He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, Laer. What out of this, my lord? King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart? Laer. Why ask you this? King. Not that I think, you did not love your father; But that I know, love is begun by time; Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; For goodness, growing to a plurisy, Dies in his own too much: That we would do, As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer: More than in words? Laer. To cut his throat i'the church. King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, Will you do this, keep close within your chamber: Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home: The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, together, Laer. I will do't: And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, King. Let's further think of this; Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, And that our drift look through our bad performance, When in your motion you are hot and dry, (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, Enter Queen. How now, sweet queen? Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow :-Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where? Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: up: Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Or like a creature native and indu'd Unto that element: but long it could not be, 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, I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, King. Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to do to calm his rage! [Exit. Therefore, let's follow. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-A Church Yard. Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c. 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave straight; the crowner hath set on her, and finds it christian burial. 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence? 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? |