Dead.

King.
Queen.

King. Let him demand his fill.

But not by him.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled

with:

To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation: to this point I stand ;-
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged
Most throughly for my father.

King.

Who shall stay you?

Laer. My will, not all the world's;

And, for my means, I'll husband them so well,

They shall go far with little.

If

King.

Good Laertes,

you desire to know the certainty

Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your re

venge,

That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and

foe,

Winner and loser?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King.

Will you know them then?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my

arms;

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican,

Repast them with my blood.

King.

Why, now you speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's death,

And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment 'pear,
As day does to your eye.

Danes. [within.] Let her come in.
Laer. How now! what noise is that?

Enter OPHELIA, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers.

O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!—
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !—

O heavens! is 't possible, a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love; and, where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him barefaced on the bier;
Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny :

And in his grave rain'd many a tear.'

Fare you well, my dove!

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,

It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, 'Down a-down, an you call him a-down-a.' O, how the wheel1 becomes it!

1 The burthen of the song.

It is the false steward that stole his master's

daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. 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:-you may wear your rue with a difference.1-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;

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.' [sings.

Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell it

self,

She turns to favor and to prettiness.

Oph. 'And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead;

Go to thy death-bed;

He never will come again.

[sings.

i. e. by its Sunday name, herb of grace; while inine re

tains the name of rue, i. e. sorrow.