"It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain;<br>
no medicine in the world can do thee good;<br>
in thee there is not half an hour of life;<br>
the treacherous instrument is in thy hand,<br>
unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice<br>
hath turned itself upon me lo, here I lie,<br>
never to rise again; thy mother's poison'd:<br>
I can no more; the King, the King's to blame."