What news ?
Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
Ham. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me
question more in particular. What have you, my good friends,
deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison
hither?
Guil. Prison, my lord?
Ham. Denmark's a prison.
Ros. Then is the world one.
Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and
dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst.
Ros. We think not so, my lord.
Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either
good
or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for
your
mind.
Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a
king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance
of
the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.
Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality
that
it is but a shadow's shadow.
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