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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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SCENE II. Enter Ophelia.

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 sowing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle,

-- 378 --


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; thus 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 time staid he so;
At last, a little shaking of my 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-a-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 ecstasie of love,
Whose violent property foredoes it self,
And leads the will to desp'rate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heav'n,
That do's 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.

-- 379 --


I'm sorry that with better b noteheed and judgment
I had not quoted him. I fear'd he trifl'd
And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousie;
It seems it is as proper to our age,
To cast beyond our selves 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.
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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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