ORPHELIA.
Good my lord,
How does your honour for this many a day?
HAMLET.
I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
ORPHELIA.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours
That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.
HAMLET.
No, not I;
I never gave you aught.
ORPHELIA.
My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd
As made the things more rich; their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
HAMLET.
Ha, ha! are you honest?
ORPHELIA.
My lord?
