TEXT:
First Clown
I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows
does well; but how does it well? it does well to
those that do in: now thou dost ill to say the
gallows is built stronger than the church: argal,
the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.
Second Clown
'Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or
a carpenter?'
First Clown
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
Second Clown
Marry, now I can tell.
First Clown
To't.
Second Clown
Mass, I cannot tell.
Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance
First Clown
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull
ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when
you are asked this question next, say 'a
grave-maker: 'the houses that he makes last till
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a
stoup of liquor.
Exit Second Clown
First Clown digs and sings
In youth, when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet,
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,
O, methought, there was nothing meet.
NOTES:
Minced Oaths
A minced oath is an expression formed by adapting a blasphemous or taboo word or phrase, in order to reduce the offence it might cause. Since Shakespeare was writing under the watchful eye of a censor, in a time when Puritans were gaining influence, he couldn't write the full versions of any curses or swearwords or expletives. As a result we have various items - sblood, zounds, and the very common 'Marry' - which is a contraction of 'By the Virgin Mary'. There's even an argument that the word 'bloody' as a curse word came into use as a contraction of 'By Our Lady'! Likewise in episode 68 we have ‘God’s bodykins’ - a rather cute way for Hamlet to swear at Polonius. Later, Ophelia says “Gis”, a contraction of “Jesus”.
Thomas Vaux, Second Earl of Harrowden
Thomas Vaux (1509-1556) was a poet. He was a distant relation of Catherine Parr, the final wife of King Henry VIII. His poem, misremembered and somewhat mangled by the Grave Digger, is rather long, but I’ve copied it here.
The Aged Lover Renounceth Love
I loathe that I did love,
In youth that I thought sweet,
As time requires for my behove,
Methinks they are not meet.
My lusts they do me leave,
My fancies all be fled,
And tract of time begins to weave
Grey hairs upon my head,
For age with stealing steps
Hath clawed me with his crutch,
And lusty life away she leaps
As there had been none such.
My Muse doth not delight
Me as she did before;
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they have been of yore.
For reason me denies
This youthly idle rhyme;
And day by day to me she cries,
“Leave off these toys in time.”
The wrinkles in my brow,
The furrows in my face,
Say, limping age will lodge him now
Where youth must give him place.
The harbinger of death,
To me I see him ride,
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath
Doth bid me provide
A pickaxe and a spade,
And eke a shrouding sheet,
A house of clay for to be made
For such a guest most meet.
Methinks I hear the clark
That knolls the careful knell,
And bids me leave my woeful wark,
Ere nature me compel.
My keepers knit the knot
That youth did laugh to scorn,
Of me that clean shall be forgot
As I had not been born.
Thus must I youth give up,
Whose badge I long did wear;
To them I yield the wanton cup
That better may it bear.
Lo, here the barèd skull,
By whose bald sign I know
That stooping age away shall pull
Which youthful years did sow.
For beauty with her band
These crooked cares hath wrought,
And shippèd me into the land
From whence I first was brought.
And ye that bide behind,
Have ye none other trust:
As ye of clay were cast by kind,
So shall ye waste to dust.