Ros. 
To what end, my lord?

Ham.  That you must teach me.  But let me conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no.

Ros.
[To Guildenstern.] What say you?

Ham. [Aside.] Nay, then, I have an eye of you.—­If you love me, hold not off.

Guil. 
My lord, we were sent for.

Ham.  I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather.  I have of late,—­but wherefore I know not,—­lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,—­why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.  What a piece of work is man!  How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!  And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?  Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Ros. 
My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.

Ham. 
Why did you laugh then, when I said ‘Man delights not me’?

Ros.  To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you:  we coted them on the way; and hither are they coming to offer you service.

Ham.  He that plays the king shall be welcome,—­his majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o’ the sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for’t.  What players are they?

Ros.  Even those you were wont to take such delight in,—­the tragedians of the city.

Ham.  How chances it they travel? their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.

Ros.  I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Ham.  Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city?  Are they so followed?

Ros. 
No, indeed, are they not.

Ham. 
How comes it? do they grow rusty?

Ros.  Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace:  but there is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for’t:  these are now the fashion; and so berattle the common stages,—­so they call them,—­that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.