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Beftial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Changes to a Palace.
Gent. She is importunate,
Queen. What would she have ?
hears, There's tricks i'th' world; and hems and beats her
heart; Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection; they aim at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; Which as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield
them, Indeed would make one think, there might be
thought; Tho' nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
Hor. "Twere good she were spoken with, for she
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
fick soul, as fin's true nature is,
Enter Ophelia, diftra&ted.
one ? By his cockle hat and staff, and his fandal shoonv
(Singing. Queen. Alas, sweet lady; what imports this song ?
Oph. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark.
Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers :
King. How do ye, pretty lady?
Oph. Well, Gód yield 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 us have no words of this ; but when they ask you what it means, say you this : To-morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine. Then up he rose, and don'd his clothes, and doʻpt the
chamber door ;
King. Pretty Ophelia !
By Gis, and by S. Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
By Cock, they are to blame.
You promis'd me to wed:
bed. King. How long has she been thus ? Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa
tient; but I cannot chule but weep, to think, they should 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; goodnight, sweet ladies; good-night, good-night. (Exit. King. Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you;
[Exit Horatio. This is ihe 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 flain; Next your Son gone, and he most violent author Of his own just Remove; the people muddied, Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and
whispers, For good Polonius' death ; (We've done but greenly, In private to inter him ;) poor Ophelia, Divided from herself, and her fair judgment; (Without the which we'er pictures, or mere beasts :) Last, and as much containing as all these, Her brother is in secret come from France : Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds, And wants not buzzers to infect his ear With pestilent fpeeches of his father's death ; Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, Will nothing stick our persons to arraign In ear and ear. O
dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering piece, in many places Gives me superfluous death ! [A noise within.
Queen. Alack ! what Noise is this?
S CE N E VI.
Enter a Mesenger'.
The ocean, over-peering of his lift,
Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trial they cry!
Queen. Calmly, good Laertés.
me bastard ;
King. What is the cause, Laertes,