You'd better have her in to keep her quiet. Queen. Well, send her up. (Exit Hor.) I think the devil's in it, That I can never be alone a minute. Enter HORATIO with OPHELIA. Ophelia (sings). Three children sliding on the ice, All on a summer's day, The ice it broke—they all fell in— The rest-they ran away. Queen. Sweet lady, what's the meaning of this song? Ophelia. I'll sing the rest-for 'tis not very long. (Sings.) Now had these children staid at home, And slid upon dry ground, They broken necks had had, perchance, Enter KING. King. How is't, Ophelia ? Ophelia. Where's the use of sorrow? For, ah! we're gone to-day and here to-morrow! SONG.-OPHELIA. (Tune-" How happy could I be with either.) 'Tis the fashion for lads to court lasses, Ophelia. Ri tol, &c. Aye, 'tis true, depend on't; And so, without an oath, I'll make an end on't. E Says John " (Sings.) go to the back-kitchen window, And quickly I'll come and unbar it.” But, to shorten a very long story, Peggy staid all night long in John's garret. We must be patient; all may yet be well. Yet I must weep-to lay him in the dirt is A dirty trick-I'll tell it to Laertes. I thank you so 'tis best-you counsel right My coach-three thirty-five (d)-good night, good night. King. [Exit Ophelia. Follow her close: Horatio, you be at her; See you look sharp. (Exit Hor.) Hollo, there! what's the matter? [Noise without. Enter MARCELLUS. Marcellus. My lord, my lord, Laertes heads a mob, And comes to knock about your royal nob: You'd mind your business. (To King) Give me back my father. King. Hold him fast, Gertrude, I'll get out o' th' way; I'll prove my innocence beyond all doubt. Laertes. None of your blarney, (e) —but I'll soon find out. Enter HORATIO. Horatio. Here's Miss Ophelia, Sir. King. Pray let her come in. Enter OPHELIA, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers; her clothes splashed with mud and dirt. Laertes. My pretty maid-This is too much to bear! Ophelia. (Sings.) Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown, Ri tol, &c. The fairest wench in all the town. Tiddy, tiddy, &c. Laeries. To see her thus-O, 'tis a doleful pity! Ophelia. What must be, must-but hush!-I'll end my ditty. |