Page 329 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Of your dear father, is’t writ in your revenge
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?

LAERTES
None but his enemies.

KING
Will you know them then?

LAERTES
To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms, [145]

And, like the kind life-rend’ring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.

KING
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, [150]
It shall as level to your judgement ’pear
As day does to your eye.

A noise within. [Ophelia is beard singing.]
Let her come in.

LAERTES
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. [155]

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? [160]