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I find thee apt;And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weedThat roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father's lifeNow wears his crown.