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Examples gross as earth exhort me , Witness this army of such mass and charge , Led by a delicate and tender prince , Whose spirit , with divine ambition puff’d , Makes mouths at the invisible event , Exposing what is mortal and unsure To all that fortune , death , and danger dare , Even for an eggshell . Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument , But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour’s at the stake . How stand I then , That have a father kill’d , a mother stain’d , 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 be nothing worth . [ Exit . ] SCENE V . Elsinore . A room in the Castle . Enter Queen , Horatio and a Gentleman . QUEEN . I will not speak with her . GENTLEMAN . She is importunate , indeed distract . Her mood will needs be pitied . QUEEN . What would she have ? GENTLEMAN . 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 . Her speech is nothing , Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection ; they aim at it , And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts , Which , as her winks , and nods , and gestures yield them , Indeed would make one think there might be thought , Though nothing sure , yet much unhappily . ’ Twere good she were spoken with , for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill - breeding minds . QUEEN . Let her come in . [ Exit Gentleman . ] To my sick soul , as sin’s true nature is , Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss . So full of artless jealousy is guilt , It spills itself in fearing to be spilt . Enter Ophelia . OPHELIA . Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark ? QUEEN . How now , Ophelia ? OPHELIA . [ Sings . ] How should I your true love know From another one ? By his cockle hat and staff And his sandal shoon . QUEEN . Alas , sweet lady , what imports this song ? OPHELIA . Say you ? Nay , pray you mark . [ Sings . ] He is dead and gone , lady , He is dead and gone , At his head a grass green turf , At his heels a stone . QUEEN . Nay , but Ophelia — OPHELIA . Pray you mark . [ Sings . ] White his shroud as the mountain snow . Enter King . QUEEN . Alas , look here , my lord ! OPHELIA . [ Sings . ] Larded all with sweet flowers ; Which bewept to the grave did not go With true - love showers . KING . How do you , pretty lady ? OPHELIA . Well , God dild you ! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter . Lord , we know what we are , but know not what we may be . God be at your table ! KING . Conceit upon her father .
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