OPHELIA

Do you doubt that? No more but so. I shall the effect of this good Lesson keep, As watchmen to my heart: but good my Brother Do not as some ungracious Pastor's do, Show me the steep and thorny way to Heaven; While Like a puffed and reckless Libertine Himself, the Primrose path of dalliance treads, And reaks not his own read. 'Tis in my memory locked, And you your self shall keep the key of it. So please you, something touching the L. Hamlet. He hath my Lord of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me. I do not know, my Lord, what I should think. My Lord, he hath importuned me with love, In honourable fashion. And hath given countenance to his speech, My Lord, with all the vows of Heaven. I shall obey my Lord. Alas my Lord, I have been so affrighted. My Lord, as I was sowing in my Chamber, Lord Hamlet with his doublet all unbraced, No hat upon his head, his stockings fouled, Ungartered, and down gived to his Ankle, Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speak of horrors: he comes before me. My Lord, I do not know: but truly I do fear it. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm; And with his other hand thus over his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long stayed he so, At last, a little shaking of mine Arm: And thrice his head thus waving up and down; He raised a sighs, so piteous and profound, That it did seem to shatter all his bulk, And end his being. That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulders turned, He seemed to find his way without his eyes, For out adores he went without their help; And to the last, bent their light on me. No my good Lord: but as you did command, I did repel his Letters, and deny'de His access to me. Madam, I wish it may. Good my Lord, How does your Honour for this many a day? My Lord, I have Remembrances of yours, That I have longed long to redeliver. I pray you now, receive them. My honoured Lord, I know right well you did, And with them words of so sweet breath composed, As made the things more rich, then perfume left: Take these again, for to the Noble mind Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. There my Lord. My Lord. What means your Lordship? Could Beauty my Lord, have better Commerce then your Honesty? Indeed my Lord, you made me believe so. I was the more deceived. At home, my Lord. Oh help him, you sweet Heavens. Oh heavenly Powers, restore him. Oh what a Noble mind is here overthrown? The Courtiers, Soldiers, Scholars: Eye, tongue, sword, the expectansie and Rose of the fair State, The glass of Fashion, and the mould of Form, the observed of all Observers, quite, quite down. Have I of Ladies most deject and wretched, That sucked the Honey of his Music Vows: Now see that Noble, and most Sovereign Reason, Like sweet Bells angled out of tune, and harsh, That unmatched Form and Feature of blown youth, Blasted with ecstasy. O woe is me, to have seen what I have seen: see what I see. No my Lord. I my Lord. I think nothing, my Lord. What is my Lord? You are merry, my Lord? I my Lord. Nay, it's twice two months, my Lord. What means this, my Lord? Belike this show imports the Argument of the Play? Will they tell us what this show meant? You are nought, you are nought, I'll mark the Play. For us, and for our Tragedy, Here stooping to your Clemency: We beg your hearing Patiently. It's brief my Lord. You are a good Chorus, my Lord. You are keen my Lord, you are keen. Still better and worse. The King rises. How should I your true love know from another one ? By his Cockle hat and staff, and his Sandal shoone. Say you? Nay pray you mark. He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green Turf, at his heals a stone. Pray you mark. White his Shrow as the Mountain Snow. Larded with sweet flowers: Which bewept to the graven did not go, With truelove showers. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owl was a Bakers daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your Table. Pray you let's have no words of this: but when they ask you what it means, say you this: Tomorrow is S. Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window to be your Valentine. Then up he rose, & doned his clothes, & dupt the chamber door, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, never departed more. Indeed la? without and oath I'll make and end out. By Jesu, and by S. Charity, Alack, and sie for shame: Young men will doo't, if they come too't, By Cock they are too blame. Quoth she before you tumbled me, You promised me to Wed: So would I would done by yonder Sun, And thou hadst not come to my bed. I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him in the cold ground: My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight. They boar him bore faced on the Beer, Heigh non nony, nony, heigh nony : And on his graven reins many a tear, Fare you well my Dove. You must sing down adown, and you call him a-downe-a. O, how the wheel becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his Master's daughter. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembrance. Pray love remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and here's some for me. We may call it Herb-grace a Sundays: O you must wear your Rew with a difference. There's a Daisy, I would give you some Violets, but they withered all when my Father die ed: They say, he made a good end; And will he not come again, And will he not come again: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Deathbed, He never will come again. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan, Gramercy on his Soul. And of all Christian Souls, I pray God. God buy you. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark.