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Mark you,

       Your party in converse, him you would sound,

       Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes

       The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d

       He closes with you in this consequence;

       ‘Good sir,’ or so; or ‘friend,’ or ‘gentleman’—

       According to the phrase or the addition

       Of man and country.

       Rey.

       Very good, my lord.

       Pol.

       And then, sir, does he this,—he does—What was I about to say?—

       By the mass, I was about to say something:—Where did I leave?

       Rey. At ‘closes in the consequence,’ at ‘friend or so,’ and gentleman.’

       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.

       Pol.

       That hath made him mad.

       I am sorry that with better heed and judgment

       I had not quoted him: I fear’d he did but trifle,

       And meant to wreck thee; but beshrew my jealousy!

       It seems it as proper to our age

       To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions

       As it is common for the younger sort

       To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king:

       This must be known; which, being kept close, might move

       More grief to hide than hate to utter love.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE II. A room in the Castle.

       [Enter King, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Attendants.]

       King.

       Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern!

       Moreover that we much did long to see you,

       The need we have to use you did provoke

       Our hasty sending. Something have you heard

       Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it,

       Since nor the exterior nor the inward man

       Resembles that it was. What it should be,

       More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him

       So much from the understanding of himself,

       I cannot dream of: I entreat you both

       That, being of so young days brought up with him,

       And since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour,

       That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court

       Some little time: so by your companies

       To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,

       So much as from occasion you may glean,

       Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,

       That, open’d,

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