HAMLET         Why, e’en so. And now my Lady Worm’s – chapless and knocked about the mazard with a sexton’s spade. Here’s fine revolution an we had the trick to see’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with them? Mine ache to think on’t.

GRAVEDIGGER

(Sings.)

        A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,

        For and a shrouding-sheet,

        O, a pit of clay for to be made

        For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up another skull.]    (5.1.83-92)

Absolutely, exactly; Hamlet repeats what he’s just said, this skull could have been anyone’s, why, e’en so. And now my Lady Worm’s; that’s who this putative courtier’s skull belongs to now (giving the equally anonymous worm a courtesy title)—it’s chapless and knocked about the mazard with a sexton’s spade. No jaw, and beaten around the head with a gravedigger’s shovel! To have come to this! Here’s fine revolution an we had the trick to see it; we could note, if we only had the ability to discern it, how are the mighty fallen, how the world is turned upside down. The gravedigger’s on top; he’s the one in control! Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with them—is that all they’re worth, all a life is worth, to become a gravedigger’s football? (In a manner of speaking. Actually loggets are apparently more like skittles. Or ten-pin bowling.) Mine—my bones ache to think on’t. SHUDDER. OW.

But the gravedigger digs on, and sings on as he digs, of his work and its tools—and he’s well aware of what he’s doing, in the invocation of pickaxe and spade, which he has to hand, and the shrouding-sheet to come (coffins still not the norm for all but the elite)—and the pit of clay will contain clay, earth to earth—of course it’s the appropriate resting place for the guest (euphemistic, but also courteous, even welcoming) it will shortly receive.

And there’s another skull. At least two in the scene now, identical. That matters.