ACT IV SCENE V� Setting: Elsinore. A room in the castle.
Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE, HORATIO, and a Gentleman.�
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
I will not speak with her. |
� |
| Gentleman� |
She is importunate, indeed distract: |
� |
| � |
Her mood will needs be pitied. |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
What would she have? |
|
| Gentleman� |
She speaks much of her father; says she hears |
� |
| � |
There's tricks i' the 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; |
�10 |
| � |
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures |
� |
| � |
yield them, |
� |
| � |
Indeed would make one think there might be thought, |
|
| � |
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. |
� |
| HORATIO� |
Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew |
� |
| � |
Dangerous conjectures in ill–breeding minds. |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Let her come in. |
� |
| � |
Exit HORATIO. |
� |
| � |
Aside. To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, |
|
| � |
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: |
� |
| � |
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, |
� |
| � |
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. |
�20 |
| � |
Re–enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA. |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
How now, Ophelia! |
|
| OPHELIA� |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
How should I your true love know |
� |
| � |
From another one? |
� |
| � |
By his cockle hat and staff, |
� |
| � |
And his sandal shoon. |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? |
|
| OPHELIA� |
Say you? nay, pray you, mark. |
� |
| � |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
He is dead and gone, lady, |
� |
| � |
He is dead and gone; |
�30 |
| � |
At his head a grass–green turf, |
� |
| � |
At his heels a stone. |
|
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Nay, but, Ophelia,–– |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
Pray you, mark. |
� |
| � |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
White his shroud as the mountain snow,–– |
� |
| � |
Enter KING CLAUDIUS |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Alas, look here, my lord. |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
Larded with sweet flowers |
|
| � |
Which bewept to the grave did go |
� |
| � |
With true–love showers. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
How do you, pretty lady? |
�40 |
| OPHELIA� |
Well, God 'ild 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 CLAUDIUS� |
Conceit upon her father. |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
Pray you, 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 betime, |
� |
| � |
And I a maid at your window, |
� |
| � |
To be your Valentine. |
�50 |
| � |
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, |
� |
| � |
And dupp'd the chamber–door; |
|
| � |
Let in the maid, that out a maid |
� |
| � |
Never departed more. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Pretty Ophelia! |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
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 promised me to wed. |
|
| � |
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, |
� |
| � |
An thou hadst not come to my bed. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
How long hath she been thus? |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I |
� |
| � |
cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him |
|
| � |
i' the 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 CLAUDIUS� |
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, |
�60 |
| � |
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 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 much containing as all these, |
�70 |
| � |
Her brother is in secret come from France; |
� |
| � |
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, |
|
| � |
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear |
� |
| � |
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 murdering–piece, in many places |
� |
| � |
Gives me superfluous death. |
� |
| � |
A noise within. |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Alack, what noise is this? |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. |
� |
| � |
Enter a Messenger. |
� |
| � |
What is the matter? |
|
| Gentleman� |
Save yourself, my lord: |
�81 |
| � |
The ocean, overpeering of his list, |
� |
| � |
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste |
� |
| � |
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, |
� |
| � |
O'erbears your officers. 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: |
�90 |
| � |
Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!' |
� |
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! |
� |
| � |
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
The doors are broke. |
� |
| � |
Noise within. |
� |
| � |
Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Where is this king? Sirs, stand you all without. |
|
| Danes� |
No, let's come in. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
I pray you, give me leave. |
� |
| Danes� |
We will, we will. |
� |
| � |
They retire without the door. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile king, |
� |
| � |
Give me my father! |
|
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
Calmly, good Laertes. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard, |
�100 |
| � |
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot |
� |
| � |
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow |
� |
| � |
Of my true mother. |
|
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
What is the cause, Laertes, |
� |
| � |
That thy rebellion looks so giant–like? |
� |
| � |
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 incensed. Let him go, Gertrude. |
� |
| � |
Speak, man. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Where is my father? |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Dead. |
|
| QUEEN GERTRUDE� |
But not by him. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Let him demand his fill. |
�110 |
| LAERTES� |
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 thoroughly for my father. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Who shall stay you? |
|
| LAERTES� |
My will, not all the world: |
� |
| � |
And for my means, I'll husband them so well, |
� |
| � |
They shall go far with little. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Good Laertes, |
� |
| � |
If you desire to know the certainty |
�121 |
| � |
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge, |
� |
| � |
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe, |
� |
| � |
Winner and loser? |
� |
| LAERTES� |
None but his enemies. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Will you know them then? |
|
| LAERTES� |
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms; |
� |
| � |
And like the kind life–rendering pelican, |
� |
| � |
Repast them with my blood. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Why, now you speak |
� |
| � |
Like a good child and a true gentleman. |
|
| � |
That I am guiltless of your father's death, |
�130 |
| � |
And am most sensible in grief for it, |
� |
| � |
It shall as level to your judgment pierce |
� |
| � |
As day does to your eye. |
� |
| Danes� |
Within.�Let her come in. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
How now! what noise is that? |
|
| � |
Re–enter OPHELIA. |
� |
| � |
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 by 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 |
�140 |
| � |
Should be as moral 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. |
|
| OPHELIA� |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
They bore him barefaced on the bier; |
� |
| � |
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny; |
� |
| � |
And in his grave rain'd many a tear:–– |
� |
| � |
Fare you well, my dove! |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, |
|
| � |
It could not move thus. |
�150 |
| OPHELIA� |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
You must sing a–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, |
� |
| � |
love, remember: and there is pansies. that's for thoughts. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. |
�159 |
| OPHELIA� |
There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue |
|
| � |
for you; and here's some for me: we may call it |
� |
| � |
herb–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,–– |
|
| � |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, |
� |
| � |
She turns to favour and to prettiness. |
� |
| OPHELIA� |
Sings. |
� |
| � |
And will he not come again? |
� |
| � |
And will he not come again? |
�170 |
| � |
No, no, he is dead: |
� |
| � |
Go to thy death–bed: |
� |
| � |
He never will come again. |
� |
| � |
His beard was as white as snow, |
� |
| � |
All flaxen was his poll: |
|
| � |
He is gone, he is gone, |
� |
| � |
And we cast away moan: |
� |
| � |
God ha' mercy on his soul! |
� |
| � |
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be wi' you. |
� |
| � |
Exit |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Do you see this, O God? |
|
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
Laertes, I must commune with your grief, |
�180 |
| � |
Or you deny me right. Go but apart, |
� |
| � |
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will. |
� |
| � |
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: |
� |
| � |
If by direct or by collateral hand |
|
| � |
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, |
� |
| � |
Our crown, our life, and all that we can ours, |
� |
| � |
To you in satisfaction; but if not, |
� |
| � |
Be you content to lend your patience to us, |
� |
| � |
And we shall jointly labour with your soul |
|
| � |
To give it due content. |
� |
| LAERTES� |
Let this be so; |
�190 |
| � |
His means of death, his obscure funeral–– |
� |
| � |
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, |
� |
| � |
No noble rite nor formal ostentation–– |
|
| � |
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, |
� |
| � |
That I must call't in question. |
� |
| KING CLAUDIUS� |
So you shall; |
� |
| � |
And where the offence is, let the great axe fall. |
� |
| � |
I pray you, go with me. |
|
| � |
Exeunt |
|
