TEXT:
LAERTES
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged
Most thoroughly for my father.
CLAUDIUS
Who shall stay you?
LAERTES
My will, not all the world:
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
CLAUDIUS
Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge,
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?
LAERTES
None but his enemies.
CLAUDIUS
Will you know them then?
LAERTES
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;
And like the kind life-rendering pelican,
Repast them with my blood.
CLAUDIUS
Why, now you speak
Like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensible in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce
As day does to your eye.
NOTES:
Pelican
In medieval Europe, pelicans had the reputation of being especially attentive to their young. Their large bills could be used to store fish, but in leaner times it was believed that the pelican would stab its own breast to draw blood to feed its young. By extension, the bird’s self-sacrifice came to be associated with that of Jesus Christ in the Passion. Elizabeth I eventually incorporated the image into the language of her portraits - she liked the association of a mother who will do anything for her young - or her country. (Below is the so-called Pelican Portrait by Nicholas Hilliard, now housed at the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool. You can see a close-up of the pelican at the centre of the queen’s own breast.)
The Pelican Portrait of Elizabeth I by Nicholas Hilliard.