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Horatio stops. The door is slightly ajar and he can’t help himself but to peek through. The Prince is splayed out on a piece of furniture in what Horatio can’t help but to think of as a purposefully melodramatic pose. Hamlet has a small book held above his head, squinting to make out the ornate text. Chuckling to himself, Horatio slips in through the door and sits gingerly next to Hamlet. “My Lord, what position of body is this?”
“Why my dear Horatio, can not you appreciate this very picture of my sullen, troubled soul? How else may I convey you my dark princely heart?” At this it is all Hamlet can do to keep from laughing. He smiles, “Oh by heaven I do forget, you friend do hold my heart and thus should know all the crannies that do shape it, thus by turn I shan’t have to put on such a demonstration of form.”
“But it is a goodly form for which I have no regret but to look on. That is to say this act of yours I shall follow to no ill remembrances.” Hamlet took Horatio’s hand in his and Horatio found the Prince’s eyes, “Even if you are mad as outwardly you may display and not yet as quick as you may have your confidants believe!” He snickered and Hamlet scowled.
“By your heart I am not so dull as you have me painted!”
“My heart, my lord?”
“My heart as it is yours, so by way your heart, and I am not so deranged a creature I know not my own level of madness! Are you by some way suggesting that perhaps the act of madness has formed a madness of its own?”
“My lord I do believe we are all to an effect deranged in our own souls.