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366 (rises). Stop!

Stop, I say—cast off those mummeries! Come hither, Hamlet!
 * (takes off robes and comes down). Why what ails you, sir?
 * (with suppressed fury). Know'st thou who wrote this play?
 * Not I, indeed.

Nor do I care to know!
 * I wrote this play—

To mention it is death, by Denmark's law!
 * Q. Oh, spare him, for he is thine only child!
 * No—I have two—my son—my play—both worthless!

Both shall together perish!

(on his knees). Hold thine hand! I can't bear death—I'm a philosopher!
 * Apollo's son, Lycaeus, built a fane

At Athens, where philosophers dispute: 'Tis known as the "Lyceum." Send him there, He will find such a hearty welcome, sir, That he will stay there, goodness knows how long!
 * Well, be it so—and, Hamlet, get you gone!