How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
[A noise within.]
The doors are broke.
[Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.]
Where is this king? — Sirs, stand you all without.
No, let's come in.
I pray you, give me leave.
We will, we will.
[They retire without the door.]
I thank you: — keep the door. — O thou vile king,
Give me my father!
Calmly, good Laertes.
That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;
Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
Of my true mother.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? —
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes,
Why thou art thus incens'd. — Let him go, Gertrude: —
Where is my father?
But not by him.
Let him demand his fill.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation: — to this point I stand, —
That both the worlds, I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.
Who shall stay you?
My will, not all the world:
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
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?
None but his enemies.
Will you know them then?
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