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Danes. No, let's come in.
I pray you, give me leave. Danes. We will, we will.
[They retire without the door. Laer. I thank you; keep the door. O thou vile
king, Give me my father! Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes. 105
[Laying hold of him. Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims
me bastard, Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched
What is the cause, Laertes,
But not by him. King. Let him demand his fill. Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled
120 To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged 125 Most throughly for my father. King.
Who shall stay you?
Will you know them then?
Repast them with my blood.
Why, now you speak
And am most sensibly in grief for it, 140 It shall as level to your judge:rent pierce
As day does to your eye. Danes. [Within.]
Let her come in. Laer. How now! what noise is that?
weight, Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is 't possible, a young maid’s wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? [Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, 150 It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.] Oph. [Sings.] They bore him barefaced on the bier:
[Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny ;)
And in his grave rained many a tear, - 155 Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade
And you call him a-down-a.
steward, that stole his master's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;
105 pray you, love, remember; and there is
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. 0, you must wear your rue, with a difference. There's a daisy. I would give you_some
violets, but they withered all when my father 175 died. They say he made a good end,
[Sings.] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness.
Oph. [Sings.] And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed;
He is gone, he is gone,
And of all Christian souls, [I pray God.]
[Exit. 20 Laer. Do you see this, O God? King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you
To give it due content.
Let this be so.
earth, That I must call ’t in question. King.
So you shall; And where the offence is let the great axe fall. I pray you, go with me.