Enter Priests, etc., in procession; the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING, QUEEN, their trains, etc.

The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow,
And with such maimed° rites? This doth betoken

The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile, and mark.

230

[Retiring with Horatio.

Laertes. What ceremony else?

Hamlet.

A very noble youth: mark.

Laertes. What ceremony else?

That is Laertes,

235

First Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warrantise. Her death was doubtful°;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctifi'd have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet; for° charitable prayers,
Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her.
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,°

Her maiden strewments and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laertes. Must there no more be done?
First Priest.

240

No more be done.

We should profane the service of the dead

246

To sing a requiem and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.°

Laertes.

Lay her 'i the earth,

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, 250

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.

Hamlet.

Queen. Sweets to the sweet.

What, the fair Ophelia !

Farewell!

[Scattering flowers.

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.

Laertes.

O, treble woes
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

256

260

[Leaps into the grave.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Hamlet. [Advancing] What is he whose grief
Bears such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrow

265

Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers?

Hamlet the Dane.

Laertes.

This is I,

Hamlet. Thou pray'st not well.

I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat,
For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
Yet have I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear. Hold off thy hand!
King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen.

All. Gentlemen,

Horatio.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet.

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275

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the

grave.

Hamlet. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen. O my son, what theme?

Hamlet. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers

Could not, with all their quantity of love,

What wilt thou do for her?

Make up my sum.

King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Hamlet. 'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do.

M

280

Woo't weep? Woo't fight? Woo't fast?

tear thyself?

Woo't drink up eisel,° eat a crocodile ?

Woo't

285

I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and so will I,
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,

Make Ossa like a wart!

I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen.

Nay, an thou'lt mouth,

This is mere madness;

And thus awhile the fit will work on him.
Anon, as patient as the female dove,

When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,°
His silence will sit drooping.

Hamlet.

Hear you, sir.

What is the reason that you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter;
Let Hercules himself do what he may,

[Exit.

The cat will mew and dog will have his day.
King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

[Exit HORATIO. [To LAERTES] Strengthen your patience in our last

night's speech.

O

We'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living monument.
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;

305

Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Hall in the Castle

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO

Hamlet. So much for this, sir. Now let me see the

other.

You do remember all the circumstance?

Horatio. Remember it, my lord!

Hamlet. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,

That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay

Worse than the mutines in the bilboes.
And prais'd be rashness for it, let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,

Rashly,

5

When our deep plots do pall°; and that should teach

us

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

10

Horatio

That is most certain.