OPHELIA: I think nothing, my lord.
HAMLET: Now that’s something nice for between a maid’s legs.
OPHELIA: What is, my lord?
OPHELIA: You’re in a merry mood, my lord.
HAMLET: Who, me?
OPHELIA: Ay, my lord.
HAMLET: What can a man do but be merry? For look how cheerful my mother looks, with my father dead just two hours ago.
OPHELIA: No—it’s been four months, my lord!
*nothing = in Shakespeare’s time, slang for female genitalia