Polonius.
You look stark mad, Ophelia!—What's the row? (k)8Q0010

Ophelia.
I've had a precious fright.

Polonius.
Pray tell me how.

SONG.—Ophelia. (Tune—“Mrs. Clarke.”)
  My Lord, you must know,
  A few minutes ago,
In my room I was darning a stocking:
  Now conceive my alarm,
  When, (not dreaming of harm),
I was rous'd by a violent knocking.

  I thought 'twas Old Scratch,
  So I fasten'd the latch,
And went on with my work as before;
  But whilst my needle I was threading,
  Lord Hamlet popp'd his head in—
For, d'ye mind, he kick'd open the door.
  His doublet unbrac'd,
  Was slung round his waist,
And his stockings were dirty and loose;
  He was pale as a sheet,
  And could scarce keep his feet.—
Thus he came in, and star'd like a goose!
  He took hold of my wrist,
  And gave it a twist
That made me to quiver and quake:
  He then began to quiz
  As tho' he meant to draw my phiz;
And then gave me a terrible shake.
  Next, so sadly he sigh'd,
  Lord! I thought he'd have died;
Then he thrice up and down shook his noddle.
  After treating me so,
  He thought fit to let me go;
And then tow'rds the stairs did he waddle.
  'Twas a chance he didn't fall
  Over bannisters and all,
For I vow not a step could he see;
  To my utter surprize,
  He found his way without his eyes,—
To the last they were bent upon me.

Polonius.
Come, go with me;—I will go seek the king:
Hamlet's behaviour is not quite the thing.
Have you of late been snappish to him, pray?

Ophelia.
Oh, no—I never did a cross word say:
I merely sent his letters back by scores,
And when he came to see me, turn'd him out o'doors.

Polonius.
Aye! that hath made him mad—I do not doubt it.
We'll to the king and tell him all about it. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section