LAERTES.
My lord, I’ll hit him now.
KING.
I do not think’t.
LAERTES.
[Aside.] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience.
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.