Elsinore. A churchyard. Enter two gravediggers with spades and pickaxes.
1st gravedigger: Let me get this straight. She killed herself, but
they're going to give her a Christian burial anyway?
2nd gravedigger: That's right. The King's orders.
1st gravedigger: That doesn't make sense. Unless...maybe she didn't mean to
drown herself. Or she had no other choice.
2nd gravedigger: They say she was out of her mind and didn't know what she
was doing.
1st gravedigger: That must be the case. But if I drown myself on purpose, it
implies I knew what I was doing. I bet she did it on purpose. If she did it on purpose,
she must have planned it, so it was suicide.
2nd gravedigger: No, you don't get it.
1st gravedigger: Whatever. Just listen. Okay, imagine there's water at point
A. There's a guy standing at point B. If the man goes from point B to point A and drowns
himself, he meant to do it! But if the water comes from point A to point B and he drowns,
it was just an accident. A guy can't help it if waters just comes up and drowns him.
2nd gravedigger: But is that what the law says?
1st gravedigger: Yes.
2nd gravedigger: Are you sure? I bet if this lady we're burying hadn't been
a member of the nobility, she'd have been buried out of the churchyard in disgrace.
1st gravedigger: You said it, man. I guess if rich people kill themselves
it's okay, but us poor people get shamed for it. Well, okay, hand me my shovel. Grave
digging is the world's oldest profession. Even Adam did it. You know, in the Bible.
2nd gravedigger: Adam? Was he gentleman?
1st gravedigger: He was the first man, silly. The first that ever bore arms.
2nd gravedigger: I didn't think he had any arms.
1st gravedigger: What, are some sort of heathen? Don't you ever read the
Bible? The Scripture says Adam dug. Could he dig without arms? Stupid. Can I ask you
another question?
2nd gravedigger: Sure.
1st gravedigger: Who builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright,
or the carpenter?
2nd gravedigger: The gallows-maker. The guy who builds things to hang people
with. The things he builds outlive a thousand tenants.
1st gravedigger: Ha ha! I like your sense of humor. The gallows is a good
answer. But it's only good for criminals. But that's not the answer I was looking for. Try
again.
2nd gravedigger: Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a
carpenter?
1st gravedigger: That's the riddle. But what's your answer?
2nd gravedigger: Ooh, ooh, I think I know!
1st gravedigger: What?
2nd gravedigger: Oh, no, darn, I forgot.
[Enter Hamlet and Horatio some distance away.]
1st gravedigger: Well, never mind. You're too stupid to ever figure it out
anyway. The answer is "a grave-maker." The houses he makes last until doomsday.
Now go get me a beer.
[Exit 2nd gravedigger. 1st gravedigger digs and sings.]
1st gravedigger:"It was an itsy-bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka-dot
bikini, that she wore for the first time that day..."
Hamlet: That guy sure is tacky to sing happily while he's digging graves. He
should be serious.
Horatio: I suppose if you dig graves every day, after awhile you don't even
really think about it any more.
Hamlet: That must be it.
1st gravedigger: [Sings.] 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles
of beeeeer! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall!
[Gravedigger hits a skull with his shovel. The graveyard is old and no coffins are
used, so he has to move old bones to make room for the new bodies. He throws up a skull
out of the grave, and it lands by Hamlet and Horatio.]
Hamlet: If that skull could talk, I bet it would yell at that rude man for
tossing it aside like a piece of garbage. That could be the skull of a very respected
person. A politician, maybe?
Horatio: Politician? Respected? Now I know you're insane!
Hamlet: Or maybe a prosperous merchant.
Horatio: It might be.
Hamlet: Or of a courtier, a polite, well-bred man. This might be a great
Lord So-and-so. Couldn't it? I mean, it could have been anyone!
Horatio: Yes.
Hamlet: And now that poor person's head has become nothing more than rubble
in the way of that gravedigger's shovel. Eaten up by worms.
(1st) Gravedigger: [Sings.] Ooh, the worms crawl in, the worms crawl
out, the worms play Penuckle on your snout!" [Tosses up another skull.]
Hamlet: There's another another one. He could have been a lawyer, perhaps.
What happened to all his cases and legal jargon? What did you ever do to deserve this
demeaning treatment? Having your head knocked around with a dirty shovel. He must have had
lots of land, and money, and influence. And now his head is full of dirt. What a waste.
Horatio: It sure is.
Hamlet: Isn't this parchment made of sheepskin?
Horatio: Yes. And of calveskins too.
Hamlet: At least dead sheep and calves have a use after they're dead. Hey,
you! Down in the grave! Whose grave is this?
Gravedigger: Mine, sir. [Sings.] "Daylight come and me wanna go
home..."
Hamlet: Well, sure, it's yours because you're in there digging it at the
moment.
Gravedigger: Yes, but luckily I won't be in here for too long. Yet since I
dig it, it is my grave. Ironic, isn't it?
Hamlet: Very.
Gravedigger: I love irony. Tee hee.
Hamlet: What man are you digging it for?
Gravedigger: For no man, sir.
Hamlet: What woman then?
Gravedigger: Not a woman, either.
Hamlet: All right, smarty pants, who is to be buried in it?
Gravedigger: Someone who was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
Hamlet: You are so crass! Harmph! Show a little respect, man! How long have
you been a gravedigger?
Gravedigger: Every single day of my life since Old King Hamlet defeated Old
Fortinbras.
Hamlet: How long is that?
Gravedigger: Have you been living under a rock? Everyone knows that. It was
the same day that young Hamlet was born. You know, the crazy prince they just sent off to
England.
Hamlet: Why did they send him to England?
Gravedigger: Because he was totally looney, of course. Completely off his
rocker. A few tacos short of a combination plate. His wheel was spinning, but the hamster
was dead, you know? But he'll recover his sanity in England. And even if he doesn't, he'll
be in good company.
Hamlet: Why?
Gravedigger: No one will notice. The British are all crazy, too.
Hamlet: Why did he go insane?
Gravedigger: It was a strange matter, they say.
Hamlet: How strange?
Gravedigger: Well, they say he just snapped after his father, the king,
died.
Hamlet: But what set him off? Why did I...er, I mean, he...go nuts? Why?
Upon what ground?
Gravedigger: Why, here in Denmark. I should know. I've been sexton here for
thirty years.
Hamlet: That's not what I meant, but...oh, never mind. Say, tell me
something. How long does it take a body to rot after it's been buried?
Gravedigger: Well, if he wasn't rotten before he died, as many are these
days, he'll last about eight or nine years. A tanner will last nine years.
Hamlet: Why would a tanner take longer to rot??
Gravedigger: Because his skin is so tough from all that work tanning, that
he'll keep out water a long time. And without water, corpses don't rot very fast. Look,
here's a skull now. This skull has been in the ground 23 years.
Hamlet: Whose was it?
Gravedigger: A real wacky S.O.B. Take a guess.
Hamlet: I have no idea.
Gravedigger: This guy was a real jerk. He poured a whole bottle of wine on
my head once. This skull belonged to Yorick the King's jester.
Hamlet: Yorick? You're kidding. Really?
Gravedigger: Oh, I'm dead serious. It was Yorick. Tee hee. Get it? Dead
serious?
Hamlet: Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him,
Horatio. He was such a funny guy. Always had a joke. He gave me lots of piggy-back rides.
But now it makes me sick to think that this yucky skull was inside his head all that time.
It makes me want to puke. Here was where his lips were. The lips that used to kiss me as a
father would. Where are all your jokes now? Your songs? You could have the whole table
rolling in laughter in five seconds flat. But no jokes now, although you look like you're
smiling. Eew, look, your jaw is falling off. Now go to Mom's bedroom and tell her that no
matter how much makeup she wears, she's going to die someday and end up looking icky like
you. See if she laughs at that. Hey, Horatio, tell me something.
Horatio: What?
Hamlet: Do you think that Alexander the Great looked like this after he
decomposed?
Horatio: I imagine so, yes.
Hamlet: And did he reek like this? PEW! [Puts down the skull.]
Horatio: Probably.
Hamlet: What a shame that we have to turn into such simple, yucky things
when we die, Horatio! When you think about it, I bet Alexander the Great's dust eventually
became a cork in a wine barrel or something equally useless.
Horatio: I never thought about it, but I suppose it might have happened.
Hamlet: It's rather logical, really. Alexander died, was buried, and
decomposed into dust. Dust is like dirt, and we make corks and barrel stoppers from dirt.
So it makes sense that Alexander's remains are now part of the stopper in a beer barrel.
It's almost poetic. "Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay, might stop a hole to
keep the wind away. O, that the earth which kept the world in awe should patch a wall to
expel the winter's flaw!" Uh oh. Ssh. Here comes the king! Hide!
[Enter King, Queen, Laertes, a coffin with pallbearers and a Priest]
Hamlet: Mom? And all the others. But who's in the coffin? Such little
ceremony...almost as if it was a suicide. But it must have been someone very important.
Ssh, Horatio, let's hide over here and listen.
[Horatio and Hamlet hide.]
Laertes: What's next?
Hamlet: That's Laertes. Great guy.
Laertes: Isn't there more to the ceremony?
Priest: Don't push it. This funeral is already more than we would normally
give for someone who killed herself. The only reason we're burying her in the churchyard
is the King's direct order. By all rights, she should be cursed, but she's getting a real
funeral, so enjoy it.
Laertes: But isn't there something else you can do?
Priest: No. It's bad enough she's being buried alongside people who had
honorable deaths.
Laertes: Oh, all right. Lay her in the earth, and I hope violets grow up
from her beautiful young body. And you see here, Mr. Priest, my sister will be serving as
an angel in heaven while you roast in Hell. So there. Nyah.
Hamlet: What? His sister...Ophelia?! Ophelia, dead?
Queen: Farewell, sweet young lady. [Scatters flowers.] I had hoped
you would marry my Hamlet. I thought I'd be decorating you honeymoon suite, not your
grave.
Laertes: For every ounce of woe we feel, may ten times that much misery fall
on the jerk whose wicked deed drove Ophelia crazy! Wait, don't bury her yet. I want to hug
her one last time. [Laertes leaps in the grave and hugs his sister's shroud-wrapped
body.] All right. Now you can pile a mountain of dirt on top of her taller
than Mount Olympus, if you want to.
Hamlet: [Comes forward.] Who are you to grieve harder than I, who
loved her? I, Hamlet the Dane, have returned. [Hamlet leaps into the open grave
with Laertes.]
Laertes: Go to Hell, Hamlet!
[They fight.]
Hamlet: You're not being very smart about this. I demand you remove
your fingers from my throat immediately. I'm crazy, remember? I might totally
snap and kill you with my bare hands! Now let go!
King: Pull them apart.
Queen: Hamlet! Oh, dear Hamlet!
All: Guys! Cut it out!
Horatio: Please, gentlemen. Calm down!.
[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.]
Hamlet: I'd fight over this issue until the death.
Queen: Oh, my son, what issue is that?
Hamlet: I loved Ophelia. I loved her more than 40,000 brothers ever
could. What will you do for her, Laertes, you scumball?
King: Don't pay any attention to him, Laertes. He's lost his marbles.
Queen: Please, for God's sake, just try to put up with him. He doesn't
know what he's saying!
Hamlet: Come on, pretty boy, what would you do for her? Cry?
Fight? Starve yourself? Get drunk? Eat a crocodile? I'll do anything you
would do. Did you come here to whine? To act all noble by leaping in her
grave? You can stay in that grave, for all I care! Go on, milksop! Yell
at me. I can fight just as well as you can.
Queen: He's just crazy, that's all. He's all mad now, but later he'll
have forgotten all about it.
Hamlet: Hey, you! Yeah, Laertes, I'm talking to you! Why do you
walk all over me? I never did anything to you. Oh well. Never
mind. Destiny is unstoppable. The cat will mew, and dog will have his
day. [Exit Hamlet.]
King: Please, Horatio, go see if he's all right.
[Exit Horatio.]
King: [To Laertes]. I know it's hard not to bash his face in,
but remember what we talked about last night. We'll go ahead with our plan right
away. Now then, Gertrude, dear, go watch over your son. Laertes wants to stay
at the grave for a while yet. I'll come find you in an hour or so, and then we can
figure out what to do about Hamlet.
Exit.
