Pol. 
At—­closes in the consequence’—­ay, marry! 
He closes with you thus:—­’I know the gentleman;
I saw him yesterday, or t’other day,
Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,
There was he gaming; there o’ertook in’s rouse;
There falling out at tennis’:  or perchance,
’I saw him enter such a house of sale,’—­
Videlicet, a brothel,—­or so forth.—­
See you now;
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlaces, and with assays of bias,
By indirections find directions out: 
So, by my former lecture and advice,
Shall you my son.  You have me, have you not?

Rey. 
My lord, I have.

Pol. 
God b’ wi’ you, fare you well.

Rey. 
Good my lord!

Pol. 
Observe his inclination in yourself.

Rey. 
I shall, my lord.

Pol. 
And let him ply his music.

Rey. 
Well, my lord.

Pol. 
Farewell!

[Exit Reynaldo.]

[Enter Ophelia.]

How now, Ophelia! what’s the matter?

Oph. 
Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

Pol. 
With what, i’ the name of God?

Oph. 
My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber,
Lord Hamlet,—­with his doublet all unbrac’d;
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul’d,
Ungart’red, and down-gyved to his ankle;
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other;
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors,—­he comes before me.

Pol. 
Mad for thy love?

Oph. 
My lord, I do not know;
But truly I do fear it.

Pol. 
What said he?

Oph. 
He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And with his other hand thus o’er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it.  Long stay’d he so;
At last,—­a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,—­
He rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being:  that done, he lets me go: 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn’d
He seem’d to find his way without his eyes;
For out o’ doors he went without their help,
And to the last bended their light on me.

Pol. 
Come, go with me:  I will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love;
Whose violent property fordoes itself,
And leads the will to desperate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heaven
That does afflict our natures.  I am sorry,—­
What, have you given him any hard words of late?

Oph. 
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters and denied
His access to me.