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King. How may we try it further?
Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours Here in the lobby.
(together Queen. So he does indeed.
Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him;
Enter HAMLET, reading.
Hamlet ? Ham. Well, God o' mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my Lord? Ham. Excellent well; you are a filhmonger. Pol. Not I, my Lord, Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. Pol. Honest, my Lord ?
Ham. Ay, Sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
Pol. That's very true, my Lord.
Ham. For if the fun breed maggots in a deaddog, Being a good kissing carrion---Have you a daughter?
Pol. I have, my Lord.
Ham. Let her not walk i'th' fun; conception is a blefling, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.