drown or hang themselves, more than other chriftians. (66) Come, my fpade; there is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profeffion.

2 Clown. Was hè a gentleman?

1 Clown. He was the first, that ever bore arms. 2 Clown. Why, he had none.

I Clown. What, art a heathen? how doft thou underftand the Scripture? the Scripture fays, Adam digg'd; could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee; if thou anfwereft me not to the purpofe, confefs thy felf

2 Clown. Go to.

I Clown. What is he that builds ftronger than either the mason, the fhip-wright, or the carpenter?

2 Clown. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

the gal

1 Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith lows does well; but how does it well? it does well to thofe that do ill now thou doft ill, to fay the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

2 Clown. Who builds ftronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?————

Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clown. Marry, now I can tell.

1 Clown. To't.

2 Clown. Mafs, I cannot tell.

(66). more than other Chriftians.] All the old Books read, as Doctor Thirlby accurately obferves to me, their even Chriften, i. e. their fellow-Chriftians. This was the Language of thofe Days, when we retain'd a good Portion of the Idiom receiv'd from our Saxon Anceftors.* Emne Chriften.] Frater in Chrifto. Saxonicum; quod malè intelligentes, ven Chriftian proferunt: atq; ità editur in Oratione Henrici VIII. ad Parlamentum An. regn. 37. Sed rectè in L. L. Edouardi confeff. ca. 36. fratrem fuum, quod Angli dicunt Emne Chiyten. SPELMAN in his Gloffary. The Doctor thinks this learned Antiquary mistaken, in making even, a Corruption of Emne; for that even or Exen, and Emne are Saxon Words of the tame Import and Signification. I'll fubjoin, in Confirmation of the Doctor's Opinion, what SOMNER fays upon this Head. Exen, Equus, æqualis, par, juftus, even, equal, alike, &c Emne, Equus, justus, æqualis, even, juli, equal. Emne-ycolene, Condifcipulus, a school,fellow.

3

Enter

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance..

! Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull afs will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are afk'd this question next, fay, a gravemaker. The houses, he makes, last 'till dooms-day: go, get thee to Youghan, and fetch me a ftoup of liquor.

He digs, and fings..

In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought, it was very sweet;

[Exit 2. Clown.

(67)

To contract, oh, the time for, a, my behove,
Oh, methought, there was nothing meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his bufinefs, that he fings at Grave-making?

Hor. Custom hath made it to him a property of eafinefs.

Ham. 'Tis e'en fo; the hand of little imployment hath the daintier fenfe.

Clown fings.

But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath claw'd me in his clutch:
And bath fhipped me into the land,
As if I had never been fuch.

Ham. That fcull had a tongue in it, and could fing once; how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the firft murther! this might be the pate of a politician, which this afs o'er-offices; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my lord.

(67) In Youth, when I did love, &c.] The Three Stanza's, fung here by the Grave-digger, are extracted, with a flight Variation, from a little Poem, call'd, The Aged Lover renounceth Love: written by Henry Howard Earl of Surrey, who flourish'd in the Reign of King Henry VIII, and who was beheaded in 1547, on a strain'd Accufation of Treafon.

Ham.

66

Ham. Or of a courtier, which could fay, goodmorrow, fweet lord; how doft thou, good lord?" this might be my lord fuch a one, that prais'd my lord fuch a one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en fo and now my lady Worm's, chaplefs, and knockt about the mazzard with a fexton's fpade. Here's a fine revolution, if we had the trick to fee't. Did these bones coft no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ake to think on't. (68) Clown fings.

A pick-axe and a Spade, a fpade,
For,-and a fhrouding sheet !
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For fuch a guest is meet.

Ham. There's another: why may not that be the fcull of a lawyer? where be his quiddits now? his quillets? his cafes? his tenures, and his tricks? why does he fuffer this rude knave now to knock him about the fconce with a dirty fhovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery ?hum! this fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his ftatutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? the very conveyances of his lands will hardly lye in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more? ha?

(68) Did thefe Bones coft no more the breeding, but to play at loggers with them? I have reftor'd, from the old Copies, the true Word, Loggats. We meet with it again in Ben Jonson:

Now are they toffing of his Legs and Arms
Like Loggats at a Pear-tree.

A Tale of a Tub.

What fort of Sport this was, I confefs, I do not know, but I find it in the Lift of unlawful Games, prohibited by a Statute 33 Henry VIII. Chap. 9. § 16.

Hor.

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of fheep-fkins?
Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calve-skins too.

Ham. They are fheep and calves that feek out affurance in that. I will fpeak to this fellow: Whofe Grave's this, Sirrah?,

Clown. Mine, Sir

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For fuch a Gueft is meet.

Ham. I think, it be thine, indeed; for thou lieft in't. Clown. You lie out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not yours; for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.

Ham. Thou doft lie in't, to be in't, and fay, 'tis thine; 'tis for the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou ly'ft. Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, Sir, 'twill away again from

me to you.

Ham. What man doft thou dig it for?
Clown. For no man, Sir.

Ham. What woman then?
Clown. For none neither.

Ham. Who is to b

buried in't?

Clown. One, that was a woman, Sir; but, reft her foul, fhe's dead.

Ham. How abfolute the knave is? we muft fpeak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the lord, Horatio, thefe three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown fo picked, that the toe of the peafant comes fo near the heel of our courtier, he galls his kibe. How long haft thou been a grave-maker?

Clown. Of all the days i'th' year, I came to't that day ́ that our laft King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras. Ham. How long is that fince?

Clown. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that': it was that very day that young Hamlet was born, he that was mad, and fent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he fent into England?

Clown! Why, because he was mad; he fhall recover his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there. Ham. Why?

Clown.

Clown. Twill not be feen in him; there the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?

Clown. Very ftrangely, they fay.
Ham. How ftrangely?

Clown. Faith, e'en with lofing his wits.
Ham. Upon what ground?`

Clown. Why, here, in Denmark. here, man and boy, thirty years.

5

I have been fexton

Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot? Clown. I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have many pocky coarfes now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will laft you fome eight year, or nine year; a tanner will last you nine years.

Ham. Why he, more than another?

Clown. Why, Sir, his hide is fo tann'd with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while. And your water is a fore decayer of your whorfon dead body. Here's a fcull now has lain in the earth three and twenty years. Ham. Whofe was it?

Clown. A whorfon mad fellow's it was; whofe do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

Clown. A peftilence on him for a mad rogue! he pour'd a flagon of Rhenifh on my head once. This fame fcull, Sir, was Yorick's fcull, the King's jefter.

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jeft; of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times: and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rifes at it. - Here hung thofe lips, that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your fongs? your flathes of merriment, that were wont to fet the table in a roar? not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour the muft comes make her laugh at thatPr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor.