_Ham._ Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.[2369] I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu![2370] 320 You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act,[2371] Had I but time--as this fell sergeant, death,[2372] Is strict in his arrest--O, I could tell you--[2372][2373] But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; 325 Thou livest; report me and my cause aright[2374] To the unsatisfied. _Hor._ Never believe it:[2375] I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:[2376] Here's yet some liquor left. _Ham._ As thou'rt a man,[2377][2378] Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't.[2377][2379] 330 O good Horatio, what a wounded name,[2380] Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me![2381] If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile,[2382] And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 335 To tell my story. [_March afar off, and shot within._[2383] What warlike noise is this? _Osr._ Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,[2384] To the ambassadors of England gives[2385][2386][2387] This warlike volley.[2386] _Ham._ O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:[2388] 340 I cannot live to hear the news from England; But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,[2389] Which have solicited. The rest is silence. [_Dies._[2390] 345 _Hor._ Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,[2391] And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! [_March within._[2392] Why does the drum come hither? _Enter_ FORTINBRAS, _and the_ English Ambassadors, _with drum, colours, and_ Attendants.[2393] _Fort._ Where is this sight? _Hor._ What is it you would see?[2394] If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.[2395] 350 _Fort._ This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death,[2396] What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,[2397] That thou so many princes at a shot[2398] So bloodily hast struck? _First Amb._ The sight is dismal;[2399] And our affairs from England come too late: 355 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?