King.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness rage. Therefore prepare you;
I your commission will forthwith dispatch,
And he to England shall along with you.
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunacies.

Guild.
We will provide our selves;
Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many bodies safe, that live
And feed upon your majesty.

Ros.
The single and peculiar life is bound
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep it self from noyance; but much more,
That spirit, on whose ^{o note}weal depends and rests
The lives of many. The decease of majesty
Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw
What's near it with it. It's a massy wheel
Fixt on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spoaks ten thousand lesser things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boistrous ruin. Ne'er alone
Did the King sigh, but with a general groan.

King.
Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;

For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.

Both.
We will haste us. [Exeunt Gent. Enter Polonius.

Pol.
My lord, he's going to his mother's closet;
Behind the arras I'll convey my self
To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home.
And as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,
(Since nature makes them partial,) should o'er-hear
The speech of vantage. Fare you well my liege,
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know. [Exit.

King.
Thanks, dear my lord.
&plquo;Oh my offence is rank, it smells to heav'n,
&plquo;It hath the primal eldest curse upon't;
&plquo;A brother's murther. Pray I cannot,
&plquo;Though inclination be as sharp as will:
&plquo;My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
&plquo;And like a man to double business bound,
&plquo;I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
&plquo;And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
&plquo;Were thicker than it self with brother's blood?
&plquo;Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
&plquo;To wash it white as snow? whereto serves mercy,
&plquo;But to confront the visage of offence?
&plquo;And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
&plquo;To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
&plquo;Or pardon'd being down? then I'll look up.
&plquo;My fault is past. But oh what form of prayer
&plquo;Can serve my turn; Forgive me my foul murther!
&plquo;That cannot be, since I am still possest

&plquo;Of those effects for which I did the murther,
&plquo;My crown, mine own ambition, and my Queen.
&plquo;May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
&plquo;In the corrupted currents of this world,
&plquo;Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
&plquo;And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize it self
&plquo;Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above:
&plquo;There is no shuffling, there the action lies
&plquo;In his true nature, we our selves compell'd
&plquo;Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
&plquo;To give in evidence.&prquo; What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! help angels, make assay!
Bow stubborn knees, and heart with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well. [The King kneels.

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