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152

To the ambassadors of England gives

This war-like volley.

Ham. O! I die, Horatio;

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:

I cannot live to hear the news from England,

But I do prophesy the election lights

On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;

So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,

Which have solicited—The rest is silence.

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince,

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

Why does the drum come hither?

Fort. Where is this sight?

Hor. What is it ye would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death!

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,

That thou so many princes at a shot

So bloodily hast struck?

Amb. The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd,

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.

Where should we have our thanks?

Hor. Not from his mouth,

Had it the ability of life to thank you:

 367 o'er-crows: overpowers

371 occurrents: incidents

372 solicited: moved; cf. n.

374 flights: troops

378 quarry: heap of slain

cries on havoc: proclaims merciless slaughter (?); cf. n.

