Laer. That drop of blood, that calmes Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother

King. What is the cause Laertes, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like? Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King, That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes, Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude. Speake man

Laer. Where's my Father? King. Dead

Qu. But not by him

King. Let him demand his fill

Laer. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with. To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell. Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit. I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father

King. Who shall stay you? Laer. My Will, not all the world, And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well, They shall go farre with little

King. Good Laertes: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser

Laer. None but his Enemies

King. Will you know them then

La. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes: And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician, Repast them with my blood

King. Why now you speake Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman. That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it, It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce As day do's to your eye.

A noise within. Let her come in.

Enter Ophelia.

Laer. How now? what noise is that? Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye. By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May, Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life? Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues

Ophe. They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue

Laer. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge, it could not moue thus

Ophe. You must sing downe a-downe, and you call him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his masters daughter

Laer. This nothings more then matter

Ophe. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts

Laer. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance fitted

Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy

Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe: She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse

Ophe. And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy on his Soule. And of all Christian Soules, I pray God. God buy ye.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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