As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty To let you know of it.
For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men.
Good Laertes, If you desire to know the certainty Of your dear father’s death, is’t writ in your revenge That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and loser?
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.
So much for him,— Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: Thus much the business is:—we have here writ To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,— Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears Of this his nephew’s purpose,—to suppress His further gait herein; in that the levies, The lists, and full proportions are all made Out of his subject:—and we here dispatch You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; Giving to you no further personal power To…