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, 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 Queen. And, as the world were now but to begin, "Laertes shall be king; Laertes king!" Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry; O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. Danes. No, let's come in. 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 Cries "cuckold" to my father; brands the harlot King. What is the cause, Laertes, Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person: Like a good child and a true gentleman. Danes [within]. Let her come in. Enter OPHELIA, funtastically dressed with straws O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt, Why thou art thus incensed?- - Let him go, Ger- O heaven! is 't possible a young maid's wits trude; Of Should be as mortal as an old man's life? OPHELIA sings. They bore him barefaced on the bier; 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. 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 |