As thou art to thyself. Such was the very armor he had on When he the ambitious Norway combated.

As thou art to thyself. Such was the very armor he had on When he the ambitious Norway combated. So frowned he once when, in an angry parle, He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. ’Tis strange. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. In what particular thought to work I know not, But in the gross and scope of mine opinion This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land, And why such daily cast of brazen cannon And foreign mart for implements of war, Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Does not divide the Sunday from the week. What might be toward that this sweaty haste Doth make the night joint laborer with the day? Who is ’t that can inform me? That can I. At least the whisper goes so: our last king, Whose image even but now appeared to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride, Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteemed him) Did slay this Fortinbras, who by a sealed compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror.