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'the world; and hems, and beats

Spurns enviously at straws;
That carry but half sense:

her heart?

speaks things in doubt, her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

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;

OPE. How should I your true love know
From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff.
And his sandal shoon.

[Singing.

Queen. Alas, sweet Lady, what imports this song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

O, ho!

He is dead and gone, Lady, [Sings.
He is dead and gone;

A his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia,

Oph. Pray you, mark.

White his shroud as the mountain snow.

Enter King.

[Sings.

Queen. Alas, look here, my Lord.
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 they ask you, what it means, say you this:

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day;
All this morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine:

Then up he rose, and don'd his cloathes,
And dupp'd the chamber door;

Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia!>

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, l'll make an end

ou't:

By Gis, and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fye for shame!

Young men will do't, if they come to't s
By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled
You promis'd me to wed:
[He answers.]

me,

So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.

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'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, I pray you. [Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude,

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 judgement;
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts.
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from Frauce:
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his e ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. 0 my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death! [A noise within.
Queen. Alack what noise is this?

Enter a Gentleman.

King. Attend.

Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door: What is the matter?

Gent. Save yourself, my Lord?

The ocean overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,

O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him, 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 tongués, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King:

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they
cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
King. The doors are broke.

[Noise within.

Enter LAERTES arm'd; 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 will,

[They retire without the door:
keep the door.➡Ɑ thou
vile King,

Laer. I thank you:

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 uusmirched brow, Of my true mother.

King.

What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant like?-

Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person;
There's such divinity doth hedge a King.

That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art thus incens'd; -Let him go, Gertrude;

Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?

King. Dead.

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 blackest devil!
Conscience, and grace to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnatión: To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,