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Enter King.

Queen. Alas, look here, my lord!

Oph. (Sings)

Larded all with sweet flowers;

Which bewept to the grave did not go

With true-love showers.

King. How do you, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God dild 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's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what

it means, say you this:

(Sings) To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning bedtime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es

And dupp'd the chamber door,

Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia!

Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!

[Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do't if they come to't

By Cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed.'

He answers:

'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,

An thou hadst not come to my bed.'

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 would 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 pray you.

[Exit Horatio.]

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs

All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies.

But in battalions! First, her father slain;

Next, Your son gone, and he most violent author

Of his own just remove; the people muddied,

Thick and and unwholesome 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 herself and her fair-judgment,

Without the which we are Pictures or mere beasts;

Last, and as such containing as all these,

Her brother is in secret come from France;

And wants not buzzers to infect his ear

Feeds on his wonder, keep, himself in clouds,

With pestilent speeches of his father's death,

Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,

Will nothing stick Our person to arraign

In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,

Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places

Give, me superfluous death. A noise within.

Queen. Alack, what noise is this?

King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.

Enter a Messenger.

What is the matter?

Mess. Save Yourself, my lord:

The ocean, overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste

Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head,

O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord;

And, as the world were now but to begin,

Antiquity forgot, custom not known,

The ratifiers and props of every word,

They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'

Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,

'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'

A noise within.

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

King. The doors are broke.

Enter Laertes with others.

Laer. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid 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. [Exeunt his Followers.]

O thou vile king,

Give me my father!

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;

Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows

Of my true mother.

King. What is the cause, Laertes,

That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?

Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.

There's such divinity doth hedge a king

That treason can but peep to what it would,

Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?

King. Dead.

Queen.