Storyboard Text
- One woe doth tread upon another’s heel,So fast they follow.—Your sister’s drowned, Laertes.
- Drowned? Oh, where?
- There is a willow grows askant the brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do “dead men’s fingers” call them.
- Gertrude walks in to deliver the news of Ophelia's death to Laertes
- There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clamb’ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up, Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
- Laertes hears the news and was very shocked
- Gertrude begins to tell him the story of how Ophelia drowned
- Alas, then, she is drown'd?
- As she drowns, she shows no sign of struggling
- As Gertrude ends her story, Laertes's mood begins to change
- As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death
- He then gets on his knees as he begins to accept the truth that she is dead
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