true; A foolish figure,[9]
[Sidenote: pitty tis tis true,]

[Footnote 1: time given up to, or filled with consideration; _or,
perhaps_, time chosen for a purpose.]

[Footnote 2: He is always feasting.]

[Footnote 3: Now for _his_ turn! He sets to work at once with his
rhetoric.]

[Footnote 4: to lay down beforehand as postulates.]

[Footnote 5: We may suppose a dash and pause after '_Dutie is_'. The
meaning is plain enough, though logical form is wanting.]

[Footnote 6: As there is no imagination in Polonius, we cannot look for
great aptitude in figure.]

[Footnote 7: The nature of madness also is a postulate.]

[Footnote 8: She is impatient, but wraps her rebuke in a compliment.
Art, so-called, in speech, was much favoured in the time of Elizabeth.
And as a compliment Polonius takes the form in which she expresses her
dislike of his tediousness, and her anxiety after his news: pretending
to wave it off, he yet, in his gratification, coming on the top of his
excitement with the importance of his fancied discovery, plunges
immediately into a very slough of _art_, and becomes absolutely silly.]

[Footnote 9: It is no figure at all. It is hardly even a play with the
words.]

[Page 80]

But farewell it: for I will vse no Art.
Mad let vs grant him then: and now remaines
That we finde out the cause of this effect,
Or rather say, the cause of this defect;
For this effect defectiue, comes by cause,
Thus it remaines, and the remainder thus. Perpend,
I haue a daughter: haue, whil'st she is mine, [Sidenote: while]
Who in her Dutie and Obedience, marke,
Hath giuen me this: now gather, and surmise.

_The Letter_.[1]
_To the Celestiall, and my Soules Idoll, the most
beautified Ophelia_.
That's an ill Phrase, a vilde Phrase, beautified
is a vilde Phrase: but you shall heare these in her thus in her
excellent white bosome, these.[2] [Sidenote: these, &c]

_Qu_. Came this from _Hamlet_ to her.

_Pol_. Good Madam stay awhile, I will be faithfull.
_Doubt thou, the Starres are fire_, [Sidenote: _Letter_]
_Doubt, that the Sunne doth moue;
Doubt Truth to be a Lier,
But neuer Doubt, I loue.[3]
O deere Ophelia, I am ill at these Numbers: I
haue not Art to reckon my grones; but that I loue
thee best, oh most Best beleeue it. Adieu.
Thine euermore most deere Lady, whilst this