GUILDENSTERN.
O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
HAMLET.
Do the boys carry it away?
ROSENCRANTZ.
Ay, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too.
HAMLET.
It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.
[Flourish of trumpets within.]
GUILDENSTERN.
There are the players.
HAMLET.
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players, which I tell you must show fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.
GUILDENSTERN.
In what, my dear lord?
HAMLET.
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Enter Polonius.