Witness, this army of such mass, and charge, Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 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'th'world; and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, 3 The hearers to collection; they aim at it, ' continent, that which comprehends or encloses. 2 snuppishly. 3 to deduce consequences. 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? Oph. How should I your true love know From another one? By his cockle hat and staff,2 And his sandal shoon. [Singing. Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers; 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 you, what it means, say you this: they ask Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine. King. Pretty Ophelia ! Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't. 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'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 [Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude, pray you. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, In hugger-mugger to inter him: Poor Ophelia |