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That can I;At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,Whose image even but now appear'd to us,Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,Well ratified by law and heraldry,Did forfeit, with his life, all those his landsWhich he stood seized of, to the conqueror:Against the which, a moiety competentWas gaged by our king; which had return'dTo the inheritance of Fortinbras,Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,And carriage of the article design'd,His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,Of unimproved mettle hot and full,Hath in the skirts of Norway here and thereShark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,For food and diet, to some enterpriseThat hath a stomach in't; which is no other--As it doth well appear unto our state--But to recover of us, by strong handAnd terms compulsatory, those foresaid landsSo by his father lost: and this, I take it,Is the main motive of our preparations,The source of this our watch and the chief headOf this post-haste and romage in the land.