Quoth fhe, before you tumbled me, King. How long hath fhe been thus? Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot chufe but weep, to think they fhould lay him i'th' cold ground; my brother fhall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counfel. Come, my coach; goodnight, Ladies; good-night, fweet Ladies; good-night, good-night. [Exit. King. Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you; This is the poifon of deep grief, it fprings All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude! Next your fon gone, and he moft violent author Divided from her felf, and her fair judgment, 9 Wherein neceffity, [A Noife within. SCE NE VI. Enter a Messenger. King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door. What is the matter? Mef. Save your felf, my Lord. The ocean over-peering of his lift Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte, O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him Lord, Caps, hands, and 2/houts, applaud it to the clouds, Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trail they cry! Enter Laertes. King. The doors are broke. [Noife within. Laer. Where is the King? Sirs! ftand you all without. All. No, let's come in. Laer. I pray you give me leave. All. We will, we will. Laer. 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 baftard, Crys cuckold to my father, brands the harlot Even here between the chafte and unfmirch'd brow Of my true mother. King. What is the cause, Laertes, The ratifiers and props of every word They cry, "chufe we Laertes for our King." 2 tongues That That thy rebellion looks fo giant-like? Why are you thus incens'd? Let him go, Gertrude. Laer. Where is my father? Queen. 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 black devil! Confcience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation; to this point I ftand, That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd Moft throughly for my father. King. Who fhall stay you? Laer. My will, not all the world's. And for my means, I'll husband them fo well, King. Good Laertes, If you defire to know the certainty Of your dear father's death, in your revenge (That sweep-ftake) 4'will you draw both friend and foe, Winner and lofer ? Laer. None but his enemies. King. Will you know them then? Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms, And like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, Repaft them with my blood. - King. Why, now you speak Like a good child, and a true gentleman. 3 A&s 4 you will As As day does to your eye. A noife within, Let her come in. Laer. How now? what noife is that? SCENE VII. Enter Ophelia fantastically dreft with straws and flowers. O heat, dry up my brains! tears feven times falt, By heav'n, thy madness fhall be paid with weight, O heav'ns, is't poffible a young maid's wits Oph. They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier, Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadft thou thy wits, and didft perfwade revenge, It could not move thus. Oph. You must fing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a. O how the wheel becomes it! it is the falfe fteward that ftole his mafter's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rofemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there's pancies, 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 fome for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a dafie; I would give you fome violets, but they withered all when my father dy'd: they fay, he made a good end; For bonny fweet Robin is all my joy. Laer Laer. Thought and affliction, paffion, hell it felf, Oph. And will be not come again? No, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed, His beard as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan, And of all christian fouls! God b'w'ye. [Exit Ophelia. King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Be you content to lend your patience to us, . Laer. Let this be fo. His means of death, his obfcure funeral, No trophy fword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heav'n to earth; King. So you fhall: And where th' offence is, let the great ax fall. . [Exeunt. |