For.
Go, captain, from me, greet the Danish King,
Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras
Claims the conveyance of a promis'd march
Over his realm. You know the rendevouz.
If that his majesty would ought with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye,
And let him know so.

Capt.
I will do't, my lord.

For.
Go softly on. [Exit Fortinbras. Enter Hamlet, Rosincrosse, &c.

Ham.
Good Sir, whose powers are these?

Capt.
They are of Norway, Sir.

Ham.
How ^{c note}purpos'd Sir, I pray you?

Capt.
Against some part of Poland.

Ham.
Who commands them, Sir?

Capt.
The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.

Ham.
Goes it against the main of Poland, Sir,
Or for some frontier?

Capt.
Truly to speak it, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five I would not farm it,
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
A ranker rate, should it be ^{d note}sold in fee.

Ham.
Why then the Polacke never will defend it.

Capt.
Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.

Ham.
Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats
Will not debate the question of this straw;
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shews no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, Sir.

Cap.
God b'w'ye, Sir.

Ros.
Will't please you go, my lord?

Ham.
I'll be with you, go a little before. [Exeunt. Manet Hamlet.
How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge? what is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time

Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To rust in us unus'd. Now whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th' event,
(A thought which quarter'd hath but one part wisdom,
And ever three parts coward:) I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing's to do,
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me;
Witness this army of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puft
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Ev'n for an egg-shell. 'Tis not to be great,
Never to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
(Excitements of my reason and my blood)
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That for a fantasie and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a spot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O then from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.

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