_"Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed abroad, Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night; Away! for everything is sealed and done That else leans on the affair; pray you, make haste!"_ Hamlet before retiring thus bemoans his slowness in wreaking a just vengeance upon his murderer uncle: _"How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure, he that made us with such large discourse Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To rot in us unused. Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument; But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honor's at the stake. How stand I then, That have a father killed, a mother stained, Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody or nothing worth!"_ The beautiful Ophelia becomes insane after her father's death, and wanders about the castle singing disjointed love songs and uttering musings. Queen Gertrude says: _"How now, Ophelia?"_ She sings: _"How should I your true love know From another one? By his cockle hat and staff And his sandal shoon."_ The king asks: _"How do you do, pretty lady?"_ She replies: _"They say the owl was a banker's daughter; Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be."_ Laertes returns from France and finds his sister insane from grief over the loss of her father, and viewing this innocent wreck parading palace halls, exclaims: _"Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is it possible a young maid's wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life?"_ Ophelia unconsciously sings: _"They bore him barefaced on the bier; Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny; And in his grave rained many a tear-- Fare you well, my dove!"_ Holding a spray of flowers in her hands she fitfully plucks them and murmurs: _"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; Pray you, love, remember; And there is pansies, that's for thoughts; There's fennel for you, and columbines; There's rue for you, and here's some for me; We may call it herb of grace on Sunday; O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets-- But they withered all when my father died!"_ Hamlet and his party in sailing for England encounter a war-like pirate ship, and in the fight and grapple Hamlet alone is taken prisoner and his keepers go to destruction.