Rey. I shall, my lord.
Pol. And let him ply his music.
Rey. Well, my lord.
Pol. Farewell! [Exit Reynaldo.
Enter Ophelia.[611]
How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?
Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted![612] 75
Pol. With what, i' the name of God?[613]
Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,[614]
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced,[615]
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,[616]
Ungarter'd and down-gyved to his ancle;[617] 80
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.[618]
Pol. Mad for thy love?