Indeed would make one think there would be Thoughts
Though nothing fure, yet much unhappily.

Queen. 'Twere good the were spoken with, for fhe may Dangerous Conjectures in ill-breeding Minds.

Let her come in.

To my fick Soul, as Sin's true Nature is,
Each toy feems Prologue to fome great amifs,
So full of artlefs Jealoufie is Guilt,

It fpills it felf in fearing to be fpilt.

Enter Ophelia distracted.

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

[ftrow

Oph. How Should I your true Love know, from another one?
By his cockle Hat and Staff, and his fandal Shoon. [Singing.
Queen. Alas, fweet Lady; what imports this Song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you maık.

He is dead and gone, Lady, he is dead and gone,
At his Head a Grafs-green Turf, at his Heels a Stone.
Enter King.

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia.

Oph. Pray you mark.

White his Shrowd as the Mountain-Snow.

Queen. Alas, look here, my Lord.

Oph. Larded with fweet Flowers:

Which bewept to the Grave did not go,

With True-love showers.

King. How do ye, pretty Lady?

Oph. Well, God dil'd you. They fay 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, fay you this:

To morrow is St. Valentine's Day, all in the morn betime,
And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.

Then up he rofe, and don'd his Cloths, and dupt the Chamber-door;
Let in a 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 S. Charity;

Alack, an fie for shame,

Young

Young Men will do't, if they come tot,
By Cock they are to blame.
Quoth fhe, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed:

So would I ha' done, by yonder Sun,
And thou hadst not come to

my

Bed.

King. How long hath the been thus?

Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot chufe but weep, to think they fhould lay him i'th' cold Ground; my Brother shall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good Counfel. Come, my Coach; goodnight, Ladies; goodnight, fweet Ladies; goodnight, goodnight.

[Exit.
King. Follow her clofe, give her good Watch, I pray you;
Oh this is the Poifon of deep Grief, it springs
All from her Father's death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude!
When Sorrows come, they come not fingle Spies,
But in Battalions. Firft, her Father flair,

Next your Son gone, and he most violent Author
Of his own juft Remove; the People muddied,
Thick and unwholfome 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 her felf, and her fair Judgment,
Without the which we are Pictures, or mere Beafts:
Laft, and as much containing as all these,
Her Brother is in fecret come from France,
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in Clouds,
And wants not Buzzers to infect his Ear
With peftilent Speeches of his Father's Death;
Where in neceffity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing ftick our Perfons to arraign
In Ear and Ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering Piece in many places,
Gives me fuperfluous Death.

Enter a Meffenger.

Queen. Alack, what Noife is this?

[A Noife within.

King, Where are my Switzers? Let them uard the Door.

What is the matter?

Mef. Save your felf, my Lord,

The Ocean, over peering of his Lift,

Eats

Eats not the Flats with more impetuous hafte,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous Head,

O'er-bears your Officers; the Rabble call him Lord,
And as the World were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, Cuftome not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry, chufe we Laertes for our King.
Caps, Hands, and Tongues, applaud it to the Clouds,
Laertes fhall be King, Laertes King.

Queen. How chearfully on the falfe Trail they cry, Oh this is Counter, you falfe Danish Dogs. [Noife within. Enter Laertes.

King. The Doors are broke.

Laer. Where is the 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. O thou vile King, give me my Father. Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of Blood that calms, proclaims me Baftard:

Crys Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot
Even here between the chafte unfmitched Brow
Of my true Mother.

King. What is the Caufe, Laertes,

That thy Rebellion looks fo Giant-like?
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our Perfon:
There's fuch Divinity doth hedge a King,
That Treafon can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his Will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why art thou thus incenft? Let him go, Gertrude.
Speak Man.

Laer. Where's my Father?
King. Dead.

Queen. But not by him.

King. Let him demand his fill.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggl'd with
To Hell Allegiance; Vows to the blackeft Devil;
Confcience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit;
I dare Damnation; to this point I ftand,

That

That both the Worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Moft throughly for my Father.

King. Who hall stay you?

Laer. My Will, not all the World.

And for my means, I'll husband them fo well,
They fhall go far with Mttle.

If

King. Good Laertes:

you defire to know the certainty

Of your dear Father's death, if 'tis not writ in your Revenge, That Soop-ftake you will draw both Friend and Foe,

Winner and Lofer.

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-rendring Pelican, Repaft them with my Blood.

King. Why now you speak

Like a good Child, and a true Gentleman.
That I am guiltlefs of your Father's death,
And am moft fenfible in Grief for it,
It shall as level to your Judgment pierce,
As Day does to your Eye.

[A Noife within. Let her come in;

Enter Ophelia, fantastically dreft with Straws and Flowers:
Laer. How now? what noife is that?

O heat dry up my Brains, tears feven times fält,
Burn out the fenfe and virtue of mine Eye.
By Heav'n thy madness shall be paid by weight,
'Till our Scale turns the Beam. O Rofe of May!
Dear Maid, kind Sifter, fweet Ophelia!

O Heav'ns, is't poffible, a young Maid's wits,
Should be as mortal as an old Man's Life?
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
It fends fome precious inftance of it self
After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him bare-fac`d on the Beer:
Hey non noney, noney, hey noney:

And on his Grave rains many a Tears
Fare you well, my Dove.

Laer. Hadft thou thy wits, and didft perfwade Revenge, It could not move thus.

Oph. You must fing down a-down, and you call him a down-a. O how the Wheels become it? It is thefalle Steward that ftole his Mafter's Daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance;

Pray Love remember; and there's Pancies, that's for Thoughts.

Laer. A document in madnefs, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's Fennel for you, and Columbines; there's Rue for you, and here's fome for me. We may call it Herb-Grace a Sundays: O you must wear your Rue with a difference. There's a Dafie, I would give you fome Vio lets, but they withered all when my Father dyed: They fay, he made a good end;

For bonny Sweet Robin is all my joy.

Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Paffion, Hell it felf, She turns to favour, and to prettiness.

Oph. And will be not come again?

And will be not come again?

No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed,
He never will come again.

His Beard as white as Snow,

All Flaxen was his Pole:

He is gone, he is gone, and we caft away mone,

Gramercy on his Soul.

And of all Chriftian Souls, I pray God.

God b'w'ye.

Laer. Do you fee this, you Gods?

[Exit Ophelia.

King. Laertes, I must commune with your Grief,

Or you deny me right: Go but a-part,

Make choice of whom your wifeft Friends you will,
And they fhall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by Collateral Hand

They find us touch'd, we will our Kingdom give,
Our Crown, our Life, and all that we call Ours,
To you in fatisfaction. But if not,

Be you content to lend your Patience to us,
VOL, V.

Bb

And