OPHELIA. No, my lord. 

 HAMLET. I mean, my head upon your lap? 

 OPHELIA. Ay, my lord. 

 HAMLET. Do you think I meant country matters? 

 OPHELIA. I think nothing, my lord. 

 HAMLET. That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs. 

 OPHELIA. What is, my lord? 

 HAMLET. Nothing. 

 OPHELIA. You are merry, my lord. 

 HAMLET. Who, I? 

 OPHELIA. Ay, my lord. 

 HAMLET. O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within’s two hours. 

 OPHELIA. Nay, ’tis twice two months, my lord. 

 HAMLET. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But by’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!’ 

 Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters. 

 Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck. Lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the King’s ears, and exits. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with 

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