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Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve,

I'll visit you.

All

Our duty to your honour.

Hamlet

Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo]

My father's spirit in arms! All is not well;

I doubt some foul play: would the night

     were come!

Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's

     eyes.

[Exit]

A room in Polonius's house

Enter Laertes and Ophelia

Laertes

My necessaries are embark'd. Farewell.

And, sister, as the winds give benefit

And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,

But let me hear from you.

Ophelia

Do you doubt that?

Laertes

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,

Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood;

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting;

The perfume and suppliance of a minute;

No more.

Ophelia

No more but so?

Laertes

Think it no more.

For nature crescent does not grow alone

In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,

The inward service of the mind and soul

Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,

And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch

The virtue of his will; but you must fear,

His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;

For he himself is subject to his birth:

He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,

Carve for himself; for on his choice depends

The sanctity and health of this whole state;

And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd

Unto the voice and yielding of that body

Whereof he is the head. Then if he says

                         he loves you,

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

As he in his particular act and place

May give his saying deed; which is no further

Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.

Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain

If with too credent ear you list his songs,

Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open

To his unmaster'd importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;

And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Out of the shot and danger of desire.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough