King. 
How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Ham. 
Excellent, i’ faith; of the chameleon’s dish:  I eat the air,
promise-crammed:  you cannot feed capons so.

King. 
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not
mine.

Ham. 
No, nor mine now.  My lord, you play’d once i’ the university, you
say? [To Polonius.]

Pol. 
That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.

Ham. 
What did you enact?

Pol. 
I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill’d i’ the Capitol; Brutus
killed me.

Ham. 
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.—­Be
the players ready?

Ros. 
Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.

Queen. 
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

Ham. 
No, good mother, here’s metal more attractive.

Pol. 
O, ho! do you mark that? [To the King.]

Ham. 
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia’s feet.]

Oph. 
No, my lord.

Ham. 
I mean, my head upon your lap?

Oph. 
Ay, my lord.

Ham. 
Do you think I meant country matters?

Oph. 
I think nothing, my lord.

Ham. 
That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.

Oph. 
What is, my lord?

Ham. 
Nothing.

Oph. 
You are merry, my lord.

Ham. 
Who, I?

Oph. 
Ay, my lord.

Ham.  O, your only jig-maker!  What should a man do but be merry? for look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within ’s two hours.

Oph. 
Nay, ’tis twice two months, my lord.

Ham.  So long?  Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of sables.  O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet?  Then there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year:  but, by’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot!’

[Trumpets sound.  The dumb show enters.]

[Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her.  She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him.  He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck:  lays him down upon a bank of flowers:  she, seeing him asleep, leaves him.  Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the king’s ears, and exit.  The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action.  The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her.  The dead body is carried away.  The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love.]

[Exeunt.]

Oph. 
What means this, my lord?

Ham. 
Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.