MARCELLUS.
My good lord.
HAMLET.
I am very glad to see you.—Good even, sir.—
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
HORATIO.
A truant disposition, good my lord.
HAMLET.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do my ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
HORATIO.
My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.
HAMLET.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.
I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.
HORATIO.
Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon.
HAMLET.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father,—methinks I see my father.
HORATIO.
Where, my lord?
HAMLET.
In my mind’s eye, Horatio.