[Sc. xv.]
Enter King and Leartes.
King. Hamlet from England! is it possible?
What chance is this? they are gone, and he come home.
Lear. O he is welcome, by my soule he is:
At it my iocund heart doth leape for ioy,
That I shall liue to tell him, thus he dies. 5
King Leartes, content your selfe, be rulde by me,
And you shall haue no let for your reuenge.
Lear. My will, not all the world.
King Nay but Leartes, marke the plot I haue layde,
I haue heard him often with a greedy wish, 10
Vpon some praise that he hath heard of you
Touching your weapon, which with all his heart,
He might be once tasked for to try your cunning.
Lea. And how for this?
King Mary Leartes thus: I'le lay a wager, 15
Shalbe on Hamlets side, and you shall giue the oddes,
The which will draw him with a more desire,
To try the maistry, that in twelue venies
You gaine not three of him: now this being granted,
When you are hot in midst of all your play, 20
Among the foyles shall a keene rapier lie,
Steeped in a mixture of deadly poyson,
That if it drawes but the least dramme of blood,
In any part of him, he cannot liue:
This being done will free you from suspition, 25
And not the deerest friend that Hamlet lov'de
Will euer haue Leartes in suspect.
Lear. My lord, I like it well:
But say lord Hamlet should refuse this match.
King I'le warrant you, wee'le put on you 30
Such a report of singularitie,
Will bring him on, although against his will.
And lest that all should misse,
I'le haue a potion that shall ready stand,
In all his heate when that he calles for drinke, 35
Shall be his period and our happinesse.
Lear. T'is excellent, O would the time were come!
Here comes the Queene. enter the Queene.
King How now Gertred, why looke you heauily?
Queene O my Lord, the yong Ofelia
Hauing made a garland of sundry sortes of floures,
Sitting vpon a willow by a brooke,
The enuious sprig broke, into the brooke she fell,
And for a while her clothes spread wide abroade,
Bore the yong Lady vp: and there she sate smiling, 45
Euen Mermaide-like, twixt heauen and earth,
Chaunting olde sundry tunes vncapable
As it were of her distresse, but long it could not be,
Till that her clothes, being heauy with their drinke,
Dragg'd the sweete wretch to death. 50
Lear. So, she is drownde:
Too much of water hast thou Ofelia,
Therefore I will not drowne thee in my teares,
Reuenge it is must yeeld this heart releefe,
For woe begets woe, and griefe hangs on griefe. exeunt. 55