Ophelia
O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
Polonius
With what, i’ the name of God?
Ophelia
My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul’d,
Ungarter’d, and down-gyved 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.
Polonius
Mad for thy love?
Ophelia
My lord, I do not know;
But truly, I do fear it.
Polonius
What said he?