KING. Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?

POLONIUS. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave By laboursome petition; and at last Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent. I do beseech you give him leave to go.

KING. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will! But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—

HAMLET. [_Aside._] A little more than kin, and less than kind.

KING. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

HAMLET. Not so, my lord, I am too much i’ the sun.