in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father? OPHELIA At home, my lord. HAMLET Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house. Farewell. OPHELIA O, help him, you sweet heavens! HAMLET If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell. OPHELIA O heavenly powers, restore him! HAMLET 89 I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and
It began (with two enciphering errors): Thou image of my heart! Sometimes people inserted cryptograms just to see if anyone would make them out. A piece of advice about education, enciphered in a Caesar substitution, dated Kensington, was followed a week later by a cleartext advertisement addressed to Kensington, saying, Your cipher is made out; but such good maxims should be written in plain English, that all might benefit. On February 10, 1852, The Times was used to circulate calumny against itself—in cryptographic form, of course: TIG TJOHW IT TIG JFHIIWOLA OG TIG PSGVW. It stood for The Times is the Jefferies of the press, enciphered in a progressive Vigenere with key ABCD . . . beginning anew with each word. The reference to George Jeffreys, a 17th-century English judge, meant that The Times was a pusillanimous tool of the government and mercilessly severe to its opponents. When the editor of The Times heard about the cryptogram, he, like his queen, was not amused
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