o'er offices ; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my Lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say, good“ morrow, sweet Lord; how dost thou, good Lord?” This might be my Lord such a-one's, that prais'd 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; 3 and now my lady Worm's; chaplefs, and knockt about the mazzard with a fexton'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 4 play at loggats with 'em ? mine ake to think on't.

Clown sings.
A pick-axe and a spade, a spade,

For,—and a forowding sheet !
O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the scull of a lawyer ? where be his quiddits now? his quillets? his cases? his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he

better with the sentence: It is a images which have been more strong exaggeration to remark, newly impressed upon him, withthat an Ass can over-reach him out observing their want of conwho would once have tried to gruiry to the general texture of circumvent, I believe both his original design. the words were Shakespeare's. 3 and now my lady Worm's ;] An authour in revising his work, The scull that was my lord such a when his original ideas have fa- one's, is now my lady Worm's. ded from his

mind, and new ob 4 play at loggals) A play, in fervations have produced new which pins are set up to be beaten sentiments, eafily introduces down with a bowl.


suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery ? hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pafe 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 hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more ? ha ?

Hor. Not a jot more, my Lord.
Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep skins ?
Hor. Ay, my Lord, and of calve-skins too.

Ham. They are sheep and calves that seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose Grave's this, Sirrah?

Clown. Mine, Sir

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a Guest is meet. Ham. I think, it be thine, indeed, for thou lieft in't..

Clown. You lye out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not yours; for my part, I do not lie in'c, yet it is mine.

Ham. Thou doft lye in’t, to be in't, and say, 'tis thine : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou ly'st.

Clown. 'Tis a quick lye, Sir, 'twill away again from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? -
Clown. For no mar, Sir.
Ham. What woman then ?
Clown. For none neither.
Ham. Who is to be buried in't ?


Clown. One, that was a woman, Sir ; but, reft her soul, she's dead.

Ham. How obsolute the knave is? We must speak s 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 fo picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so 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 sent into England.

Ham, Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ?

Clown. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Ham. Why?

Clown. 'Twill not be seen in him ; there the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?
Clown. Very strangely, they say.
Ham. How ftrangely?
Clown. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Ham. Upon what ground?

Clown. Why, here, in Denmark. I have been ferton here, man and boy, thirty years.

3 by the card,] The card is the very properly; but there was, I paper on which the different think, about that time, a picked points of the compass were de- shoe, that is, a poc, with a long fcribed. To do any thing by the pointed toe, in fashion, to which card, is, to do it with nice obfer. the allusion seems likewise to be vation.

maue. Every man now is Smart; o the age is grown fo picked.] and every man now is a man of So smart, so harp; says Hanmer, fabion.



nine years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?

Clown. I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die, as we have many pocky coarses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last

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. And your water is a fore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a fcull now has lain in the earth three and twenty years.

Ham. Whofe was it?

Clown. A whorefon 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 same fcull, Sir, was Yorick's fcull, the King's jester.

Ham. This?
Clown. E'en that.

Ham. Alas, poor Torick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jeft; of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thoufand times: 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 how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your faihes of merriment, that were wont to set 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, ler her paint an inch thick, to this favour she 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'do this fashion i'th' earth?


Hor. E'en so.
Ham. And smelt so, puh? [Smelling to the Scull.
Hor. E'en so, my Lord.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio!
why may not imagination trace the noble dust of
Alexander, 'till he find it stopping a bung-hole ?
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider

fo. 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 dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? Imperial Cæsar, 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' expel the 'winter's flaw! But soft! but soft, a while-here comes the King,


Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords,

and Priests, attendant.
The Queen, the Courtiers. What is that they follow,
And with such 8 maimed rites ? This doth betoken,
The coarse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Foredo its own life. It was ' fome estate.
Couch we a while, and mark.

Laer. What ceremony else?
Ham. That is Laertes, a most noble youth. Mark-
Laer. What ceremony else?
Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd

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--winter's flaw.] Winter's blaft.
- maimed rités? Imperfect obsequies.

fame etate.] Some person of high rank.

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