Ham. Why?
Clo. 'Twill not be seene in him, there the men are as
mad as he
Ham. How came he mad?
Clo. Very strangely they say
Ham. How strangely?
Clo. Faith e'ene with loosing his wits
Ham. Vpon what ground?
Clo. Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene
heere, man and Boy thirty yeares
Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot? Clo. Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare
Ham. Why he, more then another? Clo. Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And your water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years
Ham. Whose was it?
Clo. A whoreson mad Fellowes it was;
Whose doe you thinke it was?
Ham. Nay, I know not
Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad Rogue, a pour'd a
Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull
Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester
Ham. This?
Clo. E'ene that
Ham. Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft. Where be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing