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naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return.
What should this mean! Are all the rest come back? Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
Laer. Know you the hand ?
King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked, And, in a postcript here, he says, alone : Can you advise me?
Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come;
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
Thus diddest thou.
King. If it be so, Laertes,
As how should it be so? how otherwise !---
Will you be ruld by me?
Laer. Ay, my lord;
So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace.
King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd, mis
As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it, I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall :
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe;
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it, accident.
Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd;
The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the organ.
King. It falls right.
You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,
As did that one; and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.
Laer. What part is that, my lord ?
King. A very ribband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness. Two months since,
Here was a gentleman of Normandy,
I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thougat,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
Laer. A Norman, was't?
King. A Norman.
Laer. Upon my life, Lamord.
King. The very same.
Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch, indeed, And gem of all the nation.
King. He made confession of you; And gave you such a masterly report, For art and exercise in your defence, And for your rapier most especial, That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, If one could match you: the scrimers of their nation,
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos’d them : Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, .
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o’er, to play with you.
Now, out of this,
Laer. What out of this, my lord ?
King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Laer. Why ask you this?
King. Not that I think, you did not love your father; But that I know, love is begun by time; And that I see, in passages of proof, Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; And nothing is at a like goodness still; For goodness, growing to a plurisy, Dies in his own too much: That we would do, We should do, when we would; for this would changes, And hath abatements and delays as many, As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer: Hamlet comes back; What would you undertake, To show yourself in deed your father's son, More than in words?
Laer. To cut his throat i'the church.
King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, Will you do this, keep close within your chamber :
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, together,
And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
Requite him for
Laer. I will do't:
And, for the purpose, I'll anoint
I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion ; that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
King. Let's further think of this;
Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means,
May fit us to our shape; if this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
"Twere better not assay'd; therefore this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft;, let me see:-
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,-
When in your motion you are hot and dry,
(As make your bouts more violent to that end)
And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise ?
Enter Queen. How now, sweet queen? .
Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow :-Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer. Drown'd! 0, where?
Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them :
There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up:
Which time, she chaunted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulld the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd ?
Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.
Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet
It is our trick; nature her custom holds,