The Death of Ophelia

A stick version of John Everett Millais' famous painting of the death of Ophelia.

Queen: One woe doth tread upon another’s heel
So fast they follow. – Your sister’s drown’s, Laertes.

Laertes: Drown’d! – O, where?

Queen: There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream:
There with fantastic garlands did she come.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them;
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering 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, a while they bore her up :
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu’d
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.

Laertes: Alas! then, is she drown’d?

Queen: Drown’d, drown’d.

Laertes: Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
and therefore I forbid my tears.

Want a challenge? Why not solve the regex crossword made for this scene?