I have sent to seek him and to find the body.
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!
Yet, must not we put the strong law on him.
He's loved of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes.
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weighed,
But ne'er the offense. To bear all smooth and even,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved
How now, what hath befall'n?
Where the dead body is bestowed, my lord,
Without, my lord, guarded — to know your pleasure.
[Calling] Ho! Bring in my lord.
[Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.]
Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain
convocation of worms are e'en at him. Your worm
is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to
fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and
your lean beggar is but variable service to dishes but
to one table. That's the end.
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a
king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
What dost thou mean by this?
Nothing but to show you how a king may go
a progress through the guts of a beggar.
In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger
find him not there, seek him i'th' other place yourself. But
if indeed you find him not within this month, you shall
nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
[To some attendants] Go seek him there.
He will stay till you come.
Hamlet, this deed of thine — for thine especial safety
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done — must send thee hence
With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself.
The bark is ready, and the wind at help.
Th' associates tend and everything is bent
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
I see a cherub that sees them. But come, for
England! [To Claudius] Farewell, dear mother.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
My mother. Father and mother is man and wife.
Man and wife is one flesh — and so, my mother.
Follow him at foot. Tempt him with speed aboard.
Delay it not; I'll have him hence tonight.
Away! For everything is sealed and done
That else leans on th' affair. Pray you, make haste.
[Exit all but Claudius.]
And England, if my love thou hold'st at aught —
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword — and thy free awe
Pays homage to us, thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process, which imports at full —
By letters conjuring to that effect —
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England.
For like the hectic in my blood, he rages,
And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.