_King._ Good Laertes,[1761] 135 If you desire to know the certainty[1761] Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge,[1762] That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,[1763] Winner and loser?[1764] _Laer._ None but his enemies. _King._ Will you know them then?[1765] 140 _Laer._ To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;[1766] And, like the kind life-rendering pelican,[1767] Repast them with my blood.[1768] _King._ Why, now you speak Like a good child and a true gentleman. That I am guiltless of your father's death, 145 And am most sensibly in grief for it,[1769] It shall as level to your judgement pierce[1770] As day does to your eye. _Danes._ [_Within_] Let her come in. _Laer._ How now! what noise is that? _Re-enter_ OPHELIA.[1771] O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, 150 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye![1772] By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight,[1773] Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May![1774] Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits 155 Should be as mortal as an old man's life?[1775] Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine[1776][1777] It sends some precious instance of itself[1776][1777] After the thing it loves.[1776] _Oph._ [_Sings_] They bore him barefaced on the bier;[1778] 160 Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny:[1779] And in his grave rain'd many a tear,--[1780] Fare you well, my dove![1781] _Laer._ Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,[1782] It could not move thus.[1782][1783] 165 _Oph._ [_Sings_] You must sing down a-down,[1784] An you call him a-down-a.[1785] O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that[1786] stole his master's daughter. _Laer._ This nothing's more than matter.[1787] 170 _Oph._ There's rosemary, that's for remembrance: pray[1788][1789] you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for[1789][1790] thoughts. _Laer._ A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted. 175 _Oph._ There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb[1791] of grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a[1791][1792] difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they 180 say a' made a good end,--[1793] [_Sings_] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.[1794]