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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:33:23 GMT
HORATIO
E'en so, my lord.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:33:34 GMT
HAMLET
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may
not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander,
till he find it stopping a bung-hole?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:33:44 GMT
HORATIO
'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:01 GMT
HAMLET
No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with
modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as
thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of
earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he
was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw!
But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.
Enter Priest, & c. in procession; the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, their trains, & c
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 its own life: 'twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile, and mark.
Retiring with HORATIO
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:11 GMT
LAERTES
What ceremony else?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:23 GMT
HAMLET
That is Laertes,
A very noble youth: mark.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:33 GMT
LAERTES
What ceremony else?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:43 GMT
First Priest
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodged
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.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:34:55 GMT
LAERTES
Must there no more be done?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:35:32 GMT
First Priest
No more be done:
We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:35:46 GMT
LAERTES
Lay her i' the earth:
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:35:57 GMT
HAMLET
What, the fair Ophelia!
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:36:11 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
Scattering flowers
I hoped 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.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:36:32 GMT
LAERTES
O, treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:
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.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 12, 2014 3:36:47 GMT
HAMLET
[Advancing] What is he whose grief
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
Hamlet the Dane.
Leaps into the grave
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