_Ham._ Hath this fellow any feeling of himselfe, That is thus merry in making of a graue? See how the slaue joles their heads against the earth. _Hor._ My lord, Custome hath made it in him seeme nothing. _Clowne_ A pick-axe and a spade, a spade, 40 For and a winding sheete, Most fit it is for to be made, For such a ghest most meet. _Ham._ Looke you, there's another _Horatio_. Why mai't not be the scull of some Lawyer? 45 Me thinkes he should indite that fellow Of an action of Batterie, for knocking Him about the pate with's shouel: now where is your Quirkes and quillets now, your vouchers and Double vouchers, your leases and free-holde, 50 And tenements? why that same boxe there will scarse Holde the conueiance of his land, and must The honor lie there? O pittifull transformance! I prethee tell me _Horatio_, Is parchment made of sheep-skinnes? 55 _Hor._ I my Lorde, and of calues-skinnes too. _Ham._ Ifaith they prooue themselues sheepe and calues That deale with them, or put their trust in them. There's another, why may not that be such a ones Scull, that praised my Lord such a ones horse, 60 When he meant to beg him? _Horatio_, I prethee Lets question yonder fellow. Now my friend, whose graue is this? _Clowne_ Mine sir. _Ham._ But who must lie in it? 65 _Clowne_ If I should say, I should, I should lie in my throat sir. _Ham._ What man must be buried here? _Clowne_ No man sir. _Ham._ What woman? _Clowne._ No woman neither sir, but indeede 70 One that was a woman. _Ham._ An excellent fellow by the Lord _Horatio_, This seauen yeares haue I noted it: the toe of the pesant, Comes so neere the heele of the courtier, That hee gawles his kibe, I prethee tell mee one thing, 75 How long will a man lie in the ground before hee rots? _Clowne_ Ifaith sir, if hee be not rotten before He be laide in, as we haue many pocky corses, He will last you, eight yeares, a tanner Will last you eight yeares full out, or nine. 80 _Ham._ And why a tanner? _Clowne_ Why his hide is so tanned with his trade, That it will holde out water, that's a parlous Deuourer of your dead body, a great soaker. Looke you, heres a scull hath bin here this dozen yeare, 85 Let me see, I euer since our last king _Hamlet_ Slew _Fortenbrasse_ in combat, yong _Hamlets_ father, Hee that's mad. _Ham._ I mary, how came he madde? _Clowne_ Ifaith very strangely, by loosing of his wittes. 90 _Ham._ Vpon what ground? _Clowne_ A this ground, in _Denmarke_. _Ham._ Where is he now? _Clowne_ Why now they sent him to _England_.