Personal Reflection – Ophelia
And deliver’d onto us the lustful passions without a quiet sleep,
With unfeigned heart, I ought have taken heed of father’s words
“Or lose your heart, or chaste treasure open,
Thy madness strives for conquest in my breast,
For greatest are the torments our own hell provides.
When thou took me by the wrist, in thy eye one thing,
Dissuaded me from my vow, the black son of hell,
With no apparent direction. Oh, why did I not know?
Thou art fairer than darkness and more cunning,
My damned paramour, thy desperate lunacy
Begets mine infernal descent, a soul sealed with sin.
Unworthy prince, methinks thou art chang’d,
Thy madness prevents thy life, yet seals thy eternal death.
Mad, nay, more than mad, melancholy, over-solitary,
’Tis not Hamlet I see, ‘tis the murderer’s shadow,
That hast thou lost o’er the grave of mine dear father,
Who loved the world and rejoiced his earthly happiness,
Now slumbers perpetually among bright-shining saints,
Sinfully ashen, a fresh ornament in Nature’s eye,
Time runs, yet his body shall ne’er rise again!
Mine father and mine honor starve at the gates of mercy,
Scarce can I comprehend the nature of my despairing love,
Even for salvation, thou cannot repent thy deeds,
Thy heart hath harden’d, thy promises quaint pity,
The delation in thy heart embossed with icy pearls.
Prithee, desist thy foolery, thou hath no secrets left to keep.
Like a flea, thy vengeance speaks of a king’s ransom,
Thy perfumed mother turns thy uncle into gold,
The flea shouldst see, yet the devil’s finders grope thy neck,
Of Claudius’ intentions thy mouth chokes itself.
Doth the blood of mine father delight thee, murderer?
Wilt thou bid me suffer for thy own suffering?
Hitherto, I hath spent my time loving a conquering prince,
A love erst commanded by the heavens,
Thy lascivious, wanton desires think of courtesans,
And the empyreal sphere betwixt my legs,
Scarce shall be the salvation for thy melodious harp!
Sympathy doth not suffice, the ravishing sound of thy words
Dispatched sweet pleasure in deep despair,
Thy reason envenom’d thy love and thy soul.
These long hours where sorrow doth dwell,
Imposed the queen’s gentle framework,
Her words echoed the tyrant’s madness,
Guildenstern doth dispatch’d himself,
The villain was bound not to raze his intent.
The horned moon of my love burnt bright,
Yet my reason did not, cannot, accept the subtle air
With which his love stay’d in the quiet house of his mind.
The weary toll of his mother’s treachery
Bore a heavy burden upon his melancholy soul,
The concave feelings of a wronged son,
And show’d her palace and all its common guests,
The humiliation of his father’s golden tomb,
A tomb for one, a golden mountain top for another.
Thy skin, you beauteous wretch, paved with marble brick,
Donned colors of scarlet and passion on words with her,
Mine heart knoweth not the private chamber of thy heart,
A heart aloft and closed for common guests.
There is no safe passage through Hamlet’s soul,
Nay, not even attempt shall I, I best stay away.
Thy beauty is burdened with bareness,
For those who love no one but themselves,
See no lusty leaves, and need not excel.
A mother’s plea: “What wilt thou do?
Thou wilt not murder me? Help, ho!”
Rings hollow in the emptiness of the gaze, where the eye doth dwell.
How unfair that death belongs to my family,
Admired, then cast down, in a groveling lie,
He is dead, my dear father, dead, thou disgraceful prince!
Methought this princely confronter of idleness
Was a cardinal of liberty, advance and love,
Alas, what I fool I was! Thy image is but a lie,
Thy flesh and blood frail with deceit,
No recompense, for thyself wilt be thy own curse.
My sorrow is unfeign’d, my confusion even more,
Melancholy, I dwell in the world of silence,
For words wilt be my dagger, I hath no more blessed sights.
Bereaved of an amiable soul, I fade,
A tender love speaks in wrath of hell,
Laertes, my sole companion in the world,
Abandon me not! Mine nature is naïve,
There is no precious grace in my distressed soul,
For thy hate equals mine
