HAMLET:
O merciful God that art above me,
What fellow is this that dost accost me—
You? Of course I know you: thou art a fraud.
A regular fishmonger no less.
No? Then t'were you a more honest man;
A fishmonger, rather a nobleman,
For an honest man can only be found
One in ten thousand on this rotten ground.
Likewise –the sun breeds maggots in dead dogs
Obsequiousness this carrion's vice—
A moment: tell me, have you a daughter?
Thus never allow her walk i'th' sun
For conception of thought (and the womb)
Tis a blessing for a woman and yet
Disgraceful for daughters. Be warned; look to't.
What pray ask? I read nothing of meaning,
Nothing of substance; just words, words, and words.
There is no matter between whom or what
Merely slanders, and ganders, and satires
That state that old men's hair age, their eyes bulge,
With their mind shook loose of wit and wisdom.
Tis true, but now false to be conveyed thus.
Such words loose all power when written down.
And logic is simply perception's fool.
You could grow as old as I now hence;
Merely walk back in time as crabs walk back.
—Oh to walk backwards...–What? Into my grave?
This tedious old fool... Take leave of what?
Man may take what I willingly give—
Except my life, t'were if God could forgive.
All seriousness must irony be
Only madness-reason accompany.
[The actual dialogue]
HAMLET: Well, God-a-mercy.
POLONIUS: Do you know me, my lord?
HAMLET: Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
POLONIUS: Not I, my lord.
HAMLET: Then I would you were so honest a man.
POLONIUS: Honest, my lord!
HAMLET: Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be
one man picked out of ten thousand.
POLONIUS: That's very true, my lord.
HAMLET: For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,-Have you a daughter?
POLONIUS: I have, my lord.
HAMLET: Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a
blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive.
Friend, look to 't.
POLONIUS: [Aside] I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my lord?
HAMLET:
Words, words, words.
POLONIUS: What is the matter, my lord?
HAMLET: Between who?
POLONIUS: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
HAMLET: 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
yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab
you could go backward.
POLONIUS: [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
HAMLET: Into my grave.
POLONIUS: Indeed, that is out o' the air. My honourable
lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.
HAMLET: You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will
more willingly part withal: except my life, except
my life, except my life.
POLONIUS: Fare you well, my lord.
HAMLET: These tedious old fools!
