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Inåeed would make one think there would be
thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with ;
for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. Let her come in.
[Exit HORATIO. To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself, in fearing to be split.
Re-enter HORATIO with OPHELIA.
How should I your true love know
From another one?
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. (Sings.) He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his heels a stone.
Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, -
Pray you, mark. [Sings.] White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers;
With true-love showers.
King. How do you, pretty lady?
Oph. Well, God 'ield you! They say, the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table ! King. Conceit upon her father.
Oph. Pray you, let us have no words of this ; but when they ask you what means, say you
(Sings.] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day
All in the morning betime,
And dupp'd the chamber-door;
Never departed more.
Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't: (Sings.] By Gis, and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
By cock, they are to blame.
You promised me to wed :
An thou hadst not come to my bed.
Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should 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,
[Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Ger
trude, 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 beggar'd, Will nothing stick our persons to arraign In ear and ear. O my dear Gertude, this, Like to a murdering-piece, in many places Gives me superfluous death. (A noise within. Queen.
Alack ! what noise is this? King. Where are my Switzers ? Let them
guard the door:
Enter a Gentleman,
Save yourself, my lord ;
lord ; 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 O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
[Noise within. King. The doors are broke.
Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following. Laer. Where is this king ?-Sirs, stand you
all without. Dan. No, let's come in. Laer.
I pray you, give me leave. Dan. We will, we win.
[They retire without the door. Laer. I thank you:-keep the door.–0 thou
vile king, Give me my father. Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes. Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, pro
claims me bastard ; Cries, cuckold, to my father ; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
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
with : To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged Most throughly for my father.
King. Who shall stay you ?
Laer. My will, not all the world : And for my means, I'll husband them so well, They shall go far with little. King.
Good Laertes, If you desire to know the certainty Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your
revenge, That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend
and foe, Winner and loser ?
Laer. None but his enemies.
Will you know them then ?