The widow being oppressed, the orphan wrong'd,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 transformeHonesty, from what she was into a bawd:Then Honesty can transforme Beauty:This was sometimes a Paradox,But now the time giues it scope.I neuer gaue you nothing.Ofel.My Lord, you know right well you did,And with them such earnest vowes of loue,As would haue moou'd the stoniest breast aliue,But now too true I finde,Rich giftes waxe poore, when giuers grow vnkinde.Ham.I neuer loued you.Ofel.You made me beleeue you did.0