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HAMLET. Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t. POLONIUS. How say you by that? [ Aside. ] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord? HAMLET. Words, words, words. POLONIUS. What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET. Between who? POLONIUS. I mean the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET. Slanders, sir. For the satirical slave says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down. For you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. POLONIUS. [ Aside. ] Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.— Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET. Into my grave? POLONIUS. Indeed, that is out o’ the air. [ Aside. ] How pregnant sometimes his replies are! A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter. My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. HAMLET. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, except my life. POLONIUS. Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET. These tedious old fools. Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern . POLONIUS. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. ROSENCRANTZ. [ To Polonius. ] God save you, sir. [ Exit Polonius . ] GUILDENSTERN. My honoured lord! ROSENCRANTZ. My most dear lord! HAMLET. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz. Good lads, how do ye both? ROSENCRANTZ. As the indifferent children of the earth. GUILDENSTERN. Happy in that we are not over-happy; On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button. HAMLET. Nor the soles of her shoe? ROSENCRANTZ. Neither, my lord. HAMLET. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? GUILDENSTERN. Faith, her privates we. HAMLET. In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s the news?