Ham. Ile play this bout first, set by a-while.
Come: Another hit; what say you?
Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confesse
King. Our Sonne shall win
Qu. He's fat, and scant of breath.
Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes,
The Queene Carowses to thy fortune, Hamlet
Ham. Good Madam
King. Gertrude, do not drinke
Qu. I will my Lord;
I pray you pardon me
King. It is the poyson'd Cup, it is too late
Ham. I dare not drinke yet Madam,
By and by
Qu. Come, let me wipe thy face
Laer. My Lord, Ile hit him now