He's dead, He's dead.... I, I can't believe he's really dead. Hamlet, my nephew/son murdered Polonius. Poor soul. Hamlet is boarding a ship as we speek, to England, hopefully, never to return to Denmark. What will come of this? Ophelia is acting crazy since she heard the news of her father's untimly death; and rumor has it that Laertes, in a rage, is bound for Elsinore at this very moment. Surely I can convince him that I took no part in this sharade... it was all Hamlet. I'm not guilty. Oh, this isn't good at all.
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