Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ophe. Ophe.
Ophe. Alas my Lord, I haue beene so affrighted.
Polon. Polon.
Polon. With what, in the name of Heauen?
Ophe. My Lord, as I was sowing in my Chamber,
Ophe. Lord Hamlet with his doublet all vnbrac'd,
Ophe. No hat vpon his head, his stockings foul'd,
Ophe. Vngartred, and downe giued to his Anckle,
Ophe. Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
Ophe. And with a looke so pitious in purport,
Ophe. As if he had been loosed out of hell,
Ophe. To speake of horrors: he comes before me.
Polon. Mad for thy Loue?
Ophe. My Lord, I doe not know: but truly I do feare it.
Polon. What said he?