Hamlet
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

Lying down at OPHELIA's feet

Ophelia
No, my lord.

Hamlet
I mean, my head upon your lap?

Ophelia
Ay, my lord.

Hamlet
Do you think I meant country matters?

Ophelia
I think nothing, my lord.

Hamlet
That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

Ophelia
What is, my lord?

Hamlet
Nothing.

Ophelia
You are merry, my lord.

Hamlet
Who, I?

Ophelia
Ay, my lord.

Hamlet
O God, your only jig-maker. What should a man do
but be merry? for, look you, how cheerfully my
mother looks, and my father died within these two hours.

Ophelia
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

Hamlet
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for
I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two
months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's
hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half
a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches,
then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with
the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O,
the hobby-horse is forgot.'