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Hor. Custom hath made it to him a property of easiness.
Ham. 'Tis even fo; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
Clown fings. " But age with his stealing steps
“ Hath clawed me in his clutch: “ And hath shipped me into the land,
“ As if I had never been such."
Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once; how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone that did the first murder! this might be the pate of a politician, which this ass o'er-offices; one that would circumvent God, might it not ?
Hor. It might, my Lord.
sweet Lord; how dost thou, good Lord?” this might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised my Lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?
Hor. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. Why, even fo: and now my Lady Worm's chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a fexton's spade. Here's a fine revolution, if we had the trick to fee't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with them? mine ake to think on't. (68)
(08) Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at Joggers with them?] I have restored, from the old copies, the true word, loggats. We meet with it again in Ben John
Now are they tosling of his legs and arms
A Tale of a Tub.
“ For,---and a shrouding theet !
“ 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 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 pate full of fine dirt ? will his vouchers vouch hiin 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 ly in this box; and must the inheritor hiinfelf have no more? ha? Hor. Not a jot more, my
Ham. They are sheep and calves that seek out
“ O, a pit of clay for to be made
“ For such a guest is meet.”
What fort of sport this was, I confess, I do not know; but I find it in the list of unlawful games, prohibited by a statute 33 Henry VIII. cap. '1. sect. 16.
Ham I think it be thine indeed, for thou lyest in't.
Clown. You ly out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not yours; for my part, I do not ly in't, yet it is mine.
Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say, 'tis thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou lyest.
Clown. '1'is a quick lie, Sir, 'twill away again from me to you.
Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?
Clown. One that was a woman, Sir; but, reft her soul, she's dead.
Ham. How abfolute the knave is! we must speak 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, that he galls his kibe. How long halt thou been a grave-maker?
Ham. 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 lie was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there,
Clown. 'Twill not be seen in hiin; there the men are as mad as he.
Ham. How came he mad?
Clown. Why, here, in Denmark. I have been fexton here, man and boy, thirty years.
Ham. How long will a man ly i' th' earth ere he rot?
Clown. I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will Icarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last you nine years.
Ham. Why he more than another?
Clown. Why, Sir, his hide is so tanned 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 scull now has lain in the earth three and twenty years.
Ham. Whose was it?
Clown. A whoreson 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 poured a faggon of Rhenish on my head once. This fame scull, Sir, was Yorick's scull, the King's jester.
Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jelt; of most exquisite fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and
M L E T, now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have killed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your fongs? your Aathes of merri. ment, 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, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that, Priythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
Hor. What's that, my Lord ?
Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' th' earth ?
Hor. Even so.
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 bunghole?
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curioufly 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 Joam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ?
Imperial Cæfar, dead and turned to clay,