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Blasted with ecstasy: O! woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

King. Love! his affections do not that way tend;
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 172
Was not like madness. There's something in his soul
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
And, I do doubt, the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger; which for to prevent, 176
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected tribute:
Haply the seas and countries different 180
With variable objects shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart,
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on 't?

Pol. It shall do well: but yet do I believe 185
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia!
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please; 189
But, if you hold it fit, after the play,
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his griefs: let her be round with him; 192
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not,
To England send him, or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.

King. It shall be so: 196
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.