Pol.

I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
When I had seen this hot love on the wing
(As I perceived it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me), what might you,
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
If I had played the desk or table-book;

Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb ;
Or looked upon this love with idle sight; -
What might you think? No, I went round to work,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
"Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star;
This must not be;" and then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;
And he, repulsèd (a short tale to make),
Fell into a sadness; then into a fast;
Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness ;
Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension
Into the madness wherein now he raves,

And all we wail for.

King.

Do you think 't is this?

Queen.

It may be very likely.

Pol.

Hath there been such a time (I 'd fain know that),

That I have positively said, " 'T is so,"

When it proved otherwise ?

Not that I know.

King.

Pol.

Take this from this, if this be otherwise :

[Pointing to his head and shoulder.

If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

King.

How may we try it further ?

Pol.

You know, sometimes he walks for hours together
Here in the lobby.

Queen.

So he does, indeed.

Pol.

At such a time I 'll loose my daughter to him :

Be you and I behind an arras then;

Mark the encounter: if he love her not,

And be not from his reason fallen thereon,

Let me be no assistant for a state,

But keep a farm and carters.

Queen.

45

[Goes up c.

But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes, reading.

Then I would you were so honest a man.

Honest, my lord!

Pol.

Hamlet.

Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man

picked out of ten thousand.

Pol.

That 's very true, my lord.

Hamlet.

For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion, - Have you a daughter ?

Pol.

I have, my lord.

Hamlet.

Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a blessing; but not as your daughter may conceive: - friend, look to 't.

Still harping on my daughter: - yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do you read, my lord ?

Words, words, words.

Hamlet.

t

Pol.

What is the matter, my lord ?

Hamlet.

Between who?

Pol.

I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

Hamlet.

Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.-
Will you walk out of the air, my lord ?

Into my grave?

Hamlet.

Pol.

Indeed, that is out o' the air. - [Aside.] How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will 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.

Hamlet.

You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal,- except my life, except my life, except my life.

Fare you well, my lord.

These tedious old fools!

Pol.

[Exit Polonius L.

Hamlet.

[As Polonius retires, he meets, outside, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Pol.

You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is.

God save you, sir!

Ros.

[To Pol.

stern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both ?

What news?

Ros.

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

Hamlet.

Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. In the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore ?

Ros.

To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

Hamlet.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation ? Come, deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.