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And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
"Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star.
This must not be;" and then I prescripts
gave her,

That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;
And he, repulsed-a short tale to make-
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we mourn for.

King.

Do you think 'tis this?

Queen. It may be, very likely.

Pol. Hath there been such a time-I'd fain know

that

155 That I have positively said "Tis so,”

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When it proved otherwise?

King.

Not that I know.

Pol. [Pointing to his head and shoulder.] Take this from this, if this be otherwise.

If circumstances lead me, I will find

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

King.

How may we try it further? Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours

together

Here in the lobby.

Queen.

So he does, indeed.

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to

him.

Be

you

and I behind an arras then.

Mark the encounter. If he love her not

And be not from his reason fallen thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,

King.

But keep a farm and carters.

We will try it.

Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch

comes reading.

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away.

I'll board him presently.

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.
Enter Hamlet, reading.

O, give me leave, how does my good Lord
Hamlet?

Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my lord?

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not I, my lord.

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
Pol. Honest, my lord!

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Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, 180 is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.

Pol. That's very true, my lord.

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead

dog, being a good kissing carrion,-Have you a daughter?

Pol. I have, my lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception

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is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't.

190 Pol. [Aside.] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; 195 very near this. I'll speak to him again.What do you read, my lord?

Ham. Words, words, words.

Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
Ham. Between who?

200 Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Ham. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says

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here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams; all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.

Pol. [Aside.] Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.-Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Ham. Into my grave?

215 Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' air. [Aside.]

How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a

happiness that often madness hits on, which

reason and sanity could not so prosperously
be delivered of. I will leave him, and
suddenly contrive the means of meeting 220
between him and my daughter.-My honour-
able lord, I will most humbly take my leave
of you.

Ham. You can not, sir, take from me any thing
that I will more willingly part withal,-
[Aside] except my life, except my life,
except my life.

Pol. Fare you well, my lord.

Ham. These tedious old fools!

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

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Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet? There 230

he is.

Ros. [To Polonius.] God save you, sir!

Guil. My honoured lord!

Ros. My most dear lord!

[Exit Polonius.

Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost 235 thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do you both?

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy.

On Fortune's cap we are not the very button. 240

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?

Ros. Neither, my lord.

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the

middle of her favours?

news?

What's the

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Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown

honest.

Ham. Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?

Guil. Prison, my lord?

Ham. Denmark's a prison.

255 Ros. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.

Ros. We think not so, my lord.

260 Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.

Ros. Why, then, your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your mind.

265 Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

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Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and

light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our

monarchs and outstretched heroes the beg

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