Guildenstern. The King, sir,—
Hamlet. Ay, sir, what of him?
Guild. Is in his retirement marvellous distempered.
Hamlet. With drink, sir?
Guild. No, my lord, rather with choler.
Hamlet. The King doth wake to-night and takes his
rouse.
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels.
Horatio. Is it a custom?
Hamlet. Ay, marry is't: