CONSTANCE [_to_ OPHELIA] Thy wits are all disorder’d as mine own: Then might we play at grief as who should know The worst, but mine’s the heavier. You do mourn A lover faithless, I a son whose face, So sweet and gracious, made the world for me; Perpetual solace to my widowhood. OPHELIA. I do not know you, but you weep and so do I, and surely that doth make us sisters in grief, and so because of that I’ll follow you whither you list, and you will let me. CONSTANCE. Come then, and such cold comfort as I may I’ll share with you, but sorrow’s cure is not For us. Your lover groans in hell; my son, My Arthur, lies within some oubliette, Far down beneath the gracious day, dog’s food His only meat, and cries on me, his mother. Then may I well make friends with stubborn grief, Since grief alone the heavens have spar’d to me. OPHELIA. Sad lady, I will go with you, weep when you weep, and be your humble pensioner in grief. HAMLET [_advancing_] Ophelia, stay a little! What! not know Me yet? Doth recollection show thee naught Familiar in these eyes, this face, this form? What, faded quite, my love and me, from out Thy memory as the summer shower when past Is quick forgot with one short hour of sun? OPHELIA. Love? I know what that doth signify. Is not love what we poor maids are fool’d with? Thus have they told me, and therefore I’ll not listen to you, for indeed I never saw you before, that I remember, and yet there’s something not so strange lurks within your speech. But go your ways, sweet sir. My Hamlet he is dead, and so I care for none of mankind now. [_Sings_] He is dead, perdy. [_Exeunt_ CONSTANCE _and_ OPHELIA. HAMLET. Alas, poor maid, I lov’d thee truly once And still had lov’d, and so had wedded thee With all due rites, but that my father’s ghost Did stride between to part us evermore. [_Sad music heard_] [_Exit_ HAMLET _slowly_. _Enter_ LAUNCE _leading a dog_.