“Hamlet: O, I die, Horatio!
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit.
I cannot live to hear the news from England.
But I do prophesy th'election lights
On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice.
So tell him, with th'occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited - the rest is silence.
*he dies*
Horatio: Now cracks a noble heart.
Good night, sweet Prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
”