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  • Title: Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)
  • Textual editor: Eric Rasmussen
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-434-9

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)

    Prince of Denmarke.
    3785I am iustly kild with mine owne treachery.
    Ham. How dooes the Queene?
    King. Shee sounds to see them bleed.
    Quee. No, no, the drinke, the drinke, ô my deare Hamlet,
    The drinke the drinke, I am poysned.
    Ham. O villanie, how let the doore be lock't,
    Treachery, seeke it out.
    Laer. It is heere Hamlet, thou art slaine,
    3795No medcin in the world can doe thee good,
    In thee there is not halfe an houres life,
    The treacherous instrument is in my hand
    Vnbated and enuenom'd, the foule practise
    Hath turn'd it selfe on me, loe heere I lie
    3800Neuer to rise againe, thy mother's poysned,
    I can no more, the King, the Kings too blame.
    Ham. The point inuenom'd to, then venome to thy worke.
    3805All. Treason, treason.
    King. O yet defend me friends, I am but hurt.
    Ham. Heare thou incestious damned Dane,
    Drinke of this potion, is the Onixe heere?
    3810Follow my mother.
    Laer. He is iustly serued, it is a poyson temperd by himselfe,
    Exchange forgiuenesse with me noble Hamlet,
    Mine and my fathers death come not vppon thee,
    3815Nor 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,
    3820Had I but time, as this fell sergeant Death
    Is strict in his arrest, ô I could tell you,
    But let it be; Horatio I am dead,
    Thou liuest, report me and my cause a right
    To the vnsatisfied.
    3825Hora. Neuer belieue it;
    I am more an anticke Romaine then a Dane,
    Heere's yet some liquer left.
    Ham. As th'art a man
    Giue me the cup, let goe, by heauen Ile hate,