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Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England : of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. Come, I will give you way for these your letters; And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt.
Another Room in the same.
Enter King and LAERTES.
It well appears : — But tell me,
else, You mainly were stirr'd up. King.
0, for two special reasons : Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, But yet to me they are strong. The queen his
s Common people.
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
not think, That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, That we can let our beard be shook with danger, And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more: I loved your father, and we love ourself ; And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, How now? what news ?
Enter a Messenger. Mess.
Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : This to your majesty ; this to the queen,
King. From Hamlet ? who brought them?
Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say : I saw them not; They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them Of him that brought them. King. Laertes,
5, you shall hear them: Leave us.
[Exit Messenger. [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I am set 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?
Laer. Know you the hand ?
'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked,
If it be so, Laertes,
you be ruld by me? Laer.
Ay, my lord;
My lord, I will be ruld;
It falls right.
lord King. A very ribband in the cap of youth,
7 Objecting to.
8 Seat, place.
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
A Norman, was 't?
same Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch 9
deed, And gem of all the nation.
King. He made confession of you ; And gave you
such a masterly report,
What out of this, my lord ? King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
Why ask you this ?
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 pleurisy, 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 Hamlet comes back; What would
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 sạnctua
rize; Revenge should have no bounds. But, good
you do this, keep close within your chamber :