Page 330 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.

OPHELIA
[sings] They bore him bare-fac’d on the bier,
And in his grave rain’d many a tear − [165]

Fare you well, my dove.

LAERTES
Hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge, It could not move thus.

OPHELIA
You must sing A-down a-down, and you Call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel
becomes it! It is the [170] false steward that stole his master’s daughter.

LAERTES
This nothing’s more than matter.

OPHELIA

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance − pray you, love, remember. And
there is pansies, that’sfor thoughts. [175]

LAERTES
A document in madness: thoughts and remembrance fitted.

OPHELIA
There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you. And here’s some
for me. We may call it herb of grace a Sundays. You must wear your [180]
rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they

withered all when my father died. They say a made a good end.
[sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

LAERTES
Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself [185] She turns to favour and to
prettiness.