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40 Vol. S
: 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, 45 And lose your voice. What wouldst thou
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 50 What wouldst thou have, Laertes? Laer.
My dread lord,
pardon. King. Have you your father's leave? What
says Polonius? Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,Ham. [Aside.] A little more than kin, and less 65
than kind. King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i’ the
sun. Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on
If it be,
“seems.” 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, . 80 Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of
That can denote me truly. These indeed
For they are actions that a man might play; 85 But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,
But, you must know, your father lost a father; 90 That father lost, lost his, and the survivor
As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 100 Why should we in our peevish opposition
Take it to heart? Fie! ’tis a fault to heaven,
You are the most immediate to our throne, ,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet. · I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Witten
berg. Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 120 King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply.
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet. Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! 130
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
earth! Must I remember? Why, she would hang on
him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a
month,Let me not think on't—Frailty, thy name is
woman! A little month, or e'er those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's
body, Like Niobe, all tears, -why she, even she0 God! a beast, that wants discourse of
reason, Would have mourned longer-married with