HAMLET.
Yours, yours.
[Exit Osric.]
He does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for’s turn.
HORATIO.
This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.
HAMLET.
He did comply with his dug before he suck’d it. Thus has he,—and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on,— only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yeasty collection, which carries them through and through the most fanned and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.
Enter a Lord.
LORD.
My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes or that you will take longer time.
HAMLET.
I am constant to my purposes, they follow the King’s pleasure. If his fitness speaks, mine is ready. Now or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.
LORD.
The King and Queen and all are coming down.
HAMLET.
In happy time.