drowning

"There is a willow grows askant the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream:
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shephards give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
There on the pendent boughs her crownet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious silver broke
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaidlike awhile they bore her up,
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a Creature native and indued
Unto that element. But long it could not be
Til that her garments heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her malodious lay
To muddy death."

-- Gertrude, Hamlet, Act IV, Scene vii, l. 166-182