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Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit.
King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; Here's to thy health.-Give him the cup.
[Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within. Ham. I'd play this bout first; set it by awhile. Come.-Another hit; what say you?
Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess.
Ham. Good madam,—
Gertrude, do not drink. Queen. I will, my lord;-I pray you, pardon me. King. It is the poisoned cup; it is too late. [Aside. Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by. Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now.
I do not think it. Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience.
Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes. You do but dally. I pray you, pass with your best violence; I am afraid you make a wanton of me.
Laer. Say you so? come on.
Osr. Nothing neither way.
Laer. Have at you now.
[LAERTES wounds HAMLET, then, in scuffling, they
Look to the queen there, ho! Hor. They bleed on both sides;-how is it, my lord? Osr. How is't, Laertes?
Laer. Why, as the woodcock to mine own springe, Osric; I am justly killed with mine own treachery.
Ham. How does the queen?
She swoons to see them bleed. Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink,-O my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink;-I am poisoned!
Ham. O villany!-Ho! let the door be locked. Treachery! seek it out. [LAERTES falls.
Laer. It is here, Hamlet; Hamlet, thou art slain;
Envenomed too!-Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the King.
Osr. and Lords. Treason! treason!
King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt. Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion.-Is the union here? Follow my mother.
Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. I am dead, Horatio.-Wretched queen, adieu!— You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death, Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you,— But let it be.-Horatio, I am dead; Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied.
Never believe it;
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
What warlike noise is this?
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, To the ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley.
O, I die, Horatio;
Hor. Now cracks a noble heart.-Good night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Fort. This quarry cries on havoc!-O proud death! What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, That thou so many princes, at a shot, So bloodily hast struck?
And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world,
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forced cause;
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
Let four captains
To have proved most royally; and, for his passage,
Take up the bodies.- Such a sight as this,
[A dead march. [Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off within.