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What art thou that usurp't this time of night, In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!
Our King won the land of Fortinbras...Now, sir, young Fortinbras of unimproved metal hot and full, hath in the skirts of Norway here and there, shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes...But to recover of us, by strong hand and terms compulsory, those forbid lands so by his father lost.
Why this same strict and most observant watch so lightly toils the subject of the land, and why such daily cast of brazen cannon, and foreign mart for implements of war, why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task does not divide the Sunday from the week.
Stay illusion! If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, speak to me.
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