This was the funeral of the young and beautiful Ophelia, his once dear mistress.  The wits of this young lady had begun to turn ever since her poor father’s death.  That he should die a violent death, and by the hands of the prince whom she loved, so affected this tender young maid, that in a little time she grew perfectly distracted, and would go about giving flowers away to the ladies of the court, and saying that they were for her father’s burial, singing songs about love and about death, and sometimes such as had no meaning at all, as if she had no memory of what had happened to her.  There was a willow which grew slanting over a brook, and reflected its leaves in the stream.  To this brook she came one day when she was unwatched, with garlands she had been making, mixed up of daisies and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and clambering up to hang her garland upon the boughs of the willow, a bow broke and precipitated this fair young maid, garland, and all that she had gathered, into the water, where her clothes bore her up for a while, during which she chaunted scraps of old tunes, like one insensible to her own distress, or as if she were a creature natural to that element:  but long it was not before her garments, heavy with the wet, pulled her in from her melodious singing to a muddy and miserable death.  It was the funeral of this fair maid which her brother Laertes was celebrating, the king and queen and whole court being present, when Hamlet arrived.  He knew not what all this shew imported, but stood on one side, not inclining to interrupt the ceremony.  He saw the flowers strewed upon her grave, as the custom was in maiden burials, which the queen herself threw in; and as she threw them, she said, “Sweets to the sweet!  I thought to have decked thy bride-bed, sweet maid, not to have strewed thy grave.  Thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife.”  And he heard her brother wish that violets might spring from her grave:  and he saw him leap into the grave all frantic with grief, and bid the attendants pile mountains of earth upon him, that he might be buried with her.  And Hamlet’s love for this fair maid came back to him, and he could not bear that a brother should shew so much transport of grief, for he thought that he loved Ophelia better than forty thousand brothers.  Then discovering himself, he leaped into the grave where Laertes was, all as frantic or more frantic than he, and Laertes knowing him to be Hamlet, who had been the cause of his father’s and his sister’s death, grappled him by the throat as an enemy, till the attendants parted them:  and Hamlet, after the funeral, excused his hasty act in throwing himself into the grave as if to brave Laertes; but he said he could not bear that any one should seem to outgo him in grief for the death of the fair Ophelia.  And for the time these two noble youths seemed reconciled.