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 tarre 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, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out. 

 [Flourish of trumpets within.] 

 GUILDENSTERN. There are the players. 

 HAMLET. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. 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 outward, 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. 

 Enter Polonius. 

Polonius

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