Pol.
Give him this money, and these notes, Reynaldo.

Rey.
I will, my lord.

Pol.
You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,
Before you visit him, to make enquiry
Of his behaviour.

Rey.
My lord, I did intend it.

Pol.
Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,
Enquire me first what Danskers^{4 note} are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expence; and finding,
By this encompassment and drift of question,
That they do know my son, come you more nearer;
Then your particular demands will touch it:
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
As thus,—I know his father, and his friends,
And, in part, him,—Do you mark this, Reynaldo?

Rey.
Ay, very well, my lord.

Pol.
And, in part, him;—but, you may say,—not well:
But, if't be he I mean, he's very wild;
Addicted so and so;—and there put on him
What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
As may dishonour him; take heed of that;
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips,
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.

Rey.
As gaming, my lord.

Pol.
Ay, or ^{5 note}

Rey.
My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol.
'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge.
You must not put ^{6 note}another scandal on him,
That he is open to incontinency;
That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly,
That they may seem the taints of liberty;
The flash and out-break of a fiery mind;
^{7 note}A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
^{8 note}Of general assault.

Rey.
But, my good lord,—

Pol.
Wherefore should you do this?

Rey.
Ay, my lord,
I would know that.

Pol.
Marry, sir, here's my drift;
And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant^{9 note}:
You laying these slight sullies on my son,
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working,
Mark you, Your party in converse, him you would sound,
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes^{1 note},
The youth, you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd,
He closes with you in this consequence;

^{2 note}

Rey.
Very good, my lord.

Pol.
And then, sir, does he this,—He does—What was I
About to say? I was about to say
Something: Where did I leave?

Rey.
At, closes in the consequence.

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 his 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 falshood 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 be wi'you; fare you well.

Rey.
Good my lord,—

Pol.
Observe his inclination ^{3 note}in yourself.

Rey.
I shall, my lord.

Pol.
And let him ply his musick.

Rey.
Well, my lord. [Exit. Enter Ophelia.

Pol.
Farewel.—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;
No hat upon his head; ^{4 note}

Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle;
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 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 ecstasy of love;
Whose violent property foredoes^{5 note}
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 deny'd
His access to me.

Pol.
That hath made him mad.
I am sorry, that with better heed, and judgment,
^{6 note}

And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy!
It seems, ^{7 note}