_Hamlet._ Let her not walk i’ the 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 gray beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber or plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with weak hams. All of 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, shall grow 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 o’ 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! _FROM AS YOU LIKE IT_ ROSALIND _and_ ORLANDO _Rosalind._ (_Aside._) I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him.--Do you hear, forester? _Orlando._ Very well: what would you? _Rosalind._ I pray you, what is’t o’clock? _Orlando._ You should ask me, what time o’ day: there’s no clock in the forest. _Rosalind._ Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. _Orlando._ And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as proper? _Rosalind._ By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you, who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. _Orlando._ I prithee, who doth he trot withal? _Rosalind._ Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnised: if the interim be but a se’nnight, Time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. _Orlando._ Who ambles Time withal?