POLONIUS.
That's very true, my lord.
HAMLET.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god-kissing
carrion, — Have you a daughter?
POLONIUS.
I have, my lord.
HAMLET.
Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing, but not
as your daughter may conceive: — friend, look to't.
POLONIUS.
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?
HAMLET.
Words, words, words.
