HAMLET         How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.

ROSENCRANTZ         I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

HAMLET         Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so followed?

ROSENCRANTZ         No, indeed are they not.

HAMLET         It is not very strange, for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mouths at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, there is something in this more than natural if philosophy could find it out.        (2.2.293-305)

How chances it they travel, how come the company are on tour? Their residence, both in reputation and in profit, was better both ways; surely they did better financially and in terms of their status, their status, when they based themselves in the city? Rosencrantz realises that this is slightly tricky territory, the impact of recent events in Denmark: I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. Times have changed, have forced them onto the road. Londoners were used to the theatres being closed—by plague, by civic unrest, in times of mourning—and the same is true in Denmark, where the old king has died and there’s fears over a Norwegian invasion. Hamlet’s not distracted, though; he wants to know if they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so followed? Are they as popular as they used to be, are they still packing them in? And Rosencrantz has to concede that no, indeed they are not.

Hamlet seizes on that, though: it is not very strange, for my uncle is King of Denmark—stranger things have happened, you see, who would ever have thought it! and those that would make mouths at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. People are fickle and inconstant in their loyalties and allegiances: when my father was alive no one had any time for my uncle, treated him as a joke, pulled faces behind his back. But now, well, they’re falling over each other to get his picture—portrait miniatures are meant, here, at increasingly ridiculous prices, but perhaps a contemporary version might be, they’re lining up to get selfies with him, or paying stupid money for a signed photo. ’Sblood, there is something in this more than natural if philosophy could find it out; Hamlet’s being heavily sarcastic here: what on earth can it all mean? (People are stupid, corrupt, self-serving—and forgetful.) But also: do we think something fishy is going on? (Often much trimmed in performance.)