Ham.
Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her
favours?

Guil.
Faith, her privates we.

Ham.
In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true; she is a
strumpet. What's the news?

Ros.
None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.

Ham.
Then is doomsday near; but your news is not true. Let me
question more in particular: what have you, my good friends,
deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison
hither?

Guil.
Prison, my lord!

Ham.
Denmark's a prison.

Ros.
Then is the world one.

Ham.