Ham. Do the boys carry it away?
Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too.
Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark,
and
those that would make mows at him while my father lived give
twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture
in
little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than
natural, if
philosophy could find it out.
Flourish for the Players.
Guil. There are the players.
Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come!
Th'
appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me
comply
with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I
tell you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like
entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my
uncle-father
and aunt-mother are deceiv'd.
Guil. In what, my dear lord?
Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly
I
know a hawk from a handsaw.
Enter Polonius.
Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen!
Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer!
That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling
clouts.
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