Nay, but, Ophelia –

OPH. Pray you mark.

 

[Sings.]

 

»White his shroud as the mountain snow« –

 

Enter King.

 

QUEEN. Alas, look here, my lord.

OPH.

 

Song.

 

»Larded all with sweet flowers,

Which bewept to the ground did not go

With true-love showers.«

KING. How do you, pretty lady?

OPH. Well, God dild 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's have no words of this, but when they ask you what it means, say you this:

Song.

 

»To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

 

Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es,

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 I'll make an end on't.

 

[Sings.]

 

»By Gis, and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do't if they come to't,

By Cock, they are to blame.

 

Quoth she, ›Before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed.‹«

(He answers.)

»›So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,

And 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 would 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 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 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 this 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 person to arraign

In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,

Like to a murd'ring-piece, in many places

Gives me superfluous death.

 

A noise within.

 

[QUEEN.

Alack, what noise is this?]

KING.

Attend!

Where is my Swissers? Let them guard the door.

 

Enter a Messenger.

 

What is the matter?

MESS.

Save yourself, my lord!

The ocean, overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impiteous 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 tongues applaud it to the clouds,

»Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!«

 

A noise within.

 

QUEEN.

How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

 

Enter Laertes with others.

 

KING.

The doors are broke.

LAER.

Where is this king? Sirs, stand 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.

 

[Exeunt Laertes' followers.]

 

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

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 damnation. To this point I stand,

That both the worlds I give to negligence,

Let come what comes, only I'll be reveng'd

Most throughly for my father.

KING.

Who shall stay you?

LAER.

My will, not all the world's:

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, is't writ in your revenge

That, swoopstake, 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.