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Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
[A noise within. Alack! what noise is this?
Enter a Gentleman.
Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door :
What is the matter?
Save yourself, my lord;
The ocean, overpeering of his list,"
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him, Lord; And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers3 and props of every word,+
They cry, Choose we; Laertes shall be king!
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!
Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! O, this is counter,5 you false Danish dogs. King. The doors are broke.
a piece of ordnance.
3 That is, antiquity and custom are the ratifiers, &c.
4 TYRWHITT suggests work instead of word.
› Hounds run counter when they trace the trail backwards.
Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following.
Laer. Where is this king?-Sirs, stand you all Dan. No, let's come in.
pray you, give me leave.
[They retire without the door.
Laer. I thank you :-keep the door.—O thou vile Give me my father.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims me
Cries, Cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person;
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Why thou art thus incens'd;-Let him go, Gertrude;-
Laer. Where is my father?
King. Let him demand his fill.
But not by him.
Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with.
I dare damnation: To this point I stand,
Who shall stay you?
Laer. My will, not all the world's:
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge, That, sweepstake,' you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and loser?
Laer. None but his enemies.
Will you know them then? Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,'
Repast them with my blood.
Danes. [Within.] Let her come in.
Enter OPHELIA, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers.
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
They bore him barefac'd on the bier;
Fare you well, my dove!
2 It is almost needless to observe that this account of the bird
is entirely fabulous.