Very well said. Look you sir, inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris, and how, & who, what mean, and where they keep, what company, at what expense. Pretend you have some distant knowledgw of him. Do you mark this Reynaldo?
Ay, very well, my Lord.
Mad for thy Love?
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stocking fouled, ungartered, and hanging down 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.
come with me. I will go seek the king. This is the very craziness of love, whose violent nature destroy itself. That hath made him mad.
He took me by the wrist and held me hard. He falls to such perusal of my face as he would draw it. Long stayed he so. At last he was shaking of mine arm, and thrice his head thus waving up & down, he raised a sigh so piteous and profound that it did seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being. That done, he lets me go.
Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Something you heard of Hamlet's transformation. What it should be, more than his father's death, that thus hath put him so much from understanding of himself, i cant dream of. By your companies to draw pleasures and to gather so much from occasion you may glean, whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus that opens lies within our remedy.
My liege & madam. To expostulate what majesty should be, what duty is. I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. Mad call I it, for to define true madness, what is't but to be nothing else but mad? I will fain prove so.
(aside) How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter
(aside) Still harping on my daughter, yet he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone. and truly, in my youth i suffered much extremity for love. What do you read, my lord?
Slanders, sir. For the satirical rouge says here that old men have gray beards, and there faces are wrinkled. All which sir, though i most powerfully and potently believe, yet i hold it not honesty to have thus sit down.