Ros.

God save you, Sir.

Guild.

Mine honour'd lord!

Ros.

My most dear lord!

Ham.

My excellent good friends! how dost thou Guildenstern? Oh, Rosincrosse, good lads! how do ye 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.

Ham.

Nor the soals of her shooe?

Ros.

Neither, my lord.

Ham.

Then you live about her waste, or in the middle of her favours?

Guil.

Faith, her privates we.

Ham.

In the secret parts of fortune? oh, most true; she is a strumpet. What news?

Ros.

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

Ham.

Then is dooms day near; but your news is not true. ‡ ^noteLet 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.

Ros.

Then is the world one.

Ham.

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

Ros.

We think not so, my lord.

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.

Ham.

Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count my self a King of infinite space; were it not that I have bad dreams.

Guil.

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

Ham.

A dream it self 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 out-stretch'd heroes, the beggars shadows; Shall we to th' court? for by my fay, I cannot reason.

Both.

We'll wait upon you.

Ham.

No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants: for to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended; but in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinoor?

Ros.

To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

Ham.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a half-penny. Were you not sent for? is it your own inclining? is it a free visitation? come, deal justly with me; come, come; nay, speak.

Guil.

What should we say, my lord?

Ham.

Any thing but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.

Ros.

To what end, my lord?

Ham.

That you must teach me; but let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear, a better proposer could charge you withal; be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no?

Ros.

What say you?

Ham.

Nay then I have an eye of you: if you love me, hold not off.

Guil.

My lord, we were sent for.

Ham.

I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise; and indeed, it goes

so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o'er-hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me; nor woman neither, tho' by your smiling you seem to say so.

Ros.

My lord there was no such stuff in my thoughts.

Ham.

Why did you laugh, when I said, man delights not me?

Ros.

To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the Players shall receive from you; we accosted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.

Ham.

He that plays the King shall be welcome; his majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foyle and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are they?

Ros.

Even those you were wont to take delight in, the Tragedians of the city.

Ham.

How chances it they travel? their residence both in reputation and profit was better, both ways.

Ros.

I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Ham.

Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? are they so follow'd?

Ros.

No indeed, they are not.

Ham.

How comes it? do they grow rusty?

Ros.

Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but

there is, Sir, an † ^noteAiry of Children, little yases, that cry out on the top of question; and are most tyrannically clapt for't; these are now the fashion, and so be-rattle the common stages (so they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose quills, and dare scarce come thither.

Ham.

What, are they Children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted? will they pursue the Quality no longer than they can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players? as it is most like, if their means are no better: their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession.

Ros.

Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them to controversie. There was for a while no money bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.

Ham.

Is't possible?

Guil.

Oh there has been much throwing about of brains.

Ham.

Do the boys carry it away?

Ros.

Ay, that they do, my lord, Hercules and his load too.

Ham.

It is not strange; for mine uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mowes at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducates a-piece, for his picture in little. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

Guil.

There are the players.

Ham.

Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinoor; your hands: come then, the appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garbe, lest my extent to the players (which I tell you must shew fairly outward) should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my Uncle-father and Aunt-mother are deceiv'd.

Guil.

In what, my dear lord?

Ham.

I am but mad north, north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.