HAMLET The point envenomed too? Then venom to thy work!
[Hurts the King.]
LORDS Treason, treason!
CLAUDIUS O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt.
HAMLET Here, thou incestuous, damned Dane!
Drink of this potion. Is the union here?
Follow my mother. [King dies.]
LAERTES He is justly served.
It is a poison tempered by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet,
Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee,
Nor thine on me. [Dies.] (5.2.306-315)
The point envenomed too? Hamlet knows about the unbated point, because he’s seen and felt the wounds, but the poison, that’s news. Then venom to thy work! Poison, do what you can! And while venom as poison is not unusual, there’s a connection here back to the circumstances of Hamlet’s father’s death, when he was, he said, stung by a serpent, poisoned by his brother. This is a poisoned sting too. The circularity matters, as does the fact that Hamlet knows now that, if he wants to kill Claudius, a scratch will be enough, all he needs is to draw blood and Claudius will be as dead as he and Laertes are. Treason, treason, shout the courtiers, not keeping up, or perhaps weighing up their loyalty options at high speed, and Claudius responds to that, ever the politician, nothing to see here, just a scratch, O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt—because he’d like someone to take Hamlet out, at least shut him up, before all the truth is revealed, because it is confirmed in detail that the king is indeed to blame. (Laertes doesn’t know the half of it.) Hamlet’s taking no chances, seizing the cup (so he can still stand, it seems): here, thou incestuous, damned Dane! Incestuous was always central to his obsessive hatred even before he knew about the murder; Dane is a calculated insult: call yourself a king? I am the Dane, the rightful heir, might be the implication: this is I, Hamlet the Dane, as he announced himself in the previous scene. So drink of this potion—and he forces Claudius to drink, there will be slopping wine, grappling (or sometime Claudius knows the game’s up, and swigs grimly). Is the union here? that poisoned, deadly pearl (but also the disastrous, murderous marriage). Follow my mother—even into death, if you care about her so much.
He is justly served, concedes Laertes, Claudius is the real villain here. It is a poison tempered by himself; he set all this up and he’s caught in his own trap too. But Laertes doesn’t even know about the murder of old Hamlet, and he knows he’s only got a few seconds, and other matters are more pressing: exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet, mine and my father’s death come not upon thee, nor thine on me. In his dying words, Laertes is concerned—as Hamlet has been, for his father, and for himself—for the state of his soul, and he knows that matters to Hamlet too. We’re quits, we can forgive each other, we can go to meet our Maker without that stain at least upon our immortal souls? The theology is shaky but the sentiment is genuine and touching, one dying boy to another. (But what about Ophelia?)
