Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing, but not
as your daughter may conceive:--friend, look to't.

Pol.
How say you by that?--[Aside.] Still harping on my daughter:--yet
he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far
gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity
for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.--What do you
read, my lord?

Ham.
Words, words, words.

Pol.
What is the matter, my lord?

Ham.
Between who?

Pol.
I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

Ham.
Slanders, sir: for the satirical slave says here that old men
have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes
purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a
plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which,
sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it
not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir,
should be old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.