I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
POLONIUS.
Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have taken these tenders for true pay
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus) you'll tender me a fool.
OPHELIA.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honorable fashion.
POLONIUS.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
OPHELIA.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
POLONIUS.