HAMLET. And smelt so? pah! (Puts down the skull.) E'en so, my lord. HORATIO. HAMLET. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole ? HORATIO. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. HAMLET. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough and likelihood to lead it: as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? Imperious Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay, The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow? Couch we awhile, and mark. (Retiring with HORATIO.) LAERTES. What ceremony else? HAMLET. That is Laertes, a very noble youth: mark. Her obsequies have been as far enlarged Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments and the bringing home Of bell and burial. LAERTES. Must there no more be done? FIRST PRIEST. No more be done : We should profane the service of the dead LAERTES. Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia ! |