Ham.
What ho, Horatio?

Hor.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.

Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coap'd withal.

Hor.
Oh my dear lord—

Ham.
Nay, do not think I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits
To feed and cloath thee? Should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for her self. For thou hast been
As one, in suffering all that suffers nothing.
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hath ta'en with equal thanks. And blest are those,
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core: ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.—Something too much of this.—
There is a play to-night before the King,
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot,
Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul

Observe mine uncle: if his occult guilt
Do not it self unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen:
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's † ^notestithy. Give him heedful note,
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
And after we will both our judgments join,
To censure of his seeming.

Hor.
Well, my lord.
If he steal ought the whilst this play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.

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