LAERTES 195 Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, She turns to favour and to prettiness. OPHELIA [Sings.] And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead, 200 Go to thy death-bed, He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll: He is gone, he is gone, 205 And we cast away moan: God ha’ mercy on his soul! And of all Christian souls, I pray God.—God b’ wi’ ye.
