"O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet."
HAMLET: I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.
FIRST CLOWN: You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not
yours; for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.
HAMLET: Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is 
thine. 'Tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore
FIRST CLOWN: 'Tis a quick lie, sir, 'twill away again from
me to you.
HAMLET: What man dost thou dig it for? 
FIRST CLOWN: For no man, sir.
HAMLET: What woman then?
FIRST CLOWN: For none neither.
HAMLET: Who is to be buried in't?
FIRST CLOWN: One that was a woman, sir, but, rest her soul, 
HAMLET: How absolute the knave is! We must speak
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the
Lord, Horatio, this three years I have took note of it:
the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant 
comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.
How long hast thou been grave-maker?
FIRST CLOWN: Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day
that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.
HAMLET: How long is that since? 
FIRST CLOWN: Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that.
It was that very day that young Hamlet was born -- he
that is mad, and sent into England.
HAMLET: Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?
FIRST CLOWN: Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his 
wits there, or if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there.
FIRST CLOWN: 'Twill not be seen in him there, there the
men are as mad as he.
HAMLET: How came he mad? 
FIRST CLOWN: Very strangely, they say.
HAMLET: How strangely?
FIRST CLOWN: Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
HAMLET: Upon what ground?
FIRST CLOWN: Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton 
here, man and boy, thirty years.
HAMLET: How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he
FIRST CLOWN: Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die -- as we
have many pocky corses nowadays, that will scarce 
hold the laying in -- 'a will last you some eight year or
nine year. A tanner will last you nine year.
HAMLET: Why he more than another?
FIRST CLOWN: Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade
that 'a will keep out water a great while, and your 
water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body.
Here's a skull now hath lien you i' th' earth three and
HAMLET: Whose was it?
FIRST CLOWN: A whoreson mad fellow's it was. Whose do 
you think it was?
HAMLET: Nay, I know not.
FIRST CLOWN: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'a
poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This
same skull, sir, was, sir, Yorick's skull, the King's jester. 
HAMLET: This? [Takes the skull.]
FIRST CLOWN: E'en that.
HAMLET: Alas, poor
Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest,
of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back 
a thousand times, and now how abhorred in my
imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those
lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be
your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your
flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table 
on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning --
quite chapfall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber,
and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour
she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee,
Horatio, tell me one thing. 
HORATIO: What's that, my lord?
HAMLET: Dost thou think Alexander looked a' this
fashion i' th' earth?
HORATIO: E'en so.
HAMLET: And smelt so? pah! [Puts down the skull.] 
HORATIO: E'en so, my lord.
HAMLET: To what base uses we may return, Horatio!
Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of
Alexander, till 'a find it stopping a bunghole?
HORATIO: 'Twere to consider too curiously, to con- 
HAMLET: No, faith, not a jot, but to follow him thither
with modesty enough and likelihood to lead it:
Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alex-
ander returneth to dust, the dust is earth, of earth we 
make loam; and why of that loam whereto he was
converted might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O that that earth which kept the world in awe 
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!
But soft, but soft awhile, here comes the King,
Enter KING, QUEEN, LAERTES, and a DOCTOR [OF
DIVINITY], following the coffin, with LORDS attending.
The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
Foredo it own life. 'Twas of some estate.
Couch we a while and mark. [Retires with Horatio.]
LAERTES: What ceremony else?
HAMLET: That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.
LAERTES: What ceremony else? 
DOCTOR: Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful,
And but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified been lodged
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants,
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.
LAERTES: Must there no more be done?