HAMLET         That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once. How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if ’twere Cain’s jawbone, that did the first murder. This might be the pate of a politician which this ass now o’erreaches – one that would circumvent God, might it not?

HORATIO       It might, my lord.

HAMLET         Or of a courtier which could say, ‘Good morrow, sweet lord, how dost thou, sweet lord?’ This might be my Lord Such-a-One, that praised my Lord Such-a-One’s horse when ’a went to beg it, might it not?

HORATIO       Ay, my lord.    (5.1.71-82)

Hamlet can’t resist the weirdness, the absurdity, as a cue for philosophical contemplation. That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once (just as the gravedigger is doing). How the knave jowls it to the ground—just smashes it down, without any care—as if it ’twere Cain’s jawbone, that did the first murder. Jowls as a vivid verb anticipates the jawbone; Cain was a brother-killer, always on Hamlet’s mind. (But the syntax also implies that the jawbone was the murder-weapon; there was a tradition that Cain killed Abel with an ass’s jawbone, setting up the next line.) Hamlet’s looking at the skull, turning it over in his eye, in his mind: this might be the pate of a politician which this ass now o’erreaches, a wily statesman’s skull casually set aside by this clown.  (Who presumably digs away, humming, muttering.) One that would circumvent God, might it not? That one might be the imagined politician, scheming away, or it might be the gravedigger himself, disturbing bones that should remain in their last resting place until Doomsday, subject to no one save God. (Less likely.) It might, my lord. Well, yes; Horatio’s playing along, indulgent, also interested; pleased to have Hamlet back, and desperately worried about him. Because Hamlet’s getting going here, getting worked up, fantastical, funny, wild: or of a courtier which could say ‘Good morrow, sweet lord, how dost thou, sweet lord?’ This might be my Lord Such-a-One, that praised my Lord Such-a-One’s horse when ’a went to beg it, might it not? Mockery of court niceties and triviality, so and so and so and so, always after something, flattering only to get something that they want, always on the make. Ay, my lord, yes, absolutely. And the gravedigger digs on, and the skull sits.