“Here lies the point,” persisted the first, who dearly loved an argument. “If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act, and an act hath three branches—it is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drowned herself unwittingly.”
“Nay, but hear you, good man delver——”
“Give me leave,” interposed the other, with his air of superiority. “Here lies the water—good; here stands the man—good; if the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes—mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself; argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.”
“But is this law?” asked the second rustic, rubbing his bewildered pate.
“Ay, marry, is it; crowner’s quest law,” returned the other decisively.
Having sufficiently impressed his companion by his display of superior knowledge, the first grave-digger despatched him for “a stoup of liquor,” and continued his toil alone, singing to himself as he did so.
Two newcomers had in the meanwhile entered the churchyard. These were Hamlet and Horatio. Hamlet was struck by the utter insensibility of the man, who callously pursued his mournful task, and shovelled earth and human bones alike aside with the most complete indifference. To Hamlet the sight of these poor human remains awakened many reflections, and, in his usual fashion, he began to ponder over them, and speculate what had formerly been the destiny—possibly a brilliant and distinguished one—of the skulls which were now knocked about so disrespectfully. Presently he spoke to the man, and asked whose grave he was digging, and with the exercise of much patient good-humour was at last able to extract the information that it was for “one that was a woman, but, rest her soul, she’s dead.”
“How long have you been a grave-digger?” was his next question.
“Of all the days in the year, I came to it that day that our last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.”
“How long is that since?”