Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow[25] think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,[26]
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd[27]
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along:--For all, our thanks.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes?

_Laer._ (R.) My dread lord,
Your leave and favour[28] to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To show my duty in your coronation,
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

_King._ Have you your father's leave? What says Polonious?

_Pol._ (R.) He hath, my lord, (wrung from me my slow leave
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I sealed my hard consent):[29]
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

_King._ Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
And thy best graces spend it at thy will![30]
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,----

_Ham._ (L.) A little more than kin, and less than kind.[31]

[Aside.]

_King._ How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

_Ham._ Not so, my lord; I am too much i'the sun.[32]

_Queen._(L.C.) Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour[33] off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids[34]
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

_Ham._ Ay, madam, it is common.

_Queen._ If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?

_Ham._ Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play.
But I have that within which passeth show;[35]
These but the trappings[36] and the suits of woe.

_King._ 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
Tha