Baby is Hamlet.
Puppy is the First Clown.
And I’ll be playing the part of Horatio.
ACT V, Scene 1. A Churchyard.
A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
For and a shrouding sheet:
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.
[Throws up another skull]
There’s another: why may not that be the skull of a
lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets,
his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?
now to knock him about the
sconce with a dirty shovel,
and will not tell him of
his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be
in’s time a great buyer of land, with his statutes,
his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers,
will his vouchers vouch him
no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than
the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The
very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in
Not a jot more, my lord.
* * *
And truly our earthly life’s worth is nothing more than fine dirt. Perhaps if Hamlet were a gardener, he would not be so conflicted on the worth of a man, ha? For fine dirt is good enough for me!
*this post was originally published in October 2013