Queen.
I will not speak with her.

Gent. ^note
She is importunate, indeed distract:
Her mood will needs be pitied. ^{note note}

Queen.
What would she have?

Gent. ^note
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 ^note at it ^note,
And botch ^note the words up fit to their own thoughts;
Which, as her ^note winks and nods and gestures yield them,
Indeed would make one think there might ^note be thought ^note,
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.

Hor.
'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Queen.
Let her come in. ^note [Exit Gentleman. ^note [Aside] ^note
To ^note 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. ^note Re-enter ^note Gentleman, with Ophelia.

Oph.
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?

Queen.
How now, Ophelia! ^note

Oph. [Sings] ^note
  How should I your true love know
    From another one?

  By his cockle hat and staff
    And his ^note sandal ^note shoon. ^note

Queen.
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?

Oph.
Say you? ^note nay, pray you, mark. [Sings] ^note

  He is dead and gone, lady,
    He is ^note dead and gone;
  At his head a grass-green ^note turf,
    At his heels a stone. ^note
Oh, oh! ^note

Queen.
Nay, but, Ophelia,—

Oph.
Pray you, mark. [Sings] ^note

White his ^note shroud as the mountain snow,— Enter King. ^note

Queen.
Alas, look here, my lord.

Oph. [Sings] ^note
    Larded ^note with sweet flowers;
  Which bewept ^note to the grave ^note did ^note go
    With true-love ^note showers ^note.

King.

How do you ^note, pretty lady?

Oph.

Well, God 'ild ^note you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know ^note not what we may be. God be at your table! ^note

King.

Conceit upon her father.

Oph.

Pray you, let's ^note have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this:

[Sings] ^note
  To-morrow is ^note Saint Valentine's day,
    All in the morning ^note betime,
  And I a maid at your window,
    To be your Valentine. ^note
  Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes ^note,
    And dupp'd ^note the chamber-door;
  Let in the maid, that out ^note a maid
    Never departed more. ^note

King.

Pretty Ophelia!

Oph.

Indeed, la, ^note without an oath, I'll make an end on't:

[Sings] ^note
  By Gis ^note 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 ^note. ^note
  Quoth she, before ^note you tumbled me,
    You promised me to wed. ^note

He answers: ^note

  So would ^note I ha' done ^note, by yonder sun ^note,
    An ^note thou hadst not come to my bed.

King.

How long hath she been thus ^note?

Oph.

I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should ^note 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 ^note night. ^note

King.
Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. ^note [Exit Horatio. ^note
O, this ^note is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O ^note Gertrude, Gertrude,
When sorrows come, they ^note come not single spies ^note,
But in battalions ^note! 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 ^note thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; and we have ^note done but greenly, ^note
In hugger-mugger ^note to inter him: poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgement,
Without the which we are ^note pictures, or mere beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder ^note, keeps himself in clouds ^note,
And wants not buzzers ^note to infect his ear

With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein ^note necessity ^note, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our person ^note to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering-piece ^note, in many places
Gives ^note me superfluous death. [A noise within.

Queen.
Alack, what noise is this? ^{note note}

King.
Where ^note are ^note my Switzers ^note? Let them guard the door. Enter another Gentleman. ^note
What is the matter ^note?

Gent. ^note
Save yourself, my lord:
The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats ^note not the flats with more impetuous ^note haste
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord ^note;
And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word ^note, ^note
They ^note cry ‘Choose we; ^note Laertes shall be king! ^note’
Caps, hands and tongues ^note applaud it to the clouds,

^note
‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!’

Queen.
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! [Noise within. ^note

King.
The doors are broke. Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. ^note

Laer.
Where is this king? Sirs ^note, stand you all without.

Danes. ^note
No, let's come in.

Laer.
I pray you, give me leave.

Danes. ^note
We will, we will. [They retire ^note without the door.

Laer.
I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile ^note king,
Give me my father! ^note

Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer.
That drop of blood that's calm ^note proclaims me bastard; ^note
Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow ^note
Of my true mother.

King.
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 ^note peep to ^note what it would,
Acts ^note little of his ^note will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art ^note thus incensed: let him go, Gertrude:
Speak, man.

Laer.
Where is ^note my father?

King.
Dead ^note.

Queen.
But not by him.

King.
Let him demand his fill.

Laer.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest ^note devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I ^note 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 ^note:
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They ^note shall go far with little.

King.
Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty ^note
Of your dear father's death ^note, is 't ^note writ in your revenge,
That, swoopstake ^note, you will ^note draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser? ^note

Laer.
None but his enemies.

King.
Will you know them then? ^note

Laer.
To his good friends ^note thus wide I'll ope ^note my arms;

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican ^note,
Repast ^note them with my blood.

King.
Why, now you speak ^note
Like a good child and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensibly ^note in grief for it, ^note
It shall as level to your judgement pierce ^note
As day does to your eye.

Danes. [Within] ^note
Let her come in.

Laer.
How now! what noise is that? Re-enter ^note Ophelia.
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
Burn out ^note the sense and virtue of mine eye!
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with ^note weight,
Till ^note our scale turn ^note 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 ^note man's life?
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine
It sends some precious instance ^note of itself
After the thing it loves. ^note

Oph. [Sings] ^note

  They bore him barefaced ^note on the bier;
  Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny: ^note

  And in ^note his grave rain'd ^note many a tear,—
Fare you well, my dove! ^note

Laer.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
It could not move ^note thus. ^note

Oph. [Sings]

^note
  You must sing down a-down,
  An ^note you call him a-down-a.

O, how the wheel becomes it ^note! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter.

Laer.

This nothing's ^note more than matter.

Oph.

There's rosemary, that's ^note for remembrance: ^note pray you ^note, love, remember: and there is ^note pansies ^note, 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 ^note o' ^note Sundays: O, you must ^note 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 a' made ^note a good end,—

[Sings] ^note
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

Laer.
Thought ^note and affliction ^note, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness.

Oph. [Sings] ^note

    And will a' not come again?
  And will a' ^note not come again?
    No, no, he is dead, ^note
    Go to thy ^note death-bed,
  He never will come again.
  His beard was as ^note white as snow,
  All flaxen ^note was his poll ^note:
    He is gone, he is gone,
    And we cast away moan: ^note
  God ha' mercy ^note on his soul!
And of ^note all Christian ^note souls, I pray God ^note. God be wi' you ^note. [Exit. ^note

Laer.
Do you see this, O God? ^note

King.
Laertes, I must commune ^note with your grief,
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 ^note hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom ^note give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction; but if not,
Be you content to lend your patience ^note to us,

And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.

Laer.
Let this be so;
His means of death, his obscure funeral ^note,
No trophy ^note, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite ^note nor formal ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call't ^note in question.

King.
So you shall;
And where the offence is let the great axe ^note fall.
I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. ^note

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