HAMLET.
Come for the third, Laertes. You do but dally.
I pray you pass with your best violence.
I am afeard you make a wanton of me.
LAERTES.
Say you so? Come on.
[They play.]
OSRIC.
Nothing neither way.
LAERTES.
Have at you now.
[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes.]
KING.
Part them; they are incens’d.
HAMLET.
Nay, come again!
[The Queen falls.]
OSRIC.
Look to the Queen there, ho!