HAMLET.
Then I would you were so honest a man.
POLONIUS.
Honest, my lord?
HAMLET.
Ay sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
POLONIUS.
That’s very true, my lord.
HAMLET.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion,—
Have you a daughter?
POLONIUS.
I have, my lord.
HAMLET.
Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t.
POLONIUS.
How say you by that? [Aside.] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord?
HAMLET.
Words, words, words.
POLONIUS.
What is the matter, my lord?