SCENE V.
Enter Hamlet reading.
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 and Queen.
Oh, give me leave.—How does my good Lord Hamlet?
Ham.
Well, God o' 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?
Ham.
Ay, Sir; to be honest, as this world goes,
is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.
Pol.
That's very true, my Lord.
-- 188 --
Ham.
6 note
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog,
Being a God, kissing carrion—
Have you a daughter?
-- 189 --
Pol.
I have, my Lord.
Ham.
Let her not walk i'th' Sun; conception is a
blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive.
Friend, look to't.
Pol.
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; and, truly, in my youth,
[Aside.
I suffered much extremity for love;
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 whom?
Pol.
I mean the matter that you read, my Lord.
Ham.
7 note
Slanders, Sir: for the satirical slave says
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,
-- 190 --
Sir, tho' I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for
yourself, Sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a
crab, you could go backward.
Pol.
Though this be madness, yet there's method in't.
[Aside.
Will you walk out of the air, my Lord?
Ham.
Into my grave.—
Pol.
Indeed, that is out o' th' air:—
How pregnant sometimes his replies are?
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which sanity and reason could not be
So prosp'rously deliver'd of. I'll leave him,
And suddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.
My honourable Lord, I will most humbly
Take my leave of you.
Ham.
You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that
I will more willingly part withal, except my life.
Pol.
Fare you well, my Lord.
Ham.
These tedious old fools!
Pol.
You go to seek Lord Hamlet; there he is.
[Exit.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
