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POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so, There is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world, So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although ’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder Were, in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother.