They stay
upon your
patience.
Queen.
Come
hither, my
dear
Hamlet,
sit by me.
Ham. No,
good
mother.
Here's
metal more
attractive.
Pol. [to
the King]
O, ho! do
you mark
that? Ham.
Lady,
shall I
lie in
your lap?
[Sits down
at
Ophelia's
feet.]
Oph. No,
my lord.
Ham. I
mean, my
head upon
your lap?
Oph. Ay,
my lord.
Ham. Do
you think
I meant
country
matters?
Oph. I
think
nothing,
my lord.
Ham.
That's a
fair
thought to
lie
