Enter Polonius (L.H.), meeting Ophelia. (R.H.)

Pol. How now, Ophelia! What’s the matter?

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

Pol. With what, in the name of Heaven?

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,

Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d;

Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other,

And with a look so piteous in purport,

He comes before me.

Pol. Mad for thy love?


My lord, I do not know;

But, truly, I do fear it.


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 staid 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 helps,

And, to the last, bended their light on me.

Pol. Come, go with me; I will go seek the king.

This is the very ecstacy of love;

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.


That hath made him mad.

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 L.H.]