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 suff'red much
extremity
for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do
you
read, my lord?
Ham. Words, words, words.
Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
Ham. Between who?
Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
Ham. 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.
Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a method
in't.-
Will You walk out of the air, my lord?
Ham. Into my grave?
Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' 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.
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