QUEEN. O me, what hast thou done?

HAMLET. Nay, I know not. Is it the King?

[_Draws forth Polonius._]

QUEEN. O what a rash and bloody deed is this!

HAMLET. A bloody deed. Almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king and marry with his brother.

QUEEN. As kill a king?

HAMLET. Ay, lady, ’twas my word.— [_To Polonius._] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune, Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger.— Leave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz’d it so, That it is proof and bulwark against sense.