Rosencrantz. Believe what?
Hamlet. That I can keep your counsel and not mine own.
Besides, to be demanded of a sponge - what replication
should be made by the son of a king?
Rosencrantz. Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
Hamlet. Ay, sir, that soaks up the King's countenance, his
rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best
service in the end: he keep them, like an ape, in the corner
of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed. When he
needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and,
sponge,you shall be dry again.
Rosencrantz. I understand you not, my lord.
Hamlet. I am glad of it.