HAMLET.
No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my
servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most
dreadfully attended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, what
make you at Elsinore?
ROSENCRANTZ.
To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
HAMLET.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you:
and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were
you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free
visitation? Come, deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.
GUILDENSTERN.
What should we say, my lord?
HAMLET.
Why, anything — but to the purpose. You were sent for; and
there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties
have not craft enough to colour: I know the good king and queen
have sent for you.
ROSENCRANTZ.
To what end, my lord?
