All. Gentlemen!

HORATIO. Good my lord, be quiet.

[_The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave._]

HAMLET. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

QUEEN. O my son, what theme?

HAMLET. I lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

KING. O, he is mad, Laertes.

QUEEN. For love of God forbear him!