Ross. Alas my lord I cannot.
Ham. Pray will you. 195
Gil. I haue no skill my Lord.
Ham. Why looke, it is a thing of nothing,
T'is but stopping of these holes,
And with a little breath from your lips,
It will giue most delicate musick. 200
Gil. But this cannot wee do my Lord.
Ham. Pray now, pray hartily, I beseech you.
Ross. My lord wee cannot.
Ham. Why how vnworthy a thing would you make of me?
You would seeme to know my stops, you would play vpon mee, 205
You would search the very inward part of my hart,
And diue into the secreet of my soule.
Zownds do you thinke I am easier to be pla'yd
On, then a pipe? call mee what Instrument
You will, though you can frett mee, yet you can not 210
Play vpon mee, besides, to be demanded by a spunge.
Ros. How a spunge my Lord?
Ham. I sir, a spunge, that sokes vp the kings
Countenance, fauours, and rewardes, that makes
His liberalitie your store house: but such as you, 215
Do the king, in the end, best seruise;
For hee doth keep you as an Ape doth nuttes,
In the corner of his Iaw, first mouthes you,
Then swallowes you: so when hee hath need
Of you, t'is but squeesing of you, 220
And spunge, you shall be dry againe you shall.