Hamlet. the earth seems to me a sterile promontory, this most
excellent canopy air, look you, this brave o'erhanging
firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why,
it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how
noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and
moving how express and admirable, in action how like an
angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the
world, the paragon of animals - and yet, to me, what is this
quintessence of dust? Man delights not me - no, nor woman
neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
Rosencrantz. My lord, there was no such stuff in my
Hamlet. Why did ye laugh then, when I said man delights not me?
Rosencrantz. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man,
what Lenten entertainment the players shall recieve from you.
We coted them on the way, and hither are they coming
to offer you service.