work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context 4666,"",HDIS,2004-01-05 00:00:00 UTC,"While mad Ophelia we lament,
  And Her distraction mourn,
Our grief's misplac'd, Our tears mispent,
Since what for Her condition's meant
  More justly fits Our Own.

For if 'tis happiness to be,
  From all the turns of Fate,
From dubious joy, and sorrow free;
Ophelia then is blest, and we
  Misunderstand Her state.

The Fates may do whate'er they will,
  They can't disturb her mind,
Insensible of good, or ill,
Ophelia is Ophelia still,
  Be Fortune cross or kind.

Then make with reason no more noise,
  Since what should give relief,
The quiet of Our mind destroys,
Or with a full spring-tide of joys,
  Or a dead-ebb of grief.

(ll. 1-20, pp. 696-7)",,12264,•I've included twice: Tide and Ebb,"""The quiet of Our mind destroys, / Or with a full spring-tide of joys, / Or a dead-ebb of grief. ""","",2009-09-14 19:36:47 UTC,I've included the entire poem.