King.
How long hath she been thus?
Oph.
I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot
choose but weep, to think they would lay him i' the cold ground.
My brother shall know of it: and so I thank you for your good
counsel.Come, my coach!Good night, ladies; good night, sweet
ladies; good night, good night.
[Exit.]
King.
Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.
[Exit Horatio.]
O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions! First, her father slain:
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France;
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Give, me superfluous death.
[A noise within.]
Queen.
Alack, what noise is this?
King.
Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door.