Act V

Where is this sight?

What is it ye would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death,

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,

That thou so many princes at a shot

So bloodily hast struck?

The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfill’d,

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead:

Where should we have our thanks?

Not from his mouth,