Act IV, Scene 5
Elsinore. A room in Elsinore castle.
- Enter Horatio, Queen Gertrude, and a Gentleman.
- I will not speak with her.
Gentleman2 - 3
- She is importunate, indeed distract.
- Her mood will needs be pitied.
- What would she have?
Gentleman5 - 14
- She speaks much of her father, says she hears
- There’s tricks i’ th’ 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 yawn at it,
- And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts,
- Which as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,
- Indeed would make one think there might be thought,
- Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
Horatio15 - 16
- ’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew
- Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Gertrude17 - 21
- Let her come in.
- Exit Gentleman.
- To 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.
- Enter Ophelia distracted, with her hair down, playing on a
- Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
- How now, Ophelia?
Ophelia24 - 27
- She sings.
- “How should I your true-love know
- From another one?
- By his cockle hat and staff,
- And his sandal shoon.”
- Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
Ophelia29 - 34
- Say you? Nay, pray you mark.
- “He is dead and gone, lady,
- He is dead and gone,
- At his head a grass-green turf,
- At his heels a stone.”
- O ho!
- Nay, but, Ophelia—
Ophelia36 - 37
- Pray you mark.
- “White his shroud as the mountain snow”—
- Enter King.
- Alas, look here, my lord.
Ophelia39 - 41
- “Larded all with sweet flowers,
- Which bewept to the ground did not go
- With true-love showers.”
- How do you, pretty lady?
Ophelia43 - 45
- Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.
- Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God
- be at your table!
- Conceit upon her father.
Ophelia47 - 55
- Pray let’s have no words of this, but when they ask you what it means, say you this:
- “Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
- All in the morning betime,
- And I a maid at your window,
- To be your Valentine.
- Then up he rose and donn’d his clo’es,
- And dupp’d the chamber-door,
- Let in the maid, that out a maid
- Never departed more.”
- Pretty Ophelia!
Ophelia57 - 65
- Indeed without an oath I’ll make an end on’t.
- “By Gis, 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.
- Quoth she, “Before you tumbled me,
- You promis’d me to wed.’”
- He answers.
- “‘So would I ’a’ done, by yonder sun,
- And thou hadst not come to my bed.’”
- How long hath she been thus?
Ophelia67 - 71
- I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot
- choose but weep to think they would lay him i’ th’ 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.
Claudius72 - 94
- 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;
- Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
- Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
- Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 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 judgement,
- 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 this 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 murd’ring-piece, in many places
- Gives me superfluous death.
- A noise within.
- Alack, what noise is this?
Claudius96 - 98
- Where is my Swissers? Let them guard the door.
- Enter a Messenger.
- What is the matter?
Messenger99 - 109
- 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!”
- A noise within.
Gertrude110 - 111
- How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
- O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
- Enter Laertes with others.
- The doors are broke.
- Where is this king? Sirs, stand you all without.
- No, let ’s come in.
- I pray you give me leave.
- We will, we will.
Laertes117 - 119
- I thank you, keep the door.
- Exeunt Laertes’ followers.
- O thou vile king,
- Give me my father!
- Calmly, good Laertes.
Laertes121 - 124
- That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard,
- Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot
- Even here between the chaste unsmirched brow
- Of my true mother.
Claudius125 - 132
- 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 peep to what it would,
- Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
- Why thou art thus incens’d. Let him go, Gertrude.
- Speak, man.
- Where is my father?
- But not by him.
- Let him demand his fill.
Laertes137 - 143
- How came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with.
- To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!
- Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
- I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
- That both the worlds I give to negligence,
- Let come what comes, only I’ll be reveng’d
- Most throughly for my father.
- Who shall stay you?
Laertes145 - 147
- My will, not all the world’s:
- And for my means, I’ll husband them so well,
- They shall go far with little.
Claudius148 - 152
- Good Laertes,
- If you desire to know the certainty
- Of your dear father, is’t writ in your revenge
- That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
- Winner and loser?
- None but his enemies.
- Will you know them then?
Laertes155 - 157
- To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms,
- And like the kind life-rend’ring pelican,
- Repast them with my blood.
Claudius158 - 164
- Why, now you speak
- Like a good child and a true gentleman.
- That I am guiltless of your father’s death,
- And am most sensibly in grief for it,
- It shall as level to your judgment ’pear
- As day does to your eye.
- A noise within:
- “Let her come in!”
Laertes165 - 175
- How now, what noise is that?
- Enter Ophelia.
- O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt
- Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
- By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight
- Till our scale turn 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 man’s life?
- Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine,
- It sends some precious instance of itself
- After the thing it loves.
Ophelia176 - 179
- “They bore him barefac’d on the bier,
- Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny,
- And in his grave rain’d many a tear”—
- Fare you well, my dove!
Laertes180 - 181
- Hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge,
- It could not move thus.
Ophelia182 - 185
- You must sing, “A-down, a-down,”
- And you call him a-down-a.
- O how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that
- stole his master’s daughter.
- This nothing’s more than matter.
Ophelia187 - 188
- There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you, love,
- remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.
- A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
Ophelia190 - 196
- To Claudius.
- There’s fennel for you, and columbines.
- To Gertrude.
- There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it
- herb of grace a’ Sundays. You may wear your rue with a
- difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets,
- but they wither’d all when my father died. They say ’a made
- a good end—
- “For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.”
Laertes197 - 198
- Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself,
- She turns to favor and to prettiness.
Ophelia199 - 209
- “And will ’a not come again?
- And will ’a not come again?
- No, no, he is dead,
- Go to thy death-bed,
- He never will come again.
- His beard was as white as snow,
- All flaxen was his pole,
- He is gone, he is gone,
- And we cast away moan,
- God ’a’ mercy on his soul!”
- And of all Christians’ souls, I pray God. God buy you.
- Do you see this, O God?
Claudius211 - 221
- Laertes, I must commune 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 hand
- They find us touch’d, we will our kingdom 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 to us,
- And we shall jointly labor with your soul
- To give it due content.
Laertes222 - 227
- Let this be so.
- His means of death, his obscure funeral—
- No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones,
- No noble rite nor formal ostentation—
- Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth,
- That I must call’t in question.
Claudius228 - 230
- So you shall,
- And where th’ offense is, let the great axe fall.
- I pray you go with me.