Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery?

I suppose it really is the indignity of death Hamlet is pointing to here. Once you are bones, your bones might be batted about by any number of people with any number of motivations.
It makes me think, too, about Jos Houben’s show – The Art of Laughter and how so much of our laughter is related to a loss of dignity – either our own or someone’s else’s. Dignity drives our desires and its disruption drives our laughter.

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