haven't i told you once and for all that i need my morning's sleep! i have asked you politely, pleaded with you, but nothing works. so now i'm telling you to shut up!
is this supposed to be a mask for an actor? if the priests didn't pay us so well, i'd say no thank you.
just think, scaring decent folk out of their wits with this kind of nonsense.
at the saints' feast in elsinore. we're going to perform right on the church steps, believe it or not.
idiot. there's a rumor going around that there's a terrible pestilence in the land, and now the priests are prophesying sudden death and all sorts of spiritual agonies.
you're such a damn fool, so you're going to be the soul of man.
who makes the decisions around here? who is the director of this company anyhow?
bear this in mind, you fool. your life hangs by a thread. your time is short. are the women going to like me in this getup? will i make a hit? no! i feel as if i were dead already.
noble ladies and gentlemen, i thank you for your interest. please remain standing for a little longer, or sit on the ground, because we are now going to perform a tragedia about an unfaithful wife, her jealous husband, and the handsome lover -- that's me.
here is the husband. here is the wife. if you'll shut up over there, you'll see something splendid. as i said, i play the lover and i haven't entered yet. that's why i'm going to hide behind the curtain for the time being. it's damned hot. i think we'll have a thunderstorm.
you miserable stubbleheaded bastard of seven scurvy bitches, if i were in your lousy rags i would be stricken with such eternal shame about my breath, my voice, my arms and legs -- in short, about my whole body -- that i would immediately rid nature of my own embarrassing self.
she's right. just kill me. if you thought that i was going to apologize for being what i am, you are mistaken.
my friends, you have only to push, and my unreality will soon be transformed into a new, solid reality. an absolutely tangible corpse.
your life's thread now hangs by a very ragged shred. idiot, your day is short.
i forgive all of you. pray for me sometimes.
now that was a good scene. i'm really a good actor. after all, why shouldn't i be a little pleased with myself? but where shall i go? i'll wait until it becomes light and then i'll find the easiest way out of the forest. i'll climb up a tree for the time being so that no bears, wolves or ghosts can get at me.
tomorrow i'll find jof and mia and then we'll go to the saints' feast in elsinore. we'll make lots of money there. now, i'll sing a little song to myself: i am a little bird who sings whate'er he will, and when i am in danger i fling out a pissing trill as in the carnal thrill. it's boring to be alone in the forest tonight. the terrible night doesn't frighten me .
workmen in the forest. oh, well! the terrible night doesn't frighten me .  hey, what the devil .  it's my tree they're cutting down.
hey, you! do you hear me, you tricky bastard? what are you doing with my tree?
can't you at least answer me? politeness costs so little. who are you?
it won't do. i haven't got time.
no, i have my performance.
my contract.
my children, my family.
yes, i'm ashamed.
isn't there any way to get off? aren't there any special rules for actors?
no loopholes, no exceptions?
perhaps you'll take a bribe.
help!
help! help!