Back in 2005(!) I took a class on Shakespeare. It was awesome in all sorts of ways, but the most shocking thing was how much I managed to learn, True Facts, about what the hell Shakespeare was up to in a literary sense. Apparently, it wasn't just about pretty words. Who knew? And ever more awesomer than that is the fact that, for our final project, the professor let us write fanfic. SHAKESPEARE FANFIC. Said professor of awesome was a huge fan of Ophelia, but IIRC thought she got short shrift re: the whole madness/suicide thing. So suck-up that I am, I wrote her a fix-it. Shut up, it totally worked; she loved it!
So here, for all time, is the scene what I wrote. For college credit, no less. Immortalized here 'cause I'm super proud of it and don't want to lose it in some massive harddrive crash or whatever. This exists between Act 4, Scene 4 and Act 4, Scene 5. Song by John Bennet. My cursory research at the time suggested that it was contemporary and Shakespeare totally could have stolen it for Hamlet, like he did all the other songs. There is hella symbolism going on there. Actually, there is hella symbolism going on throughout the scene. Like I said, I learned lots of things in this class. I had DEEP THOUGHTS, OK?
4.4 Enter Ophelia. Alarums.
Ophelia: What madness here? What news? All is chaos,
With grievous cries. No happy songs are these!
Servant: My lady, I bring no glad tidings. Your father's dead, and his murderer gone.
Ophelia: What, slain? O cruel time, that woes should follow
So close together. By whose hand is't done?
A curse on him and all he ever loved!
My heart is dead, I would were his also.
Servant: They say it's Lord Hamlet that's done it, my lady, and banished now to England, by word of the King.
Ophelia: What's this? O Lord, my lord, my Hamlet love!
But swear that this be lies and I remain
Thy love, thy lady, through cruel change of fate,
Now chaste or wanton as thou'd have me be.
But why should any lie about such things?
My father was a good man, honest, true,
While you, now mad, do cause me only rue.
You gave me flowers, tokens of your love,
Now withered as your oaths to God above.
You, who swore to marry now call me whore.
You loved me once? A trick, a ruse, no more.
You, false lover, false prince, false lunatic,
You love your plays, your players, and your tricks.
Your ev'ry action, calculated lies,
Though I did love you true, my love now dies.
Go, go, father-killer, false madman go!
Who promised much and gave only woe.
The playhouse stage shall be your only court,
A player's crown your murd'rous head support.
Go, villain, to work your evil o'er sea.
You now an actor, as you wished to be.
I never had your artifice, your guile,
Your love did only ever sing and smile.
My smile's now left, but the sad song remains,
To flow from my ever more addled brains.
Weep, o mine eyes and cease not,
alas, these your spring tides me thinks increase not.
O when begin you to swell so high
that I may drown me in you?
Now I would change your lunacy for mine,
That all may see real madness, well defined.
Although with words you scorn and bid me go
I will with song a truer madness show.