Hor. 
Is’t possible?

Ham. 
Here’s the commission:  read it at more leisure. 
But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed?

Hor. 
I beseech you.

Ham. 
Being thus benetted round with villanies,—­
Or I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play,—­I sat me down;
Devis’d a new commission; wrote it fair: 
I once did hold it, as our statists do,
A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman’s service.  Wilt thou know
The effect of what I wrote?

Hor. 
Ay, good my lord.

Ham. 
An earnest conjuration from the king,—­
As England was his faithful tributary;
As love between them like the palm might flourish;
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma ’tween their amities;
And many such-like as’s of great charge,—­
That, on the view and know of these contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving-time allow’d.

Hor. 
How was this seal’d?

Ham. 
Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. 
I had my father’s signet in my purse,
Which was the model of that Danish seal: 
Folded the writ up in the form of the other;
Subscrib’d it:  gave’t the impression; plac’d it safely,
The changeling never known.  Now, the next day
Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent
Thou know’st already.

Hor. 
So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to’t.

Ham. 
Why, man, they did make love to this employment;
They are not near my conscience; their defeat
Does by their own insinuation grow: 
’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
Between the pass and fell incensed points
Of mighty opposites.

Hor. 
Why, what a king is this!

Ham. 
Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,—­
He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother;
Popp’d in between the election and my hopes;
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage—­is’t not perfect conscience
To quit him with this arm? and is’t not to be damn’d
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil?

Hor. 
It must be shortly known to him from England
What is the issue of the business there.

Ham. 
It will be short:  the interim is mine;
And a man’s life is no more than to say One. 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself;
For by the image of my cause I see
The portraiture of his:  I’ll court his favours: 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towering passion.

Hor. 
Peace; who comes here?

[Enter Osric.]

Osr. 
Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.

Ham. 
I humbly thank you, sir.  Dost know this water-fly?