Act 4 Scene 5 Story Board
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- What would she have?
- She speaks much of her father, says she hears There's tricks i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt That carry but half sense.
- How can you tell Your true love from some other?By his pilgrim’s hat and staffAnd the sandals on his feet.He is dead and gone, lady,He is dead and gone.At his head a grass -green turfAt his heels a stone
- That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and loser?
- Her brother is in secret come from France,Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,And wants not buzzers to infect his earWith pestilent speeches of his father’s death,Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,Will nothing stick our person to arraignIn ear and ear.
- The ocean, overpeering of his list,Eats not the flats with more impiteous hasteThan young Laertes, in a riotous head,O’erbears your officers.
- Oh, this is the poison of deep grief. It springs All from her father's death, and now behold. Poor Ophelia Divided from herdelf and her fair judgement, wiwthout the which we are pictures, or mere beasts.
- Calmly, good Laertes
- That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard,Cries “Cuckold!” to my father, brands the “harlot”Even here between the chaste unsmirchèd browOf my true mother
- O thou vile king,Give me my father!
- How came he dead? I ;ll not be juggled with. Let come what comes, only I'll be revenged most thoroughly for my father.
- To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my armsAnd, like the kind life-rendering pelican,Repast them with my blood.
- Laertes, I must commune with your grief,Or you deny me right.Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will.And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me.
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- Let this be so.His means of death, his obscure funeral—No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones,No noble rite nor formal ostentation—Cry to be heard as ’twere from heaven to earth,That I must call ’t in question.
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