do you know me,
My Lord?

Excellent well.

You are a fishmonger.
Ha!

Not I, My Lord.

Oh, then I would
you were so honest a man.

Honest, My Lord?

Ay, sir, to be honest,
as this world goes,

is to be one man
picked out of 10,000.

Ah.

Do you have a daughter?

Still harping
on my daughter, huh?

Yet you knew me not
at first.
Said I was a fishmonger.

What do you read,
My Lord?

Words.

Words, words.

You should walk out
of the air, My Lord.

Oh, what, into my grave?

How pregnant sometimes
your replies are.

Oh, a happiness
that often madness
hits upon.

My Lord...

shall I take
my leave of you? Or...

You cannot take from me
anything

that I'll not
more willingly part from now.

Except my life.

No, except my life.

Really?

Except my life.

God save you, sir.

Oh, my excellent,
good friend.

How are you?

Happy, in that
I'm not ever happy.

Oh, Lord.

But what, in faith,
brings you
from court today?

A truant disposition,
good My Lord.

Oh, I would not hear
your enemy say so.

I know you are no truant,
but your news is not true.

Let me question you more
in particular.

Were you not sent for?

Is it your own
inclining?

Is it a free
visitation?

Hmm? Come.

Come, deal justly
with me.

What should I say,
My Lord?

Oh, nothing
but to the purpose.

I know
the good king and queen
have called you here.

My Lord,
I was sent for...

Mmm-hmm.

...to draw you
on to pleasures.

Or to gather

what it is that
to them unknown
afflicts me thus?

That opened lies
within our remedy.

You are
much changed now.

Gone all these years.

So far from cheer
and from your former state.

Oh...

Well, I have of late,
but wherefore I know not,

lost all my mirth.

Hmm.

Forgone all custom
of exercises.

And indeed
it goes so heavily
with my disposition

that this goodly frame,
the earth,

seems to me
a sterile promontory.

What a piece of work
is a man!

How noble in reason.

How infinite
in faculties!

In form and moving,
how like an angel.

In apprehension,
how like a god.

Yet to me,
what is this...

...quintessence of dust?

Man delights not me.

Nor woman neither,

though by your smiling
you seem to say so.

My Lord,
there was no such stuff
in my thoughts.

Why did you smile, then,
when I said,

"Man delights not me"?

To think, My Lord,
if you delight not in man,

what meager entertainment
those players
shall receive from you.

What players are they?

They shall play
at the wedding.

The wedding.

Laertes,
you are welcome
in Elsinore.

But my aunt-mother
and my uncle-father
are deceived.

In what, My Lord?

Oh.

When the wind
is southerly,

I know a hawk
from a handsaw.

Huh.

Oh.

About, my brains.

- Excellent, in faith.
- Oh, thanks.

Excellent.

I saw you play me
a play once.

But it was
never acted.

Or if it was,
not above once.

For the play, I remember,
pleased not the million,

it was caviar
to the general.

They'll have a...
a jig, this wedding?

You could for need
study some dozen
or 16 thoughts

which I will set down
and insert in it.
Could you not?

Ay, My Lord.
Hmm.

Then we shall speak anon.

Excellent, in faith.

Now, I have seen...

that guilty creatures
sitting at a play

have, by the very cunning
of the scene,

been struck so to the soul,

that presently they have
proclaimed their malefactions.

And murder,
though it has no tongue,

will speak
with most miraculous organ.

I'll have these players
play something

like the murder of my father
before you, Uncle.

I'll observe your looks,
I'll tent you to the quick.

If you do blush...

I know my course.

The spirit that I have seen...

may be a devil.

And the devil has power
to assume a pleasing shape.

Yes, and perhaps,

out of my weakness
and my melancholy,

abuses me to damn me.

I'll have grounds
more relative than this.

Mmm.

The play is the thing

wherein I'll catch
the conscience of the king.

Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain?

Breaks my skull across?

Plucks me by the beard,
blows it in my face,

tweaks me by the nose,

gives the lie in the throat,
so deep, it's in my lungs.

Who does to me this, huh?

God.

I should take it.

For it cannot be,
but I am pigeon-livered,

and lack gall
to make oppression bitter.

Or by now I should have
fatted the city's rats
with this slave's offal.

Bloody, bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous,

lecherous, kindless villain!

Oh, what an ass am I.

Yeah, this is most brave.

I, the son
of a dear father murdered,

prompted to my revenge
by heaven and hell...

How does your honor
for this many a day?

I humbly thank you, well.

My Lord...

Hmm.

What is the cause
of your distemper?

You are so sick of late
that...

we distrust you.

"We distrust you"?

Where is your father?

Are you fair?

My Lord?

Are you honest?

What means your lordship?

That if you be
fair and honest,

your honesty should have
no discourse with your beauty.

Can beauty, My Lord,
have better commerce
than with honesty?

Ay, truly,
for the power of beauty
will sooner transform honesty

from what it is
to a whore...

than the force of honesty
could translate beauty
into her likeness.

I did love you once.

Indeed, My Lord.

You made me believe so.

You should not
have believed me.
I loved you not.

I was the more deceived!

Get you to a nunnery.

Why would you be
a breeder of sinners?

I am myself
indifferent honest,

if I could accuse me
of such things,

it were better
my mother had not borne me.

My Lord.

I am very proud.

Ah, oh, revengeful.
Uh, ambitious. Yeah.

Have more offences
at my beck than I have
thoughts to put them in,

imagination
to give them shape,

and time to act them in.

What should
such fellows as I do...
My Lord.

...crawling between
earth and heaven?

We are arrant fools, all.

My Lord. My Lord.
Come on, My Lord.
Believe none of us!

If you do marry,
I'll give you this plague
for a dowry,

be you as chaste as ice,
as pure as snow,

you shall not escape hate
from me!
My Lord!

If you must marry,
marry a fool...
Restrain, My Lord! Restrain.

...for wise men know
well enough what monsters
you make of them.

Stop him.

My Lord.

Laertes, help him.

- My Lord.
- No, no.

I have heard
of your paintings
well enough! No.

God has given you one face,
and you make
yourselves another!

Hamlet.

You jig
and you amble.

You lisp
and you nickname
God's creatures,

and you make your wantonness
ignorance!

Go to! I'll no more of it.
It has made me mad!

We will have
no more marriage!

We will have
no more marriage!

Those that are
married already...

That's enough.
Stop you now.

...all but one shall live.

The rest shall
keep as they are!

My Lord, please.
No.

Oh, what a noble mind
is here overthrown.

To be or not to be?

That is the question!

Whether it's nobler in a mind

to suffer
the slings and arrows
of outrageous fortune,

or to take arms
against a sea of troubles.

And by opposing, end them?

To die, to sleep...

no more.

Or by a sleep to say
we end the heartache,

the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to?

It's a consummation,
devoutly to be wished,
to die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

Ay, there's the rub.

For in that sleep of death,
what dreams may come

when we have shuffled off
this mortal coil,

must give us pause.

Here's the respect
that makes calamity
of so long life.

For who would bear
the whips and scorns
of time...

the oppressor's wrong,

the proud man's insolence,

the pangs of despised love,

the law's delay,

when he himself
might his quiet end
make with a dull dagger?

Who would burdens bear

to grunt and sweat
under a weary life,

but that the dread
of something after death,

the undiscovered country...

...from whose bourn
no traveler returns,

puzzles the will

and makes us rather bear
those ills we have,

than fly to others
that we know not of?

Thus...

conscience does make cowards
of us all.

Thus the native
hue of resolution

is sicklied over
with the pale
cast of thought...

and enterprises
of great pitch and moment

with this regard
their currents turn awry,

and lose the name of action.

- Whoo!
- Hey, Hamlet, Hamlet.

Hey, Hamlet!

It's time
to mark the play.

Come mark the play.

Come mark the play!

They will have the play
straight.

Overstep not
the modesty
of nature,

for anything so overdone
is from the purpose of playing

whose end,
both at the first and now,

was and is,
to hold as it were...

the mirror up to nature.

To show virtue
her feature,

scorn her own image,

and the very age
and body
of the time,

its form and pressure.

My Lord, will the king
see this piece of work?

And the queen, too,
and that presently.

Bid your players
make haste.

Oh.

Huh?

Bid your players
make haste.

It is now time
for the play!

Come mark the play!

Whoo!

Come here now,
my dear Hamlet.
Come sit by me.

Oh, no, good mother.

Where's metal
more attractive?

Ooh!

Lady!

Ooh.

Shall I lie
in your lap?

No, My Lord. No.

Did you think
I meant country matters?

I think nothing,
My Lord.

Well, that's a fair thought,
to lie between maids' legs.

What is it, My Lord?

No-thing!

Oh!

You are merry,
My Lord.

Who, I?

Yes, My Lord.

What can a man do
but be merry?

For look you
how cheerfully
my mother looks!

Huh?

And my father died
within these two hours. Ah.

It is twice
two months, My Lord.

Hmm?

Hmm?

It is twice two months,
My Lord.

So long?

Oh, heavens,
died four months ago
and not forgotten yet?

Well, then there's hope
a great man's memory
may outlive his life...

...half a year?

Ha-ha.

No.

We must begin.

Lights!

Well...

Ha!

Lights! Lights!

Drink, drink! More drink!

It likes us well.
Go to your seats.

At last we'll feast together.
Most welcome all.

My Lord Hamlet.

Would not this
get me a fellowship
in a gang of players?

Half a share.
No, a full one.

I... I'll take
the ghost's word
for a thousand pound.

What ghost, My Lord?

Come, some music.
Uh...

The king, sir.
Ay, sir, what of him?

Is in his retirement
marvelous distempered.

With drink, sir?

No, My Lord, with anger.

Well, for me to put him
to his purgation

will perhaps plunge him
into more anger.

If it should please you
to make me
a wholesome answer.

Oh, sir, I cannot.

What, My Lord?

Make you a wholesome answer.
My wit's diseased.

My Lord! My Lord!

You once did love him.

Will you play
upon this pipe?

- My Lord, I cannot.
- Mmm? Mmm?

Oh, My Lord,
I cannot.

Oh, I pray you.

Believe me, I cannot.
I do beseech you.

But I know
no touch of it,
My Lord.

It is easy as lying.

Govern these ventages
with your...

...finger and thumb.

Give it breath
with your mouth,

it will let forth
the most eloquent music.

Look you,
these are the stops.

Yes, but these
I cannot command

to any utterance
of harmony.

Oh, what, look you

how unworthy a thing
you make of me.

You would play upon me.

You would seem
to know my stops,

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 you cannot
make it speak?
God's blood.

Do you think I am easier
to be played upon...

...than a pipe?

I will not be
juggled with!

Your dreadful
black complexion

I will smear
with your young blood.

I'll see you dead.

To hell with allegiance!

The queen,

your mother,

in most great
affliction of spirit
has sent me to you.

And she would
see you presently.

Then I will
come to my mother,
by and by.

All right,
I'll say so.
Mmm-hmm.

By and by is easily said.

Come, uncle.

Doors closing.

It's now...

for you, Father.

Doors opening.

What do you call
that play?

Hamlet, you have
your father much offended.

Mother, you have my father
much offended.

Come, come, you answer
with an idle tongue.

Go, go, you question
with a wicked tongue.

Have you forgot me?
Oh, no,
by the gods, not so.

You are the queen.
Your husband's brother's wife.

And would it were not so,
you are my mother.

Well then...

I'll set him on you
that can speak...

Come, come, come.
Claudius!

Claudius!

What?
Sit you down.

You shall not budge.

You go not
till I set you up a glass

where you may see
the inmost part of you.

What will you do?

Good mother.

Good mother. Hey, here...

Help.

You will not murder me?

Dare you strike her!

No! Oh, no.

Hamlet, no!

Oh, no! Hamlet!

Let it be.

Let him go, please!

No! No, no!

Oh, God. Hamlet!

Oh, my God!
Oh, please!

Oh, gosh! Oh, God!

Oh, no, what have you done?

- Is it the king?
- Oh, what the...

- Oh, God!
- Oh, God!

Oh! Oh, God!

I took you
for your better.

What a rash, bloody deed
is this.

Bloody deed.

Almost as bad, good mother,
as kill a king
and marry with his brother.

"As kill a king"?
Ay, it was my word.

What have I done

that you wag your tongue
in noise so rude against me?

Such an act
that blurs the grace
and blush of modesty.

See what a grace there was
on Papa's brow?

That was your husband.

Look you now what follows.

This is your husband,

like a mildewed ear blasting
his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes? Huh?

Have you eyes?

You cannot call it love...

...for at your age,
the heyday
in the blood is tame.

Hush, Hamlet.

But to live
in the rank sweat
of an enseamed bed

stewed in corruption,

honeying and making love
over the nasty sty.

Oh, sweet Hamlet,
no more.

A murderer
and a villain!
Speak no more!

Oh.

Go.
No, no, no.

No, no, good mother.

Gertrude?

Gertrude!

Let us come in!

Go forth
and take the body.

Gertrude!
Go!

Oh, make haste,
make haste!

Open the door!

Gertrude?

Oh, God!

Open this door!

- Oh...
- Gertrude!

Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!

Lord Hamlet?

In his madness.

Oh, my son.

Hamlet, this deed,
for your special safety,
which we do tender

as we dearly grieve
for that which
you have done...

must send you hence.

Therefore
prepare yourself.

Your associates tend
and everything is bent
for Delhi.

To bear
all smooth and even,

this sudden sending you away
must seem deliberate pause.

Diseases desperate grown
by desperate appliance
are relieved...

or not at all.

Come.

Delay it not.
I'll have him hence tonight.

Then come for Delhi.

No!

The expectation
and rose of their fair state?

The observed
of all observers,

and I, of ladies
most deject
and wretched?

I sucked the honey
of your musicked vows.

Now see that sovereign,
noble reason
blasted with ecstasy!

Oh, woe is me
to have seen
what I have seen,

to see what I see.

Hamlet!

Give me my father!

Give me my father!

Delhi?

My good friends...

Lay him on the earth.

What?

A document in madness.

Go!

Ah, play the fool
nowhere but your own house!

You, you have dealt with me
like thieves of mercy.

Go softly on.

Go.

Good sir,
what people are these?

We are just people, sir.

But how purposed, sir,
I pray you?

We try to gain
that little patch of ground

that has in it no profit
but the name.

To pay five pennies, five,
you would not buy it.

What do you
call yourselves?

Fortinbras.

How long have you lived
on this land, friend?

Since Elsinore did thus
cast out our people.

They did steal
in the courts,
all these, our homes.

You know me?

I have seen your kind
out there
a thousand times.

Did your bones
cost no more
in breeding

but to play
at these games
with them?

Mine ache
to think on it.

Well, what base uses
we will return.

How all occasions
do inform against me
and spur my dull revenge.

Witness your army
of no mass or charge,

whose spirit
with divine ambition puffed

exposes what is mortal
and unsure

to all that fortune,
death, and danger dare.

Even for this eggshell.

And how stand I then...

that has a father killed,
a mother stained,

excitements of my reason
and my blood,
and let all sleep?

What is a man
if his chief good
and his market of his time

be but to sleep and feed?

- A beast.
- No more.

Who rots on earth
unused.

So whether it be
bestial oblivion
or some craven scruple

of thinking too precisely
on the event...

A thought
which quartered...

has but one part wisdom
and ever three parts coward.

I do not know why,
yet I live to say,
"This thing's to do."

As I have cause and will,
the strength and means
to do it.

Examples gross as earth
exhort me.

Give me a voice.

Go, my friend, from here
to the sovereign court.

Tell them that
by this license,

you do now have
all the rights of ownership
to my fortune.

Why, what king is this?

So I to claim your homes
back here do invite you.

There's a divinity
that shapes our ends.

Rough-hew them
how we will...

and a man's life's
no more
than to say "One."

One.

Now to Elsinore.

From this time forth,
my thoughts be bloody
or be nothing worth.

What ceremony else?

- Devil take your soul!
- Enough!

- My sister!
- Enough!

Treble woe
fall ten times double
on that cursed head!

Oh, God!

No. No, stop! No!

Oh, for God's sake,
stop him now!

Hamlet.

Oh, God!

Oh, God. My God.

Ophelia drowned,
good Hamlet.

Drowned?

There is the willow grows
beside our brook...

...she to
its pendant boughs...

...a crown of weeds
did seek to hang.

Long it could not be
till that her garments,
heavy with their drink...

pulled the poor wretch
to her muddy death.

Alas.

Alas.

It was the poison
of deep grief.

It sprung all
from her father's death.

I...

My Lord?

The king, sir,

desires you to use
some gentle
reconcilement

with Laertes.

How if I say no?

There's special providence
in the fall of a sparrow.

If it be now,
it's not to come.

And if it be not to come,
it will be now.

If it be not now,
yet it will come.

And the readiness is all.

Since no man can know
the world he leaves,
what is it to leave behind?

Hmm?

Let be.

Come, Hamlet.

Come and take
his hand from him.

Give me your pardon, sir.

I have done you wrong.

But pardon it,
as you are
a gentleman.

This presence knows,
and you must
needs have heard,

how I am punished
with a sore distraction.

What I have done

that might your nature,
honor, and exception
roughly awake,

I here proclaim
was madness.

Let my disclaiming
from a purposed evil

free me so far
in your most generous
thoughts...

that I have shot my arrow
over the house,

and hurt my brother.

I...

I am satisfied in nature...

whose motive in this case
should stir me most
to my revenge.

And for this time...

I do receive your love
like love...

and will not wrong it.

We now must drink
to Hamlet's better breath.

Here.

To his health.

Raise up
your cups.

These drinks
all have a strength?

Ay, My Good Lord.

Then come, Laertes.

For the end.

You do but dally.

The queen embraces
your good fortune, Hamlet.

Gertrude, do not drink.

I will, My Lord.

I pray you pardon me.

Mother!

Oh. Oh, God!

Oh, God! Oh.

Good mother.

Goo... good mother.

Oh, Hamlet.

The drink envenomed?

Then, venom, to your work.

Exchange forgiveness
with me, noble Hamlet.

Never!
Never!

Uncle!

Uncle!

Villainy!

Treachery!

Now they will tell
of carnal, bloody,
and unnatural acts...

of accidental judgments,

casual slaughters,

of deaths
put on by cunning.

And for what cause?

Fortinbras...

they have my dying voice.

Their soldiers
work for justice.

Follow my father.

I loved your father!

Let be.

So I am revenged.