HAMLET.
Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?
GUILDENSTERN.
Faith, her privates we.
HAMLET.
In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s the news?
ROSENCRANTZ.
None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.
HAMLET.
Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?
GUILDENSTERN.
Prison, my lord?
HAMLET.
Denmark’s a prison.
ROSENCRANTZ.
Then is the world one.
HAMLET.
A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o’ th’ worst.
ROSENCRANTZ.
We think not so, my lord.