(Sings.) Says John "go to the back-kitchen window, 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 I thank you so 'tis best-you counsel right- 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: The rabble swear your majesty shall swing, "Laertes shall be king." And loudly cry, Enter LAERTes. Laertes. You blackguard! (To the King.) Queen. Fie! Laertes. Laertes. [Exit Marcellus. [Noise without. I had rather 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. Here's Miss Ophelia, Sir. Horatio. 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. Luertes. To see her thus-O, 'tis a doleful pity! Ophelia. What must be, must-but hush!—I'll end my ditty. (Sings.) A captain bold in Halifax, Who liv'd in country quarters, Stop-stop-I've brought some fruit:- -for Queen, The finest cabbage that was ever seen; To bring a rope of onions, (ƒ) too, I tried, you, sweet Well, there's an end of him!-he's gone!-aye, trueCome, one song more, and then-then I'll go too. SONG OPHELIA. And will he not come again? He is knock'd o' the head, And than mutton more dead, And never will come again, His beard was as white as my shift, For grieving's a folly, And never will save his soul. [Exeunt Ophelia and Queen. But come; we'll have a private conversation, And I'll acquaint you who 'twas kill'd your father.- You may depend on ample reparation. Laertes. His shabby fun'ral too-O sad reproach! No mutes, no pall-bearers, and (what's still worse) King. You shall.-Tip us your daddle: But on the right horse see you place the saddle. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Another Room in the Palace. Enter KING and LAERTES. King. And now, my cock of wax, I've prov'd that I Have never had a finger in the pie. Thinking to murder me, did Hamlet kill him. Laertes. O, let me catch him, and I'll sweetly mill him (g). |