_Oph._ I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
_Pol._ Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby; That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly; Or, you'll tender me a fool.
_Oph._ My lord, he hath impórtun'd me with love In honourable fashion.
_Pol._ Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
_Oph._ And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
_Pol._ Ay, springes to catch woodcocks.[84] I do know, When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul Lends the tongue vows: This is for all,-- I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, Have you so slander any leisure moment,[85] As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.
_Enter_ HAMLET, HORATIO, _and_ MARCELLUS (L.H.U.E.)
_Ham._ The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
_Hor._ It is a nipping and an eager air.[86]
_Hor._ (R.C.) Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season, Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[_A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot off without._]
_Ham._ (L.C.) The king doth wake to-night,[87] and takes his rouse,[88] And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge.
But to my mind,--though I am native here, And to the manner born,--it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
_Ham._ (C.) Angels and ministers of grace defend us!-- Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,[89] That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee--Hamlet, King, father: Royal Dane: O, answer me! Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,[90] Have burst their cerements;[91] why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in cómplete steel, Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature[92] So horridly to shake our disposition[93] With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?