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Witness, this army of such mass, and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince;
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great,
Is, not to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reason, and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame,

Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough, and continent,'
To hide the slain?-O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! [Exit.

SCENE V.-Elsinore. A room in the castle.

Enter Queen and HORATIO.

Queen.I will not speak with her.

Hor. She is importunate; indeed, distract; Her mood will needs be pitied.

Queen.

What would she have?

Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears, There's tricks i'th'world; and hems, and beats her

heart;

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

3

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

' continent, that which comprehends or encloses.

2

snuppishly.

3 to deduce consequences.

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield

them,

Indeed would make one think, there might 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 spilt.

Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHelia.

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? Queen. How now, Ophelia?

Oph. How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,2

And his sandal shoon.

[Singing.

Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?

Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

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Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did go,
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, let us have no words of this; but when you, what it means, say you this:

they ask

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

King. Pretty Ophelia !

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't. 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 should lay him i'th'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 [Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude,

pray you.

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

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