Page 21
Polonius:
Marry, sir, here’s my drift,
And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.
You laying these slight sullies on my son,
As ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ th’ working,
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.
Reynaldo:
Very good, my lord.
Polonius:
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?
Reynaldo:
At ‘closes in the consequence.’
At ‘friend or so,’ and ‘gentleman.’
Polonius:
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 and 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 windlasses, 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?
Reynaldo:
My lord, I have.
Polonius:
God b’ wi’ you, fare you well.
Reynaldo:
Good my lord.
Polonius:
Observe his inclination in yourself.
Reynaldo:
I shall, my lord.
Polonius:
And let him ply his music.
Reynaldo:
Well, my lord.
Polonius:
Farewell.
(Exit Reynaldo.)
Enter Ophelia.
How now, Ophelia, what’s the matter?
Ophelia:
Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted.
Polonius:
With what, in the name of God?
Ophelia:
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.
Polonius:
Mad for thy love?
Ophelia:
My lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it.
Polonius:
What said he?