"O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!"
"A guilty thing."
"A puff'd and reckless libertine."
"A pestilence on him for a mad rogue!"
"What, ho! help, help, help!"
But when he has torn his "passion to tatters, to very rags," he slips in shyly to greet the accepted caller, usually seating himself, according to his own peculiar code of etiquette, with his back to the guest, but sometimes, especially if it is a college girl "in the morn and liquid dew of youth," he will, instead of taking his accustomed place by me, lie down at Ophelia's feet, explaining:
"Here's metal more attractive."
Hamlet is a delicate subject for discipline as any sign of displeasure on the part of the few he trusts will fling him back to his puppy state of quivering misery. But for his inhospitable clamors he is occasionally shut up in the telephone closet, a custom which he considers
"More honour'd in the breach than the observance."
Released, he bounds toward us beseeching caresses and every assurance that we have forgiven him and love him still. But he is just as ready to bark at the next arrival, though the dread word CLOSET will sometimes arrest a roar in mid-career. His sense of duty, as the guardian of the house, is inextricably intertwisted with his desire to be good.