HORATIO       Of that I shall have also cause to speak

And from his mouth whose voice will draw no more.

But let this same be presently performed

Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance

On plots and errors happen.             (5.2.375-379)

Horatio’s being very, very careful, very measured, no sudden moves—and he’s exhausted—he is doing his best to strike a balance between Fortinbras being in charge, de facto, and carrying out Hamlet’s wishes. Of that—the question of the succession, given that Fortinbras has just claimed the crown—I shall have also cause to speak and from his mouth whose voice will draw no more. Yes, I’ve got something to say about that (the syntax is slightly odd, have also, but it maintains the metre: Horatio is hanging on to every possible fingerhold of structure and order)—but then he perhaps falters, because what he needs to say about the succession was framed, only moments before, by Hamlet himself as his dying voice, and that’s echoing in Horatio’s mind as he looks at his friend and knows that he will never speak another word. Mouth is real, tangible, a close-up on a beloved face. I’m never going to hear his voice again, Horatio thinks.

But let this same be presently performed—yes, your suggestion (well, command) that the bodies be moved and put on public view, and that everyone meet together to go over what’s happened, that’s a really good idea, and it should happen right away—even while men’s minds are wild (he’s one of the men with a wild mind, an absolute whirlwind, but he’s more generally thinking about rumour and surmise, uncertainty and unrest, which will already be spreading; it’s pragmatic)—lest more mischance on plots and errors happen. You need to hear it from me, everyone does, there needs to be an official version heard and agreed, otherwise we’ll lose control of the narrative and anything could happen. (Horatio’s demonstrating an unexpectedly worldly streak, or at least a pragmatic one. Emotionally, he’s utterly destroyed, on the floor with exhaustion—he hasn’t left Hamlet’s side since they were reunited on the latter’s return to Denmark, it seems—but intellectually, he knows that the window for damage control is closing and he’s got to do what his friend has asked him to do, tell his story. And then—well, it’s in the hands of Fortinbras, apparently Denmark’s new king.

One more to go.