Ros. As the indifferent[b 1] children of the earth.
Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy;
On Fortune's cap[a 1] we are not the very button. 235
Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?
Ros. Neither, my lord.
Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the
middle of her favours?[a 2]
Guil. Faith, her privates we. 240
Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune?[b 2] Oh, most
true; she is a strumpet. What's the[a 3] news?
Ros. None, my lord, but that[a 4] the world's grown
honest.
Ham. Then is doomsday near; but your news is 245
not true. Let me[a 5] question more in particular:
what have you, my good friends, deserved at
the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to
prison hither?
Guil. Prison, my lord? 250
Ham. Denmark's a prison.
Ros. Then is the world one.
Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many
confines,[b 3] wards, and dungeons; Denmark being
one o' the worst. 255
Ros. We think not so, my lord.
Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is
