_Ham._ Why by lot, or God wot, or as it came to passe, 115 And so it was, the first verse of the godly Ballet Wil tel you all: for look you where my abridgement comes: Welcome maisters, welcome all, _Enter players._ What my olde friend, thy face is vallanced Since I saw thee last, com'st thou to beard me in _Denmarke_? 120 My yong lady and mistris, burlady but your Ladiship is growne by the altitude of a chopine higher than you were: Pray God sir your voyce, like a peece of vncurrant Golde, be not crack't in the ring: come on maisters, Weele euen too't, like French Falconers, 125 Flie at any thing we see, come, a taste of your Quallitie, a speech, a passionate speech. _Players_ What speech my good lord? _Ham._ I heard thee speake a speech once, But it was neuer acted: or if it were, 130 Neuer aboue twice, for as I remember, It pleased not the vulgar, it was cauiary To the million: but to me And others, that receiued it in the like kinde, Cried in the toppe of their iudgements, an excellent play, 135 Set downe with as great modestie as cunning: One said there was no sallets in the lines to make the sauory, But called it an honest methode, as wholesome as sweete. Come, a speech in it I chiefly remember Was _Æneas_ tale to _Dido_, 140 And then especially where he talkes of Princes slaughter, If it liue in thy memory beginne at this line, Let me see. The rugged _Pyrrus_, like th'arganian beast: No t'is not so, it begins with _Pirrus_: 145 O I haue it. The rugged _Pirrus_, he whose sable armes, Blacke as his purpose did the night resemble, When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now his blacke and grimme complexion smeered 150 With Heraldry more dismall, head to foote, Now is he totall guise, horridely tricked With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sonnes, Back't and imparched in calagulate gore, Rifted in earth and fire, olde grandsire _Pryam_ seekes: So goe on. _Cor._ Afore God, my Lord, well spoke, and with good accent. _Play._ Anone he finds him striking too short at Greeks, His antike sword rebellious to his Arme, Lies where it falles, vnable to resist. 160 _Pyrrus_ at _Pryam_ driues, but all in rage, Strikes wide, but with the whiffe and winde Of his fell sword, th' unnerued father falles. _Cor._ Enough my friend, t'is too long. _Ham._ It shall to the Barbers with your beard: 165 A pox, hee's for a Iigge, or a tale of bawdry, Or else he sleepes, come on to _Hecuba_, come. _Play._ But who, O who had seene the mobled Queene? _Cor._ Mobled Queene is good, faith very good.