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pardon and my return shall be the end of my

business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my

wit's diseased; but, sir, such answer as I can

make, you shall command; or, rather, as you

say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the

matter: my mother, you say,—

Ros. Then, thus she says: your behaviour hath

struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish

a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels

of this mother's admiration? Impart.

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her

closet ere you go to bed.

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our

mother. Have you any further trade with us?

Ros. My lord, you once did love me.

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and

stealers.

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of

distemper? you do surely bar the door upon

your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your

friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be when you have the

voice of the king himself for your succession in

Denmark?

Ham. Ay, sir, but 'While the grass grows,'—

the proverb is something musty.

 355 pickers and stealers: hands; cf. n.

363 voice: support

365 'While grows'; cf. n.

