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1 Clown. How can that be, unlefs fhe drowned herfelf in her own defence?

2 Clown. Why, 'tis found fo.

1 Clown. It must be fe offendendo, it cannot be elfe. For here lies the point; if I drown myfelf wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches; It is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, the drown'd herfelf wittingly.

2 Clown. Nay, but hear you, goodman Delver.

1 Clown. Give me leave; here lies the water, good: here flands the man, good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life.

2 Clown. But is this law?

1 Clown. Ay, marry is't, crowner's queft-law.

2 Clown. Will you ha' the truth on't? if this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of chriftian burial.

1 Clown. Why, there thou fay'ft. And the more pity, that great folk fhould have countenance in this world to drown or hang themfelves, more than other chriftians. Come, my spade; there is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profeffion.

2 Clown. Was he a gentleman ?

1 Clown. He was the firft, that ever bore arms.
2 Clown. Why, he had none.

1 Clown. What, art a heathen? how doft thou underftand the Scripture? the Scripture fays, Adam digg'd; could he dig without arms? I'll put another queftion to thee; if thou answereft me not to the purpofe, confefs thyfelf

2 Clown. Go to.

1 Clown. What is he that builds ftronger than either the mafon, the fhip-wright, or the carpenter?

2 Clown. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clown.

1 Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now thou doft ill, to fay the gallows is built ftronger than the church; argal, the gallows do well to thee. To't again, come.

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2 Clown. Who builds ftronger than a mafon, a fhipwright, or a carpenter ?

1 Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clown. Marry, now I can tell,

1 Clown. To't.

2 Clown. Mafs, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.

I Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull afs will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are afk'd this question next, fay, a grave'maker. The houfes, he makes, laft 'till dooms-day: go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown.

He digs, and fings.

In youth when I did love, did love, (28)
Methought, it was very feet;

To contract, oh, the time for, a, my behove,
Oh, methought, there was nothing meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he fings at Grave-making?

Hor. Cuftom hath made it to him a property of eafinefs.

Ham. 'Tis e'en fo; the hand of little employment hath the daintier fenfe.

(28) In Youth, when I did love, &c.] The three Stanza's, fung here by the Grave-digger, are extracted, with a flight Variation, from a little Poem, called, The Aged Lover renounceth Love: written by Henry Howard Earl of Surrey, who flourished in the Reign of King Henry VIII. and who was beheaded in 1547, on a strained Accufation of Treafon.

Clown

Clown fings.

But age, with his fealing fteps,
Hath claw'd me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me into the land,
As if I had never been fuch.

Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could fing once; how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw bone, that did the firft murder! this might be the pate of a politician, which this afs o'eroffices; one that would circumvent God, might it not? Hor. It might, my Lord.

Ham, Or of a courtier, which could fay, "good27 morrow, weet Lord; how doft thou, good Lord". this might be my Lord fuch-a-one, that prais'd my Lord. fuch-a-one's, horfe, when he meant to beg it; might it

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not?

Hor. Ay, my Lord..

Ham. Why, e'en fo and now my lady Worm's chaplefs, and knockt about the mazzard with a fexton's fpade. Here's a fine revolution, if we had the trick to fee't. Did these bones coft no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ake to. think on't.

Clown fings.

A pick-axe and a Spade, a Spade,,
For,-and a fhrouding sheet!
, a pit of clay for to be made
For fuch a guest is meet.

Ham. There's another : why may not that be the fcul of a lawyer? where be his quiddits now? his quillets ? his cafes? his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the fconce with a dirty fhovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery hum! this fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his ftatutes, his recognizances, his

fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, then the length and breadth of a pair of indentures ? the very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and muft the inheritor himself have no more? ha?

Hor. Not a jot more, my Lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of fheep-fkins.

Hor. Ay, my Lord, and of calve-fkins too.

Ham. They are sheep and calves that feek out affurance in that. I will speak to this fellow: Whose Grave's this, Sirrah?

Clown. Mine, Sir

O, a pit of clay for to be made
For fuch a Gueft is meet.

Ham. I think, it be thine, indeed, for thou lieft in't. Clown. You lye out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not yours; for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. Ham. Thou doft lye in't, to be in't, and fay, 'tis thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou ly'ft.

Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, Sir, 'twill away again from me to you.

Ham. What man doft thou dig it for?
Clown. For no man, Sir.

Ham. What woman then?
Clown. For none neither.

Ham. Who is to be buried in't?

Clown. One that was a woman, Sir; but, reft her foul, fhe's dead.

Ham. How abfolute the knave is ? we muft fpeak by the card or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, thefe three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown fo picked, that the toe of the peafant comes fo near the heel of our courtier, he galls his kibe. How long haft thou been a grave-maker?

Clown.

Clown. Of all the days i'th' year, I came tei hat day that our laft King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras. Ham. How long is that fince?

Clown. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it was that very day that young Hamlet was born, he that was mad, and fent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he fent into England?

Clown. Why, because he was mad; he fhall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Ham. Why.

Clown. "Twill not be feen in him; there the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?

Clown. Very ftrangely, they say.

Ham. How ftrangely?.

Clown. 'Faith, e'en with lofing his wits.

Ham. Upon what ground?

Clown. Why, here, in Denmark. I have been fexton here, man and boy, thirty years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot? Clown. I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have many pocky coarfes now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will laft you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last you nine years.

Ham. Why he, more than another?

Clown. Why, Sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while. And your water is a fore decayer of your whorefon dead body. Here's a fcull now has lain in the earth three and twenty years.

Ham. Whofe was it?

Clown. A whorefon mad fellow's it was; whofe do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

Clown. A peftilence on him for a mad rogue! he pour'd a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once. This fame fcull, Sir, was Yorick's fcull, the King's jefter. Ham. This ?

Clown. E'en that,

Ham

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