Enter Ophelia Playing a Gibson Les Paul With Her Hair Down (and Recently Coloured)

‘Ophelia! Ophelia!  Why is your hair coloured pink ?

Poor darling - are you sure you’re not suffering with nerves ?

And when did you start playing the electric guitar ?

Your father is hiding behind a curtain in shame.’

‘I starting playing guitar a week ago’ she replies.

‘Not that any of you would notice - you’re too absorbed with yourselves

and with your political machinations that benefit no one at all.

God, I’m so sick of this castle with its battlements and guards,

so tired of embroidery and singing fairy songs on the lute.

As for my hair – I’ll dye it any colour I please.

And if that’s a problem, then you know where you can go.’

‘But darling, first night is just around the corner.

The critics and the haters are sharpening their quills.

(By the by: has the period changed to the mid-1970s ?

Has a decision been taken and I haven’t been informed ?)

Please, dear Ophelia – stop playing that not-so-merry tune  -

It sounds more Delta blues than Scandinavian baroque.

And why are you lacing your Doctor Marten boots ?

Why are you rubbing minced meat over your breasts ?’

‘There’ she says ‘Now I’m showing you how I really feel.

If they ask for their money back, tell them all to go to Hell!

Hamlet is a wuss – he’ll never satisfy me

I’ve learnt all the chords to Won’t Get Fooled Again!’

‘Ophelia! Don’t leave us. The castle will not be the same.

Ophelia! Come back. Why are you walking towards the river ?

Please don’t lie in the water, darling – you’ll ruin your costume – more work to do!

Ophelia – I can’t see you. Don’t you know it’s only

                                                                                  a play ?’