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To contract, oh, the time for, a, my behove,
Oh, methought there was nothing so meet. Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he fings at grave-making?
Hor, Custom hàth made it to him a property of eafiness,
Ham. 'Tis e'en fo; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
Haih claw'd me in his clutch :
As if I had never been such.
Hor. It might, my Lord, Ham. Or of a courtier, which could fay, “Good morrow, sweet Lord; how dolt thou, good Lord ?" This might be my Lord such a one, that prais't my Lord such a one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?
Hor. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. Why, e'en fo: and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd about the mazzard with a fexa ton's fpade. Here's a fine revolution, if we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em ? mine ake to think on't.
For, and a lihrouding Meet!
For such a guest is meet.
the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not cell him of his action of battery Hum! this fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his
recog. nisances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his re. coveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures ? the very conveyances of his lands will bardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himselfs have no more ? ha ?
Hor. Not a jot more, my Lord.
Ham. They are sheep and calves that seek out assuerance in that. I will speak to this fellow. . Whole: grave's this, firrab ? Clown, Mine, sir
0, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet. Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou lielt in't,
Clown. You lye out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not? your's; for my part, I do not lye in't, yet it is mine.
Ham Thou doit lye in't, to be in't, and say, 'tis; thine : 'tis for the dead, and not for the quick, there. . fore tbou ly’lt.
Clown. 'Tis a quick lye, sir, 'twill away again from me to you
Ham. What man dost thou dig it for:
Clown. One that was a wounan, Sir; but, rest hery soul, The's dead.
Ham. liow absolute the knave is ? we muft fpeak by: the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it, the: age is grown so picked, that the toe- of the peasanto comes lo near the heel of our courtier, he galls his kibe.. How long halt thou been a grave-maker.
Clown. Of all the days i'th' year, I came to't that day that our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras,
Ham. How long is that since ?
Clown. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that : it was that very day that young Hamlet was born, he that was mad, and lent into England,
Ham. Ay, marry, why was he fent into England?
Clown. Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wirs there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there.
Glown, 'Twill not be seen in him; there the men are as mad as he.
Ham. How came he mad?
Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexe ton here, man and boy, thirty years.
Ham. How long will a man liei'th'earth ere he rot?
Clown. l'faith, if he be not rotten betore he die, (as. we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in), he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last
years, Ham. Why he more than another ?
Clown. Why, Sir, his hide is fo tann'd with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while. water is a fore decayer of your whorson dead body. Here's a scull now has lain in the earth three and twena ty years.
Ham. Whofe was it?
Clown. A whorson mad fellow's it was; whose do you
think it was ? Ham. Nay, I know not,
Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he pour'd a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once. This jame scull, Sir, was Yorick's scull, the King's jester.
Ham. This ?
Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jeft; of most excellent fancy : he hatha
bcrne me on his back a thousand tiines ; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not bow oft, Where be your gibes now ; your gambols; your fongs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to fet the table in a roar? not one now, to mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen? now get you to my · Lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour fhe must come; make her laugh at that
Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my Lord?
Ham, Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fafhion i' ch' earth ?
Hor. E'en so,
Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! wby may not imagination trace the noble dust of A. Jexander, till he find it stopping a bung hole ?
Hor. 'Twere to confider too curiouły, to consider so.
Ham. No, 'faith, not a jot : but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus : Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust; the dult is carth ; of earth we make lome ; and why of that lome, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer barrel ? Imperial Cæfar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. Oh that that earth which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall t'expeł the winter's flaw ! But soft! but soft a while bere comes the King,
S CE N E II. Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords
and Priests attendant, The Queen, the courtiers. What is that they follow, And with such maimed rites ? this doth betoken, The corse they follow did with desperate band Foredo its own life ; 'twas of some estate. Couch we a while, and mark,
Laar. What ceremony else?
Ham. That is Laertes a most noble youth : mark-
Priest Her obiequies have been so far enlarg'd
For charitable prayers,
Laer. Mul no more be done?
Priest. No more be done !
Laer. Lay her i'th' earth;
May violents spring! I tell thee, churlith priesto: “. A miniftring angel shall my liider be, 5. When thou liest howling.
Ham What, the fair Ophelia !
Queen Sweets to the sweei, farewel!
Laer ( treble woe:
[Laertes leaps into the
grave, Now pile your duit upon the quick and dead, 'Till of this flat a mountain you have made, T'o'ertop old Pelion, or the tkyish head Of blue Olympus.
Ham. [discovering himself. ] What is he whose griefs Bear such an emphalis ? whole phrase of sorrow Gonjures the wand’iog dars and makes them Itand Like wonder-wouaded hearers ? this is I,
[Hamlet leaps into the grave;. Burial here significs interment in confecrated grour.d..