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By Gis and by Saint Charity,

Alack and fie for shame!

Young men will do 't if they come to 't;

By cock they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me,

You promised me to wed:

So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.

King. How long hath she been thus?

Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient but I cannot choose but weep, to think they shall lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night. [Exit. King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you, [Exit HORATIO.

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death. O, Gertrude, Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions! First, her father slain;

Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Of his own just remove: the people muddied, Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,

For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,

In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment;
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France;
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. O, my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within.
Alack, what noise is this?

Queen.

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And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry, "Choose we; Laertes shall be king!"
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the
clouds,

"Laertes shall be king; Laertes king!"

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they

cry;

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
King. The doors are broke. [Noise within.
Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following.
Laer. Where is this king?-Sirs, stand you
all without.

Danes. No, let's come in.

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pray you, give me leave. Danes. We will, we will.

[They retire without the door. Lacr. I thank you: keep the door. O, thou vile king,

Give me my father.

Queen.

Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood that 's calm, proclaims
me bastard;

Cries "cuckold" to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirchéd brow
Of my true mother.

King. What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?

Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would, -
Acts little of his will.. Tell me, Laertes,

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Like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment 'pear,
As day does to your eye.

Danes [within]. Let her come in.
Laer. How now! what noise is that?

Enter OPHELIA, funtastically dressed with straws
and flowers.

O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!—
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !

Why thou art thus incensed?- - Let him go, Ger- O heaven! is 't possible a young maid's wits

trude;

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Of

Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love: and where 't is fine,
I sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.

OPHELIA sings.

They bore him barefaced on the bier;
Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny:
And in his grave rained many a tear;

Fare you well, my dore!

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and did persuade

revenge,

It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, "Down a-down, an you call him a-down-a." O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.
Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remem-

your dear father's death, is 't writ in your re- brance; pray you, love, remember: and there is

venge

That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and

foe,

Winner and loser?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King. Will you know them, then?

pansies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness: thoughts and remembrance fitted!

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines : there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: you may

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope wear your rue with a difference. There's a

my arms;

daisy I would give you some violets; but they

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