1 So by my former lecture and advice Shall you my son.
2 And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son.
3 O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience.
4 He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper.
5 That would be scann'd: A villain kills my father, and for that I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven.
6 Head to foot Now is he total gules, horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their vile murders.
7 For your intent In going back to school in Wittenberg, It is most retrograde to our desire: And we beseech you bend you to remain Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
8 We pray you throw to earth This unprevailing woe, and think of us As of a father; for let the world take note You are the most immediate to our throne, And with no less nobility of love Than that which dearest father bears his son Do I impart toward you.
9 First, her father slain; Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Of his own just remove; the people muddied, Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly In hugger-mugger to inter him.
10 Look you, sir, Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, What company, at what expense; and finding By this encompassment and drift of question, That they do know my son, come you more nearer Than your particular demands will touch it.