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Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and
remembrance fitted.

Oph. 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 o' Sundays. O! you
must wear your rue with a difference. There's a
daisy; I would give you some violets, but they
withered all when my father died. They say he
made a good end,— 185
"For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy."

Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness. 188

Oph. "And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed, 192
He never will come again.
His beard was as white as snow
All flaxen was his poll,
He is gone, he is gone, 196
And we cast away moan:
God ha' mercy on his soul!"
And of all Christian souls! I pray God. God be
wi' ye! Exit Ophelia.

Laer. Do you see this, O God? 201

King. Laertes, I must common with your grief,
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 204