Act 2, Sc. 2, lines 321-373: Relate this passage to the play's themes.

Hamlet. make those laugh whose lungs are tickle a th' sear; and the

lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt

for't. What players are they?

Rosencrantz. Even those you were wont take such delight in;

the tragedians of the city.

Hamlet. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in

reputation and profit, was better both ways.

Rosencrantz. I think their inhibition comes by the means of

the late innovation.

Hamlet. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I

was in the city? Are they so followed?

Rosencrantz. No, indeed are they not.

Hamlet. How comes it? Do they grow rusty?

Rosencrantz. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace;

but their is, sir, and eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry

out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped

for't. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common

stages - so they call them - that many wearing rapiers are

afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.

Hamlet. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How

are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than

they can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should

grow themselves to common players - as it is most like, if

their means are no better - their writers do them wrong to

make them exclaim against their own succession?

Rosencrantz. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides;

and the nation holds it no sin to tar them to controversy.

There was for a while no money bid for argument unless the

poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.

Hamlet. Is't possible?

Guildenstern. O, there has been much throwing about of

brains.

Hamlet. Do the boys carry it away?

Rosencrantz. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load

too.

Hamlet. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of

Denmark, and those that would make mouths at him while

my father lived give twenty, forty, a hundred ducats

apiece for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in

this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

Guildenstern. There are the players.

Hamlet. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your

hands, come then. The appurtenance of welcome is fashion

and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb - lest

my extent to the players, which I tell you must show fairly

outwards, should more appear like entertainment than yours.

You are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are

deceived.

Guildenstern. In what, my dear lord?

Hamlet. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is

southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.