HAMLET         What a piece of work is a man – how noble in reason; how infinite in faculties, in form and moving; how express and admirable in action; how like an angel in apprehension; how like a god; the beauty of the world; the paragon of animals. And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me – nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

ROSENCRANTZ         My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.  (2.2.269-278)

It’s a possible moment of reverie, of wondering contemplation, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, perhaps even his situation and state of mind briefly forgotten: Hamlet contemplates what it is to be, and to be human. What a piece of work is a man, what an amazing, extraordinary thing! (It’s a sad little echo of Psalm 139, perhaps: ‘I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well’.) How noble in reason; how infinite in faculties, in form and moving: our minds, our abilities! What can’t we do, and think? Look at us, how beautiful we are! How express and admirable in action—the grace of us, the things we’re able to accomplish! How like an angel in apprehension, able to grasp things so quickly, with near-omniscience, able to understand—how like a god! There’s a spark of the divine in all of us. We are the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals, God’s best creation, made in His likeness. We’re extraordinary! (There can be a growing note of irony undercutting this, of course; perhaps it’s been there from the start, perhaps this is Hamlet setting himself up for an even more precipitous fall into self-loathing.) And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Refined, perfected—and made of clay all along, dust and ashes, dust to dust. So what? What a piece of work is a man indeed? Man delights not me. I can’t see anything to celebrate in being fallen flesh, in being human, in being me. Then he snaps out of it, Rosencrantz having smirked or snorted (perhaps Guildenstern, by contrast, is caught up in the moment): nor woman neither, they don’t delight me either (little bit of homophobic banter there, boys) though by your smiling you seem to say so. Go on, have your little laugh. Rosencrantz can be mock aggrieved: my lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. Did I say anything?