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. What would she have? Queen. Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears, There 's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, 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 would be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'T were good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds: Let her come in. To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, [Exit HORATIO. Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt. Re-enter HORATIO with OPHELIA. Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? Oph. (sings) How should I your true love know By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon. Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. He is dead and gone, lady, At his head a grass-green turf, Queen. Nay, but Ophelia,— Oph. Pray you, mark. White his shroud as the mountain snow. Enter KING. Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. Oph. Larded with sweet flowers; Which bewept to the grave did not go, 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 it means, say you this: To-morrow's Saint Valentine's day All in the morning betime, To be your Valentine: Then up he rose, and donn'd his cl thes, b And dupp'd the chamber-door; Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more. King. Pretty Ophelia ! Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I 'll make an end on 't : By Gis, and by Saint Charity, Alack, and f'ye for shame Young men will do 't, if they come to 't; By cock, they are to blame. a God 'ield you-God requite you, b Dupp'd. To dup is to do up; as to don is to do on. Quoth she, before you tumbled me, So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, King. How long has she been this? 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. you. [Exit. King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray [Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: 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 hut greenly,a In hugger-mugger to inter him: Poor Ophelia, Queen. [A noise within. Alack! what noise is this? a Greenly-unwisely; like novices. Enter a Gentleman. King. 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 impitious a haste, Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him, lord; 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 cry! O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following. Laer. Where is this king?—Sirs, stand you all with out. Dan. No, let's come in. Laer. Dan. We will, we will. [They retire without the door. 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 bastard; Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow King. What is the cause, Laertes, a Impitious-unpitying. That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? Laer. Where is my father? King. Queen. go, Gertrude ; Dead. 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, 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. 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, Repast them with my blood. Why, now you speak King. |