Guild. The only question is
Between the choice of deaths which death to choose. [Offers another.
My blood run cold. (Resumes.) To sleep, perchance to—
Ros. Dream.
That's very true. I never dream myself,
But Guildenstern dreams all night long out loud.
Guild. With blushes, sir, I do confess it true!
Ham. This question, gentlemen concerns me not.
(Resumes.) For who would bear the whips and scorns of time
Ros. (as guessing a riddle). Who'd bear the whips and scorns? Now let me see.
Who'd bear them, eh?
Guild. (same business). Who'd bear the scorns of time?
Ros. (correcting him). The whips and scorns.
Guild. The whips and scorns, of course. [Hamlet about to protest.
Ham. Oh, sirs, this interruption likes us not.
I pray you give it up.
Ros. My lord, we do.
We cannot tell who bears these whips and scorns!
Ham. (not heeding them, resumes). "But that the dread of something after death"
Ros. That's true—post mortem and the coroner—Felo-de-se—cross roads at twelve p.m.—
