To the ambassadors of England gives
This war-like volley.
Ham. O! I die, Horatio;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
I cannot live to hear the news from England, 368
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited—The rest is silence. Dies.
Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince, 373
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why does the drum come hither?
Enter Fortinbras, and English Ambassador, with drum, colours, and Attendants.
Fort. Where is this sight?
Hor. What is it ye would see? 376
If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.
Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death!
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes at a shot 380
So bloodily hast struck?
Amb. 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, 384
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.
Where should we have our thanks?
Hor. Not from his mouth,
Had it the ability of life to thank you: 387
367 o'er-crows: overpowers
371 occurrents: incidents
372 solicited: moved; cf. n.
374 flights: troops
378 quarry: heap of slain
cries on havoc: proclaims merciless slaughter (?); cf. n.
