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rikibethSpotted already on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lordavon, ghilledhu, and the_red_shoes's journals. And probably some others.
It doesn't say if you have to do it from memory, or if you're allowed to look it up. I will admit to looking it up.
Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
Laertes. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays; O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died; they say he made a good end, --
[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness.
Ophelia [Sings]And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll;
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan:
God ha' mercy on his soul!
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. -- God be wi' ye. [Exit.
Hamlet, Act IV, Scene V.
I love the mad scenes.
lordavon, ghilledhu, and the_red_shoes's journals. And probably some others.It doesn't say if you have to do it from memory, or if you're allowed to look it up. I will admit to looking it up.
Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
Laertes. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays; O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died; they say he made a good end, --
[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness.
Ophelia [Sings]
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll;
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan:
God ha' mercy on his soul!
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. -- God be wi' ye. [Exit.
Hamlet, Act IV, Scene V.
I love the mad scenes.
