Lear. Who's this, Ofelia? O my deere sister!
I'st possible a yong maides life, 70
Should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe?
O heau'ns themselues! how now Ofelia?
Ofel. Wel God a mercy, I a bin gathering of floures:
Here, here is rew for you,
You may call it hearb a grace a Sundayes, 75
Heere's some for me too: you must weare your rew
With a difference, there's a dazie.
Here Loue, there's rosemary for you
For remembrance: I pray Loue remember,
And there's pansey for thoughts. 80
Lear. A document in madnes, thoughts, remembrance:
O God, O God!
Ofelia There is fennell for you, I would a giu'n you
Some violets, but they all withered, when
My father died: alas, they say the owle was 85
A Bakers daughter, we see what we are,
But can not tell what we shall be.
For bonny sweete Robin is all my joy.
Lear. Thoughts & afflictions, torments worse than hell.
Ofel. Nay Loue, I pray you make no words of this now: 90
I pray now, you shall sing a downe,
And you a downe a, t'is a the Kings daughter
And the false steward, and if any body
Aske you of any thing, say you this.
To morrow is saint Valentines day, 95
All in the morning betime,
And a maide at your window,
To be your Valentine:
The yong man rose, and dan'd his clothes,
And dupt the chamber doore, 100
Let in the maide, that out a maide
Neuer departed more.
Nay I pray marke now,
By gisse, and by saint Charitie,
Away, and fie for shame: 105
Yong men will doo't when they come too't:
By cocke they are too blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed.
So would I a done, by yonder Sunne, 110
If thou hadst not come to my bed.
So God be with you all, God bwy Ladies.
God bwy you Loue. exit Ofelia.
Lear. Griefe vpon griefe, my father murdered,
My sister thus distracted: 115
Cursed be his soule that wrought this wicked act.
King Content you good Leartes for a time,
Although I know your griefe is as a floud,
Brimme full of sorrow, but forbeare a while,
And thinke already the reuenge is done 120
On him that makes you such a haplesse sonne.
Lear. You haue preuail'd my Lord, a while I'le striue,
To bury griefe within a tombe of wrath,
Which once vnhearsed, then the world shall heare
Leartes had a father he held deere. 125
King No more of that, ere many dayes be done,
You shall heare that you do not dreame vpon. exeunt om.