I put them off with guile; and some good spirit
Prompting my heart, I set up in the hall
A loom, and rolled upon the beam a warp
Ample and long, and said My lordly wooers,
Abide, nor press my marriage till this cloth
Be made, for I would weave the threads I span.
’Tis old Laertes’ shroud, against the day
Which is not far, when death must take him hence.
For since my lord is dead, I would not leave
His house, without this honour paid his sire.