O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, O heavens ! is 't possible, a young maid's wits * Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, Ophelia. You must sing, Down-a-down, an you call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! it is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. Laertes. This nothing's more than matter. Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; 'pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. Laertes. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted. : Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines there's rue for you; and here's some for me :-we may call it, herb of grace o' Sundays:-O! you must wear your rue with a difference.-There's a daisy :-I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died :-They say, he made a good end.— ACT IV. SCENE VII. Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream: Therewith fantastick garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them : When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Or like a creature native and indu'd Unto that element: but long it could not be, Laertes. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, King. Let's follow, Gertrude : How much I had to do to calm his rage! Therefore, let's follow. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. 1st. Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Laertes. Must there no more be done? No more be done! We should profane the service of the dead Laertes. Lay her i' the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest, When thou liest howling. Hamlet. What! the fair Ophelia? [Scattering flowers. Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!" I hop'd, thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; Laertes. [Leaps into the grave. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; Hamlet [advancing]. What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I, Hamlet the Dane. Laertes. [Leaps into the grave. [Grappling with him. The devil take thy soul ! Hamlet. Thou pray'st not well. I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; Which let thy wisdom fear.-Hold off thy hand. Queen. All. Gentlemen,— Horatio. Hamlet! Hamlet ! Good my lord, be quiet. Hamlet. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag. Queen. O my son ! what theme? Hamlet. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.-What wilt thou do for her? King. O, he is mad, Laertes. Queen. For love of God, forbear him. Hamlet. 'Zounds, show me what thou'lt do: Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself? Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, Queen. This is mere madness: And thus awhile the fit will work on him; When that her golden couplets are disclosed, Hamlet. Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus ? |