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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