CHAPTER XXXII.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.
... tempt him with speed aboard;
Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night.
Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate.—Hamlet.