Pol.
Farewel. How now, Ophelia, what's the matter?

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

Pol.
With what, in the name of heav'n?

Oph.
My Lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his Doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, ^{6 note}

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 time 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,
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his Being. Then 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 ecstacy of love,
Whose violent property foredoes itself,
And leads the Will to desp'rate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heav'n,
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry;
What, have you giv'n him any hard words of late?

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

Pol.
That hath made him mad.
I'm sorry, that with better speed and judgment
^{7 note}

^{9 note}