Scene IV

The Queen’s closet.

He will come straight. Look you lay home to him: Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your grace hath screen’d and stood between Much heat and him. I’ll sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him.

I’ll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. Polonius hides behind the arras.

No, by the rood, not so: You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife; And⁠—would it were not so!⁠—you are my mother.

Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you.