Oph. Last night I stole down from my room alone
And sought my father's den. I entered it!
The clock struck twelve, and then—oh, horrible!—
From chest and cabinet there issued forth
The mouldy spectres of five thousand plays.
All dead and gone—and many of them damned!
I shook with horror! They encompassed me,
Chattering forth the scenes and parts of scenes
Which my poor father wisely had cut out—
Oh, horrible—oh 'twas most horrible! [Covering her face.
Oph. (severely). I decline to say.
The more I heard the more convinced was I
My father acted most judiciously!
Let that sufiice thee.
Ros. Give me then the play.
And I'll submit it to the Prince.
Oph. But stay.
Do not appear to urge him—hold him back.
Or he'll decline to play the piece—I know him.
Ham. (who has been soliloquizing under his breath). And lose the name of action! [Rises.
Ros. We have been looking through some dozen plays
To find one suited to our company.
This is, my lord, a five-act tragedy.
'Tis called "Gonzago"—but it will not serve—
'Tis very long.
Ham. (interested). Is there a part for me?
