But for this, the ioyfull hope of this,
Whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world,
Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore?
The widow being oppressd, the orphan wrong'd; [E1]
The taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne,
And thousand more calamities besides,
To grunt and sweate vnder this weary life,
When that he may his full _Quietus_ make,
With a bare bodkin, who would this indure,
But for a hope of something after death?
Which pusles the braine, and doth confound the sence,
Which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue,
Than flie to others that we know not of.
I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of vs all,
Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred.
_Ofel._ My Lord, I haue sought opportunitie, which now
I haue, to redeliuer to your worthy handes, a small remem-
brance, such tokens which I haue receiued of you.
_Ham._ Are you faire?
_Ofel._ My Lord.
_Ham._ Are you honest?
_Ofel._ What meanes my Lord?
_Ham._ That if you be faire and honest,
Your beauty should admit no discourse to your honesty.
_Ofel._ My Lord, can beauty haue better priuiledge than
with honesty?
_Ham._ Yea mary may it; for Beauty may transforme
Honesty, from what she was into a bawd:
Then Honesty can transforme Beauty:
This was sometimes a Paradox,