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.
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 stay'd he so;
At last,a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,