Gertrude

I won’t speak with her.

Horatio

She’s insistent and very distressed. She deserves your pity.

Gertrude

What does she want?

Horatio

She talks a lot about her father, and says that she’s heard of dishonorable incidents after his death. She stammers, gets upset, takes offense easily, and only makes half sense. There’s no meaning in her words, but their randomness allows listeners to imagine one. They guess at it, and rearrange her words to match their own thoughts. She winks and nods, which gives the impression that she’s trying to express something. But the only certain thing is that she’s unhappy.

Gertrude

It would be good if somebody speaks with her. Otherwise, she’s likely to plant dangerous ideas in evil minds. Let her come in. [Aside] To the sick soul of a sinner like myself, every little thing seems like the beginning of a disaster. A guilty person, unable to disguise his distrust, gives himself away because of his fear of being found out.

Ophelia

Where’s the beautiful Queen of Denmark?

Gertrude

How are you, Ophelia?

Ophelia

How will I know your lost lover if I meet him in my travels? You’ll recognize him from his religious pilgrim’s hat, sandals, and walking cane.

Gertrude

My dear, what do you mean by this song?

Ophelia

What? Please, just listen.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone.

At his head is a tuft of green grass,

At his heels, a tombstone.

Gertrude

Stop it. Ophelia ...

Ophelia

I beg you, listen.

With his burial cloth as white as mountain snow ...

Gertrude

Oh, look here, my lord.

Ophelia

Into the ground he did not go,

Wept over by his true love.

Claudius

How are you doing, young lady?

Ophelia

I’m well, God bless you. You’ve heard the story about the baker’s daughter who refused to give a beggar any bread and was turned into an owl. It goes to show, we never know what may become of us. God bless this meal.

Claudius

These are just wild thoughts; she’s distraught from her father’s death.

Ophelia

Please, let’s don’t talk about me. But if they ask what my song means, say this:

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,

Early in the morning

A maid came to his window

To be his Valentine.

He got up, put on his clothes,

And opened the bedroom door,

He let in the maid, but she wasn’t a maid

When she departed.

Claudius

Dear Ophelia...

Ophelia

Wait, I promise I’ll end it soon.

By Jesus and Saint Charity,

Oh, shame on them!

Young men will have sex if they have the chance;

By God, they are to blame.

She said, “Before you slept with me,

You promised to marry me.”

He replied, “I would have this very day,

Had you not come to my bed.”

Claudius

How long has she been like this?

Ophelia

I hope everything will be okay. We must be patient. But I can’t help but cry when I think of how quickly my father was buried. My brother shall hear about that. I do thank you so much for all your good advice. I’ll be leaving now. Bring my coach around. Good night, ladies, good night. Sweet ladies, good night. Good night.

Claudius

[To Horatio] Follow her closely, and keep an eye on her, I beg you.

This is the effect of extreme grief from her father’s death. Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude. When troubles arrive, they don’t come one at a time like enemy spies, but as a whole army. First her father is killed, and then Hamlet is sent away to England – and that because of his own violent behavior. The public, confused and uninformed, has unhealthy thoughts  and has spread rumors about good Polonius’s death. We acted like real amateurs, burying him in secret. Poor Ophelia, she’s lost her rational judgment, without which, one is just the image of a human being, no more than a dumb beast.

Lastly, and just as important, her brother has secretly returned from France. He’s heard the wild stories, but hasn’t revealed what he intends to do. There are plenty of busybodies to incite him with poisonous accounts of his father’s death, which, of course, are fabrications, since the public doesn’t know the facts of the matter. They’ll do anything to accuse me in their rumors. Oh, Gertrude, receiving all this bad news is like being hit by shrapnel – and each wound is lethal.

Gertrude

Oh, what’s this noise?

Claudius

Guards! Where are my guards? Have them man the door. What’s going on?

Messenger

Save yourself, my lord! It’s Laertes, at the head of a riotous mob that overwhelms your guards, like the ocean overflowing a breakwater. The rabble call him "Lord", cry out, “We choose Laertes as our king,” throw their caps in the air, and cheer him to the utmost. It’s as if they’ve forgotten our country’s long history and customs, which are the only things which can give true meaning to the word “king.”

Gertrude

How cheerfully they cry out, like hunting dogs excited by a false scent. Oh, you’re following the trail in the wrong direction, you stupid Danish dogs!

Claudius

The doors are broken open!

Laertes

Where’s the king? [To his followers] Wait outside.

Danes

[From offstage] No, let us come in.

Laertes

Please, wait outside.

Danes

[From offstage] We will.

Laertes

Thank you. Guard the door.

[To Claudius] Oh, you rotten king, give me back my father!

Gertrude

Calm down, Laertes.

Laertes

I’m one hundred percent my father’s son. If I had just one drop of “calm” blood in me, I’d be a bastard, and my mother should be branded a prostitute.

Claudius

Why are you rebelling against your king? [To Gertrude] Let him go, Gertrude. Don’t fear for me. There’s a divine protection which provides a barrier around a king, through which, rebellion can only peep, not act. [To Laertes] Tell me, Laertes, why are you so incensed? – Let him go, Gertrude –  Speak, man.

Laertes

Where’s my father?

Claudius

Dead.

Gertrude

But not killed by him.

Claudius

Let him ask whatever he wants.

Laertes

How did he die? I’ll not be fooled with. To hell with allegiance to the King! Religious vows, moral conscience, sense of decency – forget about them. I couldn’t care less if I’m condemned to hell. No matter what happens to me in this life, or the next, I’m standing firm on this one thing – I’ll get revenge for my father’s death.

Claudius

Who will stop you?

Laertes

No one can stop me, only myself. The little resources I have, I’ll conserve them so they go far.

Claudius

Laertes, if you want to know the truth about your father’s death, why are you hastily drawing your sword, against both friends and enemies.

Laertes

Only against his enemies.

Claudius

How will you know his enemies from his friends?

Laertes

To his good friends, I’ll give my blood – like pelicans who give their blood to their chicks to bring them back to life.

Claudius

Now you’re speaking like a good son and a true gentleman. That I had nothing to do with your father’s death, and that I’m very saddened by it, will become as clear to you as daylight.

All Followers

Let her come in.

Laertes

What’s that noise?

Oh, block my thoughts! Salty tears, burn out the vision of my eyes! By heaven, whoever caused your madness shall pay for it in full. Oh, beautiful mayflower, dear girl, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! Oh, heavens, is it possible that a young girl’s sanity can end as easily as an old man’s life? Love is such a dominant part of our nature, that it sends a piece of us, our precious wits, in pursuit of the objects we love.

Ophelia

They carried him, uncovered, in his coffin,

Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny,

And into his grave, many tears rained down.

Goodbye, my love.

Laertes

If you were still sane, and tried to persuade me to revenge, you couldn’t be more effective than this.

Ophelia

You sing “a-down, a-down,” and then respond, “Call him a-down-a.” That’s a good refrain.  The ballad is about a disloyal steward who seduces his master’s daughter.

Laertes

This sounds like nonsense, but there’s something profound in her words.

Ophelia

Here’s some rosemary for you; that’s for remembrance. Please remember, dear. And here’s some pansies for you; they’re for thoughts.

Laertes

This is a case study in madness – ramblings of a diseased mind about thoughts and remembrance.

Ophelia

Here's fennel (flattery) and columbines (marital cheating) for you. There’s rue (regret) for you, and some for me. It’s sometimes called Grace of Sunday, because that’s when we repent for our wrongs. You must wear yours for a different reason than I wear mine. There’s a daisy (dishonesty?). I would give you some violets (faithfulness), but they all died when my father died. They say he died with his spiritual affairs in order.

Handsome sweet Robin is all my joy.

Laertes

Sadness, illness, suffering, even Hell itself – she makes them beautiful.

Ophelia

Handsome sweet Robin is my only joy.  

Will he ever come again?

No, he’s dead; you might as well go to your grave also.

He will never come again.

His beard is white, his hair all grey.

One’s gone, the other’s gone,

And I just waste my moans of sorrow.

God have mercy on his soul.

May God bless everyone.

Laertes

Do you see this, gods?

Claudius

Laertes, let me share your grief. Otherwise, you treat me unfairly. Select some friends to hear the facts and to judge whether I have wronged you. If they find that I, either directly or indirectly, have been involved in your woes, then, to make amends, I’ll give you everything I have – my kingdom, my crown, and my life. But if I’m not to blame, then you’ll agree to be patient, and we’ll work together to get your revenge.

Laertes

I’ll do that. The circumstances of my father’s death, and his hushed up burial – no memorial, honor guard, family emblem, noble ceremony, or formal service – I’m letting the whole world know that I demand answers.

Claudius

And you shall get answers. Where the blame lies, let the ax fall. Please, come with me.