Laer. It is heere Hamlet, thou art slaine,
No medcin in the world can do thee good,
In thee there is not halfe an houres life,
The treacherous inftrument is in my hand
Vnbated and enuenom'd, the foule practise
Hath turn'd it felfe on me, loe here I lye
Neuer to rife againe: thy mother's poyfned,
I can no more, the king, the kings too blame.

Ham. The point enuenom'd to, then venom to thy worke.
All. Treafon, treason.

King. O yet defend me friends, I am but hurt.

Ham. Here thou inceftious damned Dane,

Drinke of this potion, is the onixe heere?

Follow my mother.

Laer. He is iuftly ferued, it is a poyfon temperd by himfefe.

Exchange forgiuenes with me noble Hamlet,

Mine and my fathers death come not vppon thee,
Nor thine on me.

Ham. Heauen make thee free of it, I follow thee;
I am dead Horatio, wretched queene adiew.

You that looke pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes, or audience to this act,
Had I but time as this fell fergeant death
Is ftrict in his arreft. OI could tell you!
But let it be; Horatio I am dead,
Thou liueft, report me and my cause aright
To the vnfatisfied.

Hora. Neuer beleeue it;

I am more an antike Romane then a Dane,
Heere's yet fome liquor left.

Ham. As th'art a man,

Giue me the cup, let goe, by heauen Ile hate,

O God

O God Horatio! what a wounded name

Things standing thus vnknowne, fhall I leaue behind me ?
If thou didst euer hold me in thy heart,

Abfent thee from felicity a while,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine

A march a farre off

To tell my story: what warlike noife is this?

Enter Oftrick.

Ofr. Young Fortinbraffe with conqueft come from Poland, Th th'embaffadors of England giues this warlike volly. Ham. O I die Horatio,

The potent poyfon quite ore-growes my fpirit,

I cannot liue to heare the newes from England.
But I do prophesie the election lights
On Fortinbrasse, he has my dying voyce,
To tell him with th' occurants more and leffe
Which haue folicited, the rest is filence.

Hlra. Now cracks a noble heart, good night sweet prince, And flights of angels finge thee to thy reft,

Why dooes the drumme come hether?

Enter Fortinbraffe, with the embassadors.

Fortin. Where is this fight?

Hora. What is it you would fee?

If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search

Fortin. This quarry cries on hauock, O proud death

What feast is toward in thine eternall cell,

That thou fo many princes at a fhot

So bloudily haft ftrooke?

Embaf. The fight is difmall

And

And our affaires from England come too late,
The eares are fenceleffe that fhould giue us hearing,
To tell him his commandement is fulfilld,

That Rofencraus and Guyldenftirne are dead,
Where should wee haue our thankes?

Hora. Not from his mouth

Had it th' ability of life to thanke you ;

He neuer gaue commandement for their death;
But fince fo iump vpon this bloody question
*You from the Pollock warres, and you from England
Are heere arriued, giue order that these bodies
High on a ftage be placed to the view,

And let mee fpeake, to the yet vnknowing world
How thefe things came about; fo fhall you heare
Of cruell, bloody and vnnaturall acts.

Of accidentall iulgements, cafuall flaughters,
Of deaths put on by cunning, and for no caufe,
And in this vp hot, purposes miftooke,

Falne on the inuenters heads: all this can I
Truely deliver.

Fort. Let vs haft to heare it,

And call the nobleft to the audience,

For me with forrow I embrace my fortune,
I haue fome rights of memory in this kingdome,
Which now to claime my vantage doth inuite me.

Hora. Of that I shall haue alfo caufe to fpeake,
And from his mouth, whofe voyce will draw no more,
But let this fame be prefently perform'd

Euen while mens mindes are wilde, least more mischance
On plots and errors happen.

Fort. Let foure captaines

* My first copy was imperfect from this place.

Beare

Beare Hamlet like a fouldier to the stage,
For he was likely, had he beene put on,

To haue prooued most royall; and for his passage,
The fouldiers musique and the right of warre
Speake loudly for him :

Take vp the bodies, fuch a fight as this,

Becomes the field, but heere fhowes much amiffe.
Go bid the fouldiers fhoote.

FIN I S.

Exeunt.