[Enter a Gentleman.]
What is the matter?
Gent.
Save yourself, my lord:
The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your offices. The rabble call him lord;
And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'
Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,
'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'
Queen.
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
[A noise within.]
King.
The doors are broke.
[Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.]
Laer.
Where is this king?Sirs, stand you all without.
Danes.
No, let's come in.
Laer.
I pray you, give me leave.
Danes.
We will, we will.
[They retire without the door.]
Laer.
I thank you:keep the door.O thou vile king,
Give me my father!
Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer.
That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;
Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot