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Give me my father.

Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims

me bastard; Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow, Of

my true mother. King.

What is the cause, Laertes, That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.—Tell me, Laertes, Why thou art thus incens’d;—Let him go, Ger

trude;Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?


But not by him. King. Let him demand his fill. Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled

with: To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand, That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng’d Most throughly for my father. King.

Who shall stay you? Laer. My will, not all the world's: And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, They shall go far with little.


Good Laertes, If you desire to know the certainty Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your re

venge, That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and

foe, Winner and loser:

Laer. None but his enemies.

Will you know them then? Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope

my arms;
And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.

Why, now you speak
Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment ’pear,
As day does to your eye.
Dan., [IVithin.]

Let her come in. Laer. How now! what noise is that?.

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Enter Ophelia, fantastically dress’d with straws and

flowers. O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt, Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? Nature is fine in love: and, where 'tis fine,

It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
Oph. They bore him barefuc'd on the bier;

Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny:

And in his grave rain'd many a tear; — Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade

revenge, It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daugh


Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is panšies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: —there's rue for you; and here's some for me:we may call it, herb of grace o'sundays:--you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy:- I would give you some violets; but they wither'd all, when my father died:- They say, he made a good end, For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,


Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell it

self, She turns to favour, and to prettiness.


Oph. And will he not come again?

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead,

Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll:

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan;
God’a mercy on his soul!

wi’ you!

And of all christian souls! I pray God. God be

[Exit Ophelia. Laer. Do you see this, O God? King. Laertes, I must commune with

your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest friends

wisest friends you will, And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: If by direct or by collateral hand They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, To you

in satisfaction; but, if not, Be you content to lend your patience to us, And we shall jointly labour with your

soul To give it due content. Laer.

Let this be so; His means of death, his obscure funeral, No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth, That I must call't in question.


So you shall; And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. I pray you, go with me.




Enter Horatio, and a Servant.
Hor. What are they, that would speak with me?

Sailors, sir; They say, they have letters for

you. Hor,

Let them come in.

[Exit Servant. I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.

Enter Sailors. 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. Hor. Let him bless thee too.

1 Sail. He shall sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give these fellows some means to the king; they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chace: Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelld valour; and in the grapple I boarded them: on the instant, they got clear of our ship; so I alone

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