Oph.
[Sings.]
Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers.
King.
How do you, pretty lady?
Oph.
Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.
Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at
your table!
King.
Conceit upon her father.
Oph.
Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what
it means, say you this:
[Sings.]
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day
All in the morning bedtime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
King.
Pretty Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't:
[Sings.]
By Gis and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do't if they come to't;
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed.
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.