Ham. Why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so[3]: to me it is a prison.
Rosin. Why then your Ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your minde.[4]
Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count my selfe a King of infinite space; were it not that I haue bad dreames.
Guil. Which dreames indeed are Ambition: for the very substance[5] of the Ambitious, is meerely the shadow of a Dreame.
Ham. A dreame it selfe is but a shadow.
Rosin. Truely, and I hold Ambition of so ayry and light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow.
Ham. Then are our Beggers bodies; and our
Monarchs and out-stretcht Heroes the Beggers
Shadowes: shall wee to th'Court: for, by my fey[6]
I cannot reason?[7]
Both. Wee'l wait vpon you.
Ham. No such matter.[8] I will not sort you with the rest of my seruants: for to speake to you like an honest man: I am most dreadfully attended;[9] but in the beaten way of friendship,[10] [Sidenote: But in]
What make you at Elsonower?