Hamlet
Act 2, Sc. 2, lines 321-373: Relate this passage to the play's themes.
Hamlet. make those laugh whose lungs are tickle a th' sear; and the
lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt
for't. What players are they?
Rosencrantz. Even those you were wont take such delight in;
the tragedians of the city.
Hamlet. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in
reputation and profit, was better both ways.
Rosencrantz. I think their inhibition comes by the means of
the late innovation.
Hamlet. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I
was in the city? Are they so followed?
Rosencrantz. No, indeed are they not.
Hamlet. How comes it? Do they grow rusty?
Rosencrantz. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace;
but their is, sir, and eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry
out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped
for't. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common
stages - so they call them - that many wearing rapiers are
afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.
Hamlet. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How
are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than
they can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should
grow themselves to common players - as it is most like, if
their means are no better - their writers do them wrong to
make them exclaim against their own succession?
Rosencrantz. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides;
and the nation holds it no sin to tar them to controversy.
There was for a while no money bid for argument unless the
poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.
Hamlet. Is't possible?
Guildenstern. O, there has been much throwing about of
brains.
Hamlet. Do the boys carry it away?
Rosencrantz. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load
too.
Hamlet. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of
Denmark, and those that would make mouths at him while
my father lived give twenty, forty, a hundred ducats
apiece for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in
this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.
Guildenstern. There are the players.
Hamlet. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your
hands, come then. The appurtenance of welcome is fashion
and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb - lest
my extent to the players, which I tell you must show fairly
outwards, should more appear like entertainment than yours.
You are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are
deceived.
Guildenstern. In what, my dear lord?
Hamlet. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is
southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.