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is dead.

Queen. Nor

earth to

me give

food, nor

heaven

light,

Sport and

repose

lock from

me day and

night, To

desperation

turn my

trust and

hope, An

anchor's

cheer in

prison be

my scope,

Each

opposite

that

blanks the

face of

joy Meet

what I

would have

well, and

it

destroy,

Both here

and hence

pursue me

lasting

strife,

If, once a

widow,

ever I be

wife! Ham.

If she

should

break it

now! King.

'Tis

deeply

sworn.

Sweet,

leave me

here