_Fort._ Captaine, from vs goe greete The king of Denmarke: Tell him that _Fortenbrasse_ nephew to old _Norway_, Craues a free passe and conduct over his land, According to the Articles agreed on: 5 You know our Randevous, goe march away. _exeunt all._ [Sidenote: [SC. XIII.]] _Enter King and Queene._ _King_ _Hamlet_ is ship't for England, fare him well, I hope to heare good newes from thence ere long, If every thing fall out to our content, As I doe make no doubt but so it shall. _Queene_ God grant it may, heav'ns keep my _Hamlet_ safe: 5 But this mischance of olde _Corambis_ death, Hath piersed so the yong _Ofeliaes_ heart, That she, poore maide, is quite bereft her wittes. _King_ Alas deere heart! And on the other side, We vnderstand her brother's come from _France_, 10 And he hath halfe the heart of all our Land, And hardly hee'le forget his fathers death, Vnlesse by some meanes he be pacified. _Qu._ O see where the yong _Ofelia_ is! _Enter Ofelia playing on a Lute, and her haire downe singing._ _Ofelia_ How should I your true love know 15 From another man? By his cockle hatte, and his staffe, And his sandall shoone. White his shrowde as mountaine snowe, Larded with sweete flowers, 20 That bewept to the graue did not goe With true louers showers: He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse greene turffe, At his heeles a stone. _King_ How i'st with you sweete _Ofelia_? _Ofelia_ Well God yeeld you, It grieues me to see how they laid him in the cold ground, I could not chuse but weepe: And will he not come againe? 30 And will he not come againe? No, no, hee's gone, and we cast away mone, And he neuer will come againe. His beard as white as snowe: All flaxen was his pole, 35 He is dead, he is gone, And we cast away moane: God a mercy on his soule. And of all christen soules I pray God. God be with you Ladies, God be with you. _exit Ofelia._ 40 _King_ A pretty wretch! this is a change indeede: O Time, how swiftly runnes our ioyes away? Content on earth was neuer certaine bred, To day we laugh and liue, to morrow dead. How now, what noyse is that? 45 _A noyse within. Enter Leartes._ _Lear._ Stay there vntill I come, O thou vilde king, giue me my father: Speake, say, where's my father? _King_ Dead. _Lear._ Who hath murdred him? speake, i'le not 50 Be juggled with, for he is murdred. _Queene_ True, but not by him.