Cl. (rises). Stop! [Hamlet about to resume.
Come hither, Hamlet!
Ham. (takes off robes and comes down). Why what ails you, sir?
Cl. (with suppressed fury). Know'st thou who wrote this play?
Ham. Not I, indeed.
Nor do I care to know!
Cl. I wrote this play—
To mention it is death, by Denmark's law!
Q. Oh, spare him, for he is thine only child!
Cl. No—I have two—my son—my play—both worthless!
Both shall together perish! [Draws dagger.
I can't bear death—I'm a philosopher!
Oph. Apollo's son, Lycaeus, built a fane
At Athens, where philosophers dispute:
'Tis known as the "Lyceum." Send him there,
He will find such a hearty welcome, sir,
That he will stay there, goodness knows how long!
Cl. Well, be it so—and, Hamlet, get you gone!
[He goes to the Lyceum, where he is much esteemed.
Curtain.
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
