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Or for some frontier ?
Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition,
pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend
Witc Led Whe Mak Expo
Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Will't please you go, my lord ? Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little before,
[Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.
4 Grow mouldy.
Witness, this army of such mass, and charge,
my blood, And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds ; fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough, and continent, To hide the slain ? — 0, from this time fort My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! (Erit.
Elsinore. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Queen and HORATIO.
Hor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract;
What would she have ?
The hearers to collection ; they aim at it,
them, Indeed would make one think, there might be.
thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'Twere good, she were spoken with ; for.
she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : Let her come in.
[Exit HORATIO. To my
sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA. Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den
mark? Queen. How now, Ophelia ?
Oph. How should I your true love know
From another one?
And his sandal shoon.? [Singing.
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song ?
He is dead and gone, lady, [Sings.
At his heels a stone.
Queer. Nay, but Ophelia,
Pray you, mark. White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded all with sweet flowers ;
With true-love showers.
King. How do you, pretty lady?
Oph. Well! They say, the owl was a baker's daughter. We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
King. Conceit upon her father. Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you, what it means, say you this :
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
To be your Valentine.
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. 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: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions ! First, her father slain ;
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, 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.
Alack! what noise is this?
Enter a Gentleman. King. Attend. Where are my Switzers ! Let them guard the door; What is the matter ? Gent.
Save yourself, my lord ; 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, Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!