Enter Hamlet, reading on a book.
Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away
I'll board him presently. O, give me leave.
Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants].
How does my good Lord Hamlet?
Ham. Well, God-a-mercy.
Pol. Do you know me, my lord?
Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not I, my lord.
Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
Pol. Honest, my lord?
Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man
pick'd out of ten thousand.
Pol. That's very true, my lord.
Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god
kissing carrion- Have you a daughter?
Pol. I have, my lord.
Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not
as your daughter may conceive. Frien
