In the churchyard at Elsinore two men were digging a grave. As they worked they talked, and the elder one expounded the law to his young assistant. The former asked if the person for whom they were digging the grave was to be buried in Christian burial. “I tell thee she is,” said the second man, “and therefore make her grave straight; the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.” “How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?” argued the first grave-digger. “Why, ’tis found so,” answered the second. “Here lies the point,” persisted the first, who dearly loved an argument. “If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act, and an act hath three branches--it is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drowned herself unwittingly.” “Nay, but hear you, good man delver----” “Give me leave,” interposed the other, with his air of superiority. “Here lies the water--good; here stands the man--good; if the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes--mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself; argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.” “But is this law?” asked the second rustic, rubbing his bewildered pate. “Ay, marry, is it; crowner’s quest law,” returned the other decisively. Having sufficiently impressed his companion by his display of superior knowledge, the first grave-digger despatched him for “a stoup of liquor,” and continued his toil alone, singing to himself as he did so. Two newcomers had in the meanwhile entered the churchyard. These were Hamlet and Horatio. Hamlet was struck by the utter insensibility of the man, who callously pursued his mournful task, and shovelled earth and human bones alike aside with the most complete indifference. To Hamlet the sight of these poor human remains awakened many reflections, and, in his usual fashion, he began to ponder over them, and speculate what had formerly been the destiny--possibly a brilliant and distinguished one--of the skulls which were now knocked about so disrespectfully. Presently he spoke to the man, and asked whose grave he was digging, and with the exercise of much patient good-humour was at last able to extract the information that it was for “one that was a woman, but, rest her soul, she’s dead.” “How long have you been a grave-digger?” was his next question. “Of all the days in the year, I came to it that day that our last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.” “How long is that since?” “Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that,” was the civil answer. “It was the very day young Hamlet was born--he that is mad, and sent into England.” “Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?” inquired Hamlet. “Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or if he do not, it’s no great matter there.” “Why?” “It will not be seen in him there, there the men are as mad as he.” “How came he mad?” “Very strangely, they say.” “How ‘strangely’?”