Read it through once

And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, Thou may'st not coldly set[6] Our sovereign process;[7] which imports at full, By letters conjuring to that effect,[8] The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; For thou must cure me: 'Till I know 'tis done, Howe'er my haps,[9] my joys will ne'er begin.