'At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound,
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his being.'
What say you to this?—His bulk! The sigh was so profound, that it seemed to shatter even his bulk! I fancy I might rest my case here, and win my wager, eh? But I am too skilful a general to throw away my strength at the beginning of a battle. If I have not already beaten you from your last strong hold—from your last defence—I have a corps de reserve, which will at once decide the victory. You remember the concluding scene, I suppose—the fencing bout between Hamlet and Laertes? What do you think of the following little bit of dialogue?
'Laertes.—A touch—a touch,—I do confess.
King.—Our son shall win.
Queen.—He's fat and scant of breath. Here,
Hamlet, take my napkin—rub thy brows