LITMIR.BIZ

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      SCENE I. A room in Polonius’s house.

       [Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.]

       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 inquiry

       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 are in Paris;

       And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,

       What company, at what expense; and finding,

       By this encompassment and drift of question,

       That they do know my son, come you more nearer

       Than 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 drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,

       Drabbing:—you may go so far.

       Rey.

       My lord, that would dishonour him.

       Pol.

       Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge.

       You must not put 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 outbreak of a fiery mind;

       A savageness in unreclaimed blood,

       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:

       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

       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.

       Rey.

       Very good, my lord.

       Pol.

       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?

       Rey. At ‘closes in the consequence,’ at ‘friend or so,’ and gentleman.’

       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’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 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 b’ wi’ you, fare you well.

       Rey.

       Good my lord!

       Pol.

       Observe his inclination in yourself.

       Rey.

       I shall, my lord.

       Pol.

       And let him ply his music.

       Rey.

       Well, my lord.

       Pol.

       Farewell!

       [Exit Reynaldo.]

       [Enter Ophelia.]

       How now, Ophelia! what’s the matter?

       Oph.

       Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

       Pol.

       With what, i’ the name of God?

       Oph.

       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.

       Pol.

       Mad for thy love?

       Oph.

       My lord, I do not know;

       But truly I do fear it.

       Pol.

       What said he?

       Oph.

      

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