The memory be green, and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole king dom To be contracted in one brow of woe, Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 20 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleaguèd with the dream of his advantage, To our most valiant brother. So much for him. Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. 30 Cor., Vol. In that and all things will we show our 40 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? And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 50 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. Laer. Dread my lord, Your leave and favor 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, King. Have you your father's leave? What says Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow By laborsome petition, and at last 60 Upon his will I sealed my hard consent: I do beseech you, give him leave to go. King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will! But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, Ham. [aside.] A little more than kin, and less 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 color off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not for ever with thy vailèd lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen. Why seems it so particular with thee? If it be, Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father; 70 80 But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound 90 In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow: but to perséver Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: 110 And with no less nobility of love, Than that which dearest father bears his son And we beseech you, bend you to remain |