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Published:  at  09:00 PM

Act V, Scene 1

[Line 167]

GRAVEDIGGER Why, here in Denmark!

I have been sexton here, man and boy,

Thirty years.

HAMLET

How long will a man lie in the earth

Ere he rot?

GRAVEDIGGER

Faith, if he be not rotten

Before he die—as we have many pocky corpses

Nowadays that will scarce hold the layin in

He will last you some eight year or nine year.

A tanner will last you nine year.

HAMLET

Why he more than another?

GRAVEDIGGER

Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade

That he will keep out water a great while;

And your water is a sore decayer of your

Whoreson dead body. Here’s a skull now

Hath lien you in the earth

Three-and-twenty years.


HAMLET

Whose was it?

GRAVEDIGGER

A whoreson mad fellow’s it was.

Whose do you think it was?

HAMLET Nay, I know not.

GRAVEDIGGER

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue!

He poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head

Once. This same skull, sir, was sir,

Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester.

HAMLET This?

GRAVEDIGGER Even that.


HAMLET [taking the skull]

Let me see.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio—

A fellow if infinite jest,

Of most excellent fancy.

He hath bore me on his back a thousand times

And now how abhorred in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it!

Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.


Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs?

Your flashes of merriment that were wont to

Set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock

Your own grinning? Quite chapfallen?

Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her,

Let her paint an inch think, to this favor she must come.

Make her laugh at that.

—Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

HORATIO What’s that, my lord?


HAMLET

Dost thou think Alexander looked on this fashion

In the earth?

HORATIO Even so.

HAMLET And smelt so? Pah!

[HAMLET puts the skull down.]

HORATIO Even so, my lord.

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 to dust;…

[Line 217]