What if Beowulf had been written by Shakespeare?
The Tragedie of Beowulf, Prince of Wethermark
I have committed an act of literary madness, and I’m not even ashamed of it.
It started with a note from Philip Womack, who asked: What if Shakespeare had known about Beowulf? What might he have done with it?
I read this and thought: what if, indeed. What if Shakespeare had written Beowulf?
And then, because I’m entirely lacking in anything resembling restraint, I wrote the thing. What follows is the first 52 lines of Beowulf re-conceived as a scene in Hamlet — complete with Polonius’ moralizing, Hamlet’s snide commentary, and enough double entendres to raise the eyebrows of the entire Kingdom of Denmark.
If you’ve read Hamlet and at least the first 52 lines of Beowulf in translation,1 you’ll catch more of the joke. But even if you haven’t, this piece should stand on its own as a silly tribute to two of the greatest English poets.
Here’s everything you need to know (spoilers for Hamlet):
Claudius has recently become King of Denmark after the death of his brother, and has also married the late king’s wife, Gertrude. Hamlet, the protagonist and son of the late king, is naturally unhappy about this state of affairs.
Matters are made worse by the discovery that Claudius had murdered his brother. Hamlet learned this from his father’s ghost. But, because Hamlet was not certain that he could trust his father’s ghost, he arranged the staging of a play whose plot mirrors the way Claudius killed his brother, so that he could gauge Claudius’ reaction to see whether he was indeed guilty.
Oh, and Polonius is Claudius’ advisor, and a pompous fool.
This scene occurs immediately before Hamlet’s play begins.
First comes the text; then, below the paywall, the commentary where I explain the decisions I made in composing this piece, including exactly which lines I stole from Shakespeare and why.
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Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Polonius, Hamlet, with others.
CLAUDIUS
My lords, ere further sport beguile the night,
We’ll have a taste of elder Denmark shown,
A poem held in honour, Beowulf named.
I prize it much, for first it revelleth
In a rehearsal of our fathers’ deeds,
Set forth in measured speech. Such things, we hope,
May school our blood to patience and to peace.
HAMLET (aside)
Peace is a tune oft played before a dirge.
CLAUDIUS
What say you, nephew? You look angerly,
As if the past did trouble you.
HAMLET
Not so, my lord.
I love old stories well, especially
When kings go down to sea.
POLONIUS
A grave proceeding,
Weighty and full of good instruction.
HAMLET
Aye,
And full of bones, if one should dig but deep.
Enter the Player King.
PLAYER KING
Open your ears to hark to Danish deeds,
Which, half remembered, half by Rumour kept,
Did prove the puissance of our ancient kings.
Among these warlike monarchs there was one
Surpassèd all. ‘Twas Scyld, the castaway,
Whom men name Scefing, father of the race
Of Spear-Danes, callèd by the cow’ring throngs
“O Conqueror, O Sovereign,” who paid
Him tribute. Thus did Fortune recompense
Th’ original outrage she worked against him,
His former poverty. By turning of her wheel
She lifted him (as she has tumbled many),
To high estate, and granted men’s obedience.
HAMLET
We shall not look upon his like again!
PLAYER KING
To him was born a son, a royal infant
Given by God’s fair ordinance to those
Who wept, who bled, who sank beneath the yoke.
As houses are defiled for want of use,
And tender blossoms starved for want of rain,
The land itself then groaned for want of rule
And noble government. The name of Beow,
For so the prince was named, ran through the mouths
Of young and old among the Danish nation.
POLONIUS
Let every gentleman this noble precept
Character in his memory: that he should do
Such benefits, by liberality
In glitt’ring gold, while in his father’s care,
That when he see old age, and bloody war,
His friends might bleed for him.
HAMLET (aside)
Thus is love
Minted in youth, and spent in needful dotage.
POLONIUS
By care and valour shall a man attain,
In every nation, to the highest point
of greatness, and of fame for all his deeds.
PLAYER KING
When at last the hour of death was come,
Into the keeping of the Everlasting,
The lordly monarch, bravest at the last,
Went hence, upon a ship, as he came hither.
POLONIUS
Observe, my lords, that life is but a passage,
And death the harbour that concludes the voyage.
PLAYER KING
They bore his body down, his thanes and kinsmen
Towards the ocean’s roaring tide, as he
Himself in word commanded, while he yet
commanded words. So excellent a king
that was, a friend of Danes, and their protector.
In harbour was the royal ship, whose stem,
With rings adornèd, gleamed, as fangs of ice
Beneath the winter moon reflect its whiteness.
Eager it seemed, the barge that stood at anchor,
No baubling vessel, to undertake its fare.
HAMLET (aside)
The ship is keen; methinks the passenger
Is not.
PLAYER KING
Then in the bosom of the ship,
Beside the mast they set the king whose fame
Was won as much by martial deeds as jovial.
Inestimable stones were laden there,
Where he lay balmed, entreasured. How the bark
Showed like a mine, with gold from every coast!
I never saw a boat so decked with ornaments,
With sword and harness, bright instruments of war.
Within its bosom lay the tuns of treasure,
Which should accompany their master hence
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
They furnished him with no less store of gifts,
The riches of the world, than those who first
Did send him forth, a child o’er ruthless waves.
Then high above his head they set a standard,
A golden ensign. They gave him to the deep,
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care.
And so he died, and went I know not where.
No learnèd doctor that yet draweth breath
Can say where lies the secret house of death.
GERTRUDE
Methought this poem treated on the theme
of Beowulf, the Gothic prince, but this
Is merely Danish kings succeeding kings.
When comes the hero to the stage, my lord?
HAMLET
Anon, anon. The poem creeps apace,
And tarries in the telling.
CLAUDIUS.
My nephew tires,
It seems, of this night’s sport. Let us retire.
Give thanks unto the players who so well
Do mind us of our ancient stock of kings.
The audience applauds, excepting Hamlet.
POLONIUS
A worthy piece, my lord, and full of pith.
It shows how rule well planted long survives,
And how renown doth crown the just in death.
CLAUDIUS (to Hamlet)
Come, nephew, you are silent. Speak your bosom.
Does not this tale give comfort to the mind?
HAMLET
Comfort, my lord? Such comfort need I not.
The worm that eats the slave devours the high.
I need no verse to know: Kings die, kings die.
The rest is commentary
Now for some notes on how this came together: why Polonius was the perfect vessel for the moralizing tendencies of the Beowulf poet, where I realize I was being too clever by half (I left it in anyway), and a complete accounting of my thefts from Shakespeare, including the three lines I lifted without changing a letter. (Did you spot them?)
