Pol.
[Aside.] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.--
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Ham.
Into my grave?

Pol.
Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside.] How pregnant sometimes
his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which
reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I
will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between
him and my daughter.--My honourable lord, I will most humbly take
my leave of you.

Ham.
You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more
willingly part withal,--except my life, except my life, except my
life.

Pol.
Fare you well, my lord.

Ham.
These tedious old fools!

[Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.]

Pol.