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killed me.

Ham.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.--Be
the players ready?

Ros.
Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.

Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

Ham.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.

Pol.
O, ho! do you mark that? [To the King.]

Ham.
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.]

Oph.
No, my lord.

Ham.
I mean, my head upon your lap?

Oph.
Ay, my lord.

Ham.
Do you think I meant country matters?

Oph.
I think nothing, my lord.

Ham.
That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

Oph.
What is, my lord?

Ham.
Nothing.

Oph.
You are merry, my lord.

Ham.
Who, I?

Oph.
Ay, my lord.

Ham.
O, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry?
for look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died
within 's two hours.

Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

Ham.
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a
suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten
yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life
half a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or else
shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose
epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot!'

[Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.]

[Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing
him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation
unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her
neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing
him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his
crown, kisses it, pours poison in the king's ears, and exit. The
Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action.
The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again,
seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The
Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling
awhile, but in the end accepts his love.]

[Exeunt.]

Oph.
What means this, my lord?

Ham.
Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.

Oph.
Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

[Enter Prologue.]

Ham.
We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel;
they'll tell all.

Oph.
Will he tell us what this show meant?

Ham.
Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be not you ashamed to
show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.

Oph.
You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.

Pro.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.

Ham.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

Oph.
'Tis brief, my lord.

Ham.
As woman's love.

[Enter a King and a Queen.]

P. King.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen

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