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; 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: 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 By his cockle hat and staff. [Singing. Queen. Alas, sweet Lady, what imports this song? O, ho! He is dead and gone, Lady, [Sings. 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. 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; Then up he rose, and don'd his cloathes, Let in the maid, that out a maid 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 Quoth she, before you tumbled me, So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 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, For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly In hugger-mugger to inter him: Poor Ophelia 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, 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 tongués, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King: Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. [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. [They retire without the door: 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, Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; That treason can but peep to what it would, 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 To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! |