But soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief:—your noble son is mad: Mad call I it; for to define true madness, What is’t but to be nothing else but mad?
Let them be well used; for they are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
’tis brief, my lord.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress His nephew’s levies; which to him appear’d To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack; But, better look’d into, he truly found It was against your highness; whereat griev’d,— That so his sickness, age, and impotence Was falsely borne in hand,—sends out arrests On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle never more To give th’ assay of arms against your majesty.