Queen.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd, Laertes.

Laer.
Drown'd! oh where?

Queen.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shews his hoar leaves in the glassie stream:
There with fantastick garlands did she come,
Of crow-flow'rs, nettles, daisies, and long purples

That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead mens fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds
Clambring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and her self
Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths spread wide,
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native, and indewed
Unto that element: but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer.
Alas then, she is drown'd!

Queen.
Drown'd, drown'd.

Laer.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick, nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone,
The woman will be out: adieu, my lord,
I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it. [Exit.

King.
Follow, Gertrude:
How much I had to do to calm his rage?
Now fear I, this will give it start again,
Therefore let's follow. [Exeunt.

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