HAMLET         Come on, sir.

LAERTES        Come, my lord. [They play.]

HAMLET         One!

LAERTES        No!

HAMLET         Judgement?

OSRIC A hit, a very palpable hit.

Drum, trumpets and shot

LAERTES        Well, again.

CLAUDIUS      Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine:

Here’s to thy health. Give him the cup.

HAMLET         I’ll play this bout first. Set it by awhile. [They play.]

Come, another hit! – What say you?

LAERTES        I do confess’t.

CLAUDIUS      Our son shall win.     (5.2.257-269)

Hamlet takes the initiative—Come on, sir—and Laertes agrees, come, my lord—and then they’re at it, with whatever weapons (almost always foils or rapiers; it’s very hard, given the action, to do anything else, and the point is, this isn’t set up as a duel, a knife-fight won’t cut it, as it were). What the text can’t convey is the details of the action, or how long the bout lasts before Hamlet claims the first hit: one! It’s very slight, perhaps, or else Laertes is trying his luck, perhaps that’s the expectation—No!—whatever, it increases the tension, as Hamlet calls for judgement? and Osric confirms that it was a hit, a very palpable hit, no doubt whatsoever. So, after the tense near-silence, with just the clash of weapons, suddenly there’s noise, drums, trumpets and shot, the sound of cannon, just as Claudius promised. Well, again, says Laertes, and so they restart. It seems that Claudius isn’t taking any chances—perhaps he thinks the competition’s closer than he imagined, that Hamlet’s doing better than he’d anticipated?—and so he brings forward the business with the cup, the pearl, the poison. Stay, give me drink—the cup is brought to him?—Hamlet, this pearl is thine, and he shows it again. Here’s to thy health, and on that he drops in the pearl, the poison. Give him the cup! But Hamlet’s just getting into the competition, doesn’t want the interruption (he’d have to take off a glove, even): I’ll play this bout first, we’ll settle another point. Set it by awhile, it can wait. More clashing foils, and it might be a bit wilder, less disciplined, as Laertes realises he’s got a proper fight on his hands, knows he can’t glance at Claudius for guidance. Come, another hit! crows Hamlet. Gotcha! What say you, you can’t deny it this time! I do confess’t, concedes Laertes. Claudius is keeping up appearances, an aside to Gertrude (and now he’s doing the proud stepfather thing): our son shall win. Hmmmm.