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I'll

put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the

purpose, confess thyself-

Other. Go to!

Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the

shipwright, or the carpenter?

Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well.

But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now,

thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the

church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come!

Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

Other. Marry, now I can tell!

Clown. To't.

Other. Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off.

Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will

not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this

question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts

till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor.

[Exit Second Clown.]

[Clown digs and] sings.

In youth when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet;

To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove,

O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at

grave-making?

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a Property of easiness.

Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

Clown. (sings)

But age with his stealing steps

Hath clawed me in his clutch,

And hath shipped me intil the land,

As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a skull.]

Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the

knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that

did the first murther! This might be the pate of a Politician,

which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God,

might it not?

Hor. It might, my lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord!

How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that

prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it-

might it not?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd

about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution,

and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the

breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think on't.

Clown. (Sings)

A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,

For and a shrouding sheet;

O, a Pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

Throws up [another skull].

Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer?

Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures,

and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock

him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him

of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a

great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his

fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of

his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine

pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of

his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth

of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will

scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no more, ha?

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins?

Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too.

Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in

that. I

will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?

Clown. Mine, sir.

[Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.

Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours.

For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tis for

the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.