So full of artless jealoufy is guilt, It fpills itfelf, in fearing to be fpilt. Enter OPHELIA, diftracted. Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?" Queen. How now, Ophelia !. Oph. "How fhould I your true love know from "another one? By his cockle hat and staff, and his fandal fhoon." [Singing. Queen. Alas, fweet Lady, what imports this fong? Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. "He's dead and gone, Lady, he's 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 fhroud as the mountain fnow." Queen. Alas, look here, my Lord. Oph. "Larded all with fweet flowers: "Which bewept to the grave did go "With true-love fhowers." King. How do you, pretty Lady! Oph. Well, God yield 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! (59) (59) Well, God dild you ! i. e Heaven reward you. We meet with this expreflion a little otherwife writ in Macbeth; -Herein I teach you How you fhould 1d God cyld us for our pains, King. Conceit upon her father. Oph. Pray, 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 Va"lentine. "Then up he rofe, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt "the chamber door; "Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed "more." King. Pretty Ophelia ! [on't. Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end "By Gis, and by St Charity, Alack, and fy for fhame! Young men will do't, if they come to❜t, 66 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 fun, King. How long has 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 fhall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good coun But, in Antony, we have the phrase in plain and genuine Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, So, Sir John Grey, in a letter, is Afhmole's Appendix to his account of the Garter, Number 46. The King of his gracious Lordshipe, God vreld him, hafe chofen me to be owne of his brethren of the Knights of the Gartier. fel. Come, my coach: good night, ladies; good night, fweet ladies; good night, good night, [Exit. King. Follow her clofe, give her good watch, I [Exit Horatio. This is the poifon of deep grief; it springs pray you ; All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude! When forrows come, they come not fingle fpies, But in battalions. First, her father flain; Next your fon gone, and he most violent author Of his own just remove; the people muddied, Thick and unwhole fome in their thoughts and whispers, For good 'olonius' death; (we've done but greenly, Divided from herfelf, and her fair judgment, [A noife within. Queen. Alack! what noife is this? Enter a Meffenger. King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard What is the matter ! Mef. Save yourfelf, my Lord. The ocean, over-peering of his lift, [the door. 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, The ratifiers and props of every Ward; (60) 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 false Danish dogs. [Noife within. Enter LAERTES, with a Party at the Door. King. The doors are broke. Laer. Where is this King? Sirs! ftand 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. [Exeunt. Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me bastard; Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chafte and unfmirched brow Of my true mother. (60) The ratifiers and props of every word;] The whole te nour of the context is fuficient to fhew, that this is a miftaken reading. What can antiquity and cuftom, being the props of words, have to do with the bufinefs in hand? or what idea is conveyed by it? Certainly, the Poct wrote; The ratifiers and props of every ward. The meffenger is complaining that the riotous head had overborne the King's officers; and then fubjoins, that antiquity and cuftom were forgot, which were the ratifiers and props of every ward, i. e. of every one of thofe fecurities that nature and law place about the perfon of a king. All this is ratioral and confequential. Mr Iarbarton. pray you; fel. Come, my coach: good night, ladies; good night, fweet ladies; good night, good night, [Exit. King. Follow her close, give her good watch, I [Exit Horatio. This is the poifon of deep grief; it fprings All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude! When forrows come, they come not fingle fpies, But in battalions. First, her father flain; Next your fon gone, and he most violent author Of his own juft remove; the people muddied, Thick and unwholefome in their thoughts and whispers, For good Polonius' death; (we've done but greenly, Divided from herfelf, and her fair judgment, Enter a Mefflenger. King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard What is the matter ! Mef. Save yourfelf, my Lord. The ocean, over-peering of his list, [the door. Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'er-bears Jour officers: the rabble call him Lord; |