I glossed over this line for ages. Dead, Death-bed – makes sense.
But now – with a little bit of consideration, I’m questioning it.
Who is she talking about?
HE is dead. HE will not come again…all third person.
Whose death bed is she talking about? THY deathbed. Second.
Who is the thou?
Based on what happens next, I’d wager the thou is herself…but it’s weird to sing thou to yourself.
Who is she looking at when she suggests they retire to their death bed? Her brother? The king? The Queen? It’s much more complex than I had previously understood.

Close reading, y’all. It asks as many, if not more, questions as it answers. Who is she suggesting should now die?

It is a curious thing that whenever I run into a line like this, I can’t help running over a list of my dead. I think – ah, who are the “hes that are dead? And the first one that comes to mind is a friend, with whom I was not particularly close – only briefly intimate and sometimes contentious. But he is first, every time. Perhaps because he was the first to be lost. He is first in the line of dead. Next, is another intimate friend/lover and complicated relationship.

But it is perhaps because they died so young, and from violence, that their deaths, even almost two decades later, still resonate strongly with me.

And too – there are the more recent – the musician and actors we lost collectively recently. And my own dear Grandfather too – more recent than not – and yet longer ago than my dear Grandmother.

I do not know I have a loss list in my head until I encounter a line like this and try to read it.

This is a list of lost men.
And it is longer than the list of lost women…though that has started to grow in these last couple of years.

I write this on the orange man’s inauguration day. Which means Obama is no longer the president. I find it hard to reconcile the loss, given the replacement.
I think – couldn’t he come back and fix things again once the child rapist has broken them? And could he not wait til then and just come back anyway?
It is a heartbreaker to lose him.

And because I am slow at posting these things – it is now quite a bit down the road into the horrors of this presidency. Every day there is a new madness. It is still a heartbreaker nearly every day.

The year seemed to murder pop stars like a mafia bullet spree. It mowed one down and then another and then another. One by one, the heroes of our youth shuffled off this mortal coil and it seemed unfathomable that we continued to live in a world without David Bowie, without Prince, without George Michael.

We think – no. It must be a joke. And I suddenly understand why the idea bubbled up of Elvis Presley being seen around the world – not dead – alive and in secret. It’s like, people couldn’t imagine a world without Elvis in it – so they imagined him alive – but underground – under cover – in disguise. That’s a world we could live in, a world where our pop heroes COULD come again – even if they were under wraps. We dream that it’s a hoax and that Prince will stage a surprise resurrection concert in a secret underground cave. That world would a better one to live in. That’s the one I’ll imagine.

Listen – I love a good euphemism as much as the next Shakespeare geek and I can totally see how Robin could be a nice bit of slang for penis. That makes nice work of Robin Goodfellow and Robin Starveling and (other Robins in Shakespeare) but in this case I am disinclined to believe that Ophelia is making a dick joke. This is not because I wouldn’t put it there in her “out the maid never departed more” scene – because that’s in there, for sure. But not now.
Not now because Laertes’ response to this line is to say that she’s turning madness and hell itself into prettiness. Laertes is impetuous but he’s not stupid, nor is he someone who would seem able to ignore an obvious dirty joke.

I suspect that Robin is a name like Dick. It can make you giggle in the right context but sometimes it’s just someone’s name in a song. Or a small cherished bird. Which is definitely not a euphemism. Ahem.

He didn’t, really. It was a rather ignominious end, not one most people would choose. He was slain while hiding behind a curtain in an act of domestic espionage. It’s not exactly a death of glory. But – this line makes me think that Ophelia’s been told otherwise. She’s probably had the blow softened a bit by someone. Someone probably told her that her father died bravely or that he was somehow treated to an honorable end. These are the lies we’ll tell to make it better.

It is, though, a good end for him in that it’s memorable and dramatic. Few people forget how Polonius dies. It is a dramatically good end, for sure.

Did they? Really?
I mean. It would add a whole new supernatural element to this play if this were true. As Hamlet stabs Polonius, all the little purple flowers withered and died as well? That’s horses eating each other territory.
And why violets? Why would all the flowers survive Polonius’ death and this one not?
Violets, I think, are associated with love – so love dies when Polonius dies? Hmmm. And again, I’m not sure thinking symbolically is at the top of a madwoman’s list of things to do.
If I were taxed with playing this role and justifying this line – I might make it personal. I might decide that violets were Polonius’ favorite flower and so they wither in solidarity with him because he loved them. Or perhaps they would be Ophelia’s favorite flower and their withering is her own despair.

The note on this line on Genius.com is that this line has baffled scholars. I find this hilarious. Because it’s only baffling if you’re attempting to make symbolic meaning out of all these flowers – if you’re trying to put a double sense of message behind each flower gift. That’s the only reason a daisy is baffling.
To most of us, the daisy is as clear as anything – if not clearer.
Times like these are when it helps to be a theatre maker…because it’s all very simple. Ophelia has collected some flowers and she is giving them away. One of those flowers is a daisy.
Maybe she likes daisies. Maybe she hates them. Maybe she associates them with love or dissembling or maybe they remind her of her mother. But fundamentally, it’s just another flower.

The character, in her state of mind, is not likely to be thinking symbolically – there’s no real reason for the audience to, either.

This line sometimes seems as though Ophelia is giving Claudius (or whomever the rue is for) fashion advice. As in, you must wear your rue a bit angled, a bit off the shoulder, a bit askew. Give that rue a little something extra! Think outside the box – wear your rue on your head instead of in your buttonhole. Pin rue to your knee instead of your chest. Wear it with a difference!

I’m interested in days of the week and how they evolve over time. I mean. Sunday has the word Sun in it. And most days are connected to planets and Greek/Roman Gods – but maybe Christians shifted the meaning from SUN day to SONday. Is that how Sunday came to be treated as a holy day?

I’d have to do a lot more research on this subject – but I’m thinking about it because it’s such an anomalous mention. We don’t get a lot of days of the week in Shakespeare. And certainly no other days from Ophelia…like…here’s suddenly a day of the week showing up and I want to know why she’s mentioning it when she could just say, “We may call it herb of grace.”

(FYI – there seems to be a bit of text difference regarding this herb. Some have it as “herb of grace” which is how I remember it. But there are quite a few “herb-grace” or “Herb Grace” that I’ve seen as well. It’s not clear to me where this distinction comes from. Is it a quarto/folio distinction or an instance of editors adding an “of”?)