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Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;
Ros. Both your majesties
Guil. But we both obey;
King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern.
Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen
Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our practices,
and some attendants.
Enter Polonius. Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd.
King. Thou still hast been the father of good news.
Pol. Have I, my lord ? Assure you, my good liege, I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, Both to my God, and to my gracious king : And I do think, (or else this brain of mine Hunts not the trail of policy so sure As it hath us’d to do,) that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. King. O, speak of that; that do I long to hear.
Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors ; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
[Exit POLONIUS. He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper.
Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.
Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS. King. Well, we shall sift him.-Welcome, my good
friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires. Upon our first, he sent out to suppress His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; But, better look'd into, he truly found It was against your highness: Whereat griev'd, That so bis sickness, age, and impotence, Was falsely borne in hand, -sends out arrests On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys; Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle, never more To give the assay of arms against your majesty. Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee; And his commission, to employ those soldiers, So levied as before, against the Polack: With an entreaty, herein further shown, [Gives a paper. That it might please you to give quiet pass Through your dominions for this enterprize; On such regards of safety, and allowance, As therein are set down.
King. It likes us well; And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read, Answer, and think upon this business. Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour: Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together :
Most welcome home!
[Exeunt VOLTIMAND and Cornelius. Pol. This business is well ended. My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night, night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. Therefore,—since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,I will be brief: Your noble son is mad : Mad call I it: for, to define true madness, What is't, but to be nothing else but mad ? But let that go.
Queen. More matter, with less art.
Pol Madam, I swear, I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, That we find out the cause of this effect; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect, defective, comes by cause : Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend. I have a daughter; have, while she is mine; Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. - To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,-That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is a vile phrase; but you shall hear.Thus:
In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.— Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ? Pol. Good madamn, stay awhile ; I will be faithful.
Doubt thou, the stars are fire ;
Doubt, that the sun doth move :
But never doubt, I love.
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans : but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this ma
chine is to him, Hamlet.
King. But how hath she
Pol. What do you think of me?