Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Page #118
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  • Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
    'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
    Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
    Queen.
    Let her come in.
    [Exit Horatio.]
    To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
    Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss:
    So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
    It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
    [Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia.]
    Oph.
    Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
    Queen.
    How now, Ophelia?
    Oph. [Sings.]
    How should I your true love know
    From another one?
    By his cockle bat and' staff
    And his sandal shoon.
    Queen.
    Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
    Oph.
    Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
    [Sings.]
    He is dead and gone, lady,
    He is dead and gone;
    At his head a grass green turf,
    At his heels a stone.
    Queen.
    Nay, but Ophelia­
    Oph.
    Pray you, mark.
    [Sings.]
    White his shroud as the mountain snow,
    [Enter King.]
    Queen.
    Alas, look here, my lord!