This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. HAMLET. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.

OPHELIA. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. HAMLET. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.

OPHELIA. Still better, and worse.

HAMLET. SO you mistake your husbands.-Begin, murderer; leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come;

The croaking raven

oth bellow for revenge.

PL. 6.

LUCIANUS. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit and time agreeing;

Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property,
On wholesome life usurp immediately.

(Pours the poison into the Sleeper's ears.) HAMLET. He poisons him i'the garden for his