Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do
surely
bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs
to
your friend.
Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King
himself
for your succession in Denmark?
Ham. Ay, sir, but 'while the grass grows'- the proverb is
something
musty.
Enter the Players with recorders.
O, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with you- why
do
you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive
me
into a toil?
Guil. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too
unmannerly.
Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this
pipe?
Guil. My lord, I cannot.
Ham. I pray you.
Guil. Believe me, I cannot.
Ham. I do beseech you.
Guil. I know, no touch of it, my lord.
Ham. It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your
fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth, and it
will
discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.
Guil. But these cannot I command to any utt'rance of harmony.
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