No, no, the drink, the drink!—O my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink! I am poisoned. (dies)
It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. No medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee there is not half an hour of life. The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated and envenomed. The foul practice
The point envenomed too!—Then, venom, to thy work.
O, yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt.
Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damnèd Dane, Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? Follow my mother.
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