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in death,

       [The cock crows.]

       Speak of it:—stay, and speak!—Stop it, Marcellus!

       Mar.

       Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

       Hor.

       Do, if it will not stand.

       Ber.

       ‘Tis here!

       Hor.

       ‘Tis here!

       Mar.

       ‘Tis gone!

       [Exit Ghost.]

       We do it wrong, being so majestical,

       To offer it the show of violence;

       For it is, as the air, invulnerable,

       And our vain blows malicious mockery.

       Ber.

       It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

       Hor.

       And then it started, like a guilty thing

       Upon a fearful summons. I have heard

       The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,

       Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat

       Awake the god of day; and at his warning,

       Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,

       The extravagant and erring spirit hies

       To his confine: and of the truth herein

       This present object made probation.

       Mar.

       It faded on the crowing of the cock.

       Some say that ever ‘gainst that season comes

       Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,

       The bird of dawning singeth all night long;

       And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad;

       The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

       No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;

       So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

       Hor.

       So have I heard, and do in part believe it.

       But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

       Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill:

       Break we our watch up: and by my advice,

       Let us impart what we have seen tonight

       Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,

       This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:

       Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,

       As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

       Mar.

       Let’s do’t, I pray; and I this morning know

       Where we shall find him most conveniently.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle.

       [Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand,

       Cornelius, Lords, and Attendant.]

       King.

       Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death

       The memory be green, and that it us befitted

       To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom

       To be contracted in one brow of woe;

       Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

       That we with wisest sorrow think on him,

       Together with remembrance of ourselves.

       Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,

       Th’ imperial jointress to this warlike state,

       Have we, as ‘twere with a defeated joy,—

       With an auspicious and one dropping eye,

       With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,

       In equal scale weighing delight and dole,—

       Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d

       Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone

       With this affair along:—or all, our thanks.

       Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,

       Holding a weak supposal of our worth,

       Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death

       Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,

       Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,

       He hath not fail’d to pester us with message,

       Importing the surrender of those lands

       Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,

       To our most valiant brother. So much for him,—

       Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:

       Thus much the business is:—we have here writ

       To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,—

       Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears

       Of this his nephew’s purpose,—to suppress

       His further gait herein; in that the levies,

       The lists, and full proportions are all made

       Out of his subject:—and we here dispatch

       You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,

       For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;

       Giving to you no further personal power

       To business with the king, more than the scope

       Of these dilated articles allow.

       Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.

       Cor. and Volt.

       In that and all things will we show our duty.

       King.

       We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

       [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.]

       And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you?

       You told us of some suit; what is’t, Laertes?

       You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

       And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,

       That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?

       The head is not more native to the heart,

       The hand more instrumental to the mouth,

       Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.

       What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

       Laer.

       Dread my lord,

       Your leave and favour to return to France;

       From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,

       To show my duty in your coronation;

       Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

       My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,

       And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

       King.

       Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?

       Pol.

       He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave

       By laboursome petition; and at last

       Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent:

       I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

      

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