ophelia, oil painting, 2012

“When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
And, mermaid-like, awhile 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 indued
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. "

(Ophelia)

- William Shakespeare