Hamlet
What is he whose grief
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
Hamlet the Dane.
Advancing.; Leaps into the grave.
Laertes
The devil take thy soul!
Grappling with him.
Hamlet
Thou pray’st not well.
I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
Yet have I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand.
King
Pluck them asunder.
Queen
Hamlet, Hamlet!