Is surest, we often loose: now to the Prince.
My Lord, but note this letter,
The which my daughter in obedience
Deliuer'd to my handes.
_King_ Reade it my Lord.
_Cor._ Marke my Lord.
Doubt that in earth is fire,
Doubt that the starres doe moue,
Doubt trueth to be a liar,
But doe not doubt I loue.
To the beautifull _Ofelia_:
Thine euer the most vnhappy Prince _Hamlet_.
My Lord, what doe you thinke of me?
I, or what might you thinke when I sawe this?
_King_ As of a true friend and a most louing subiect.
_Cor._ I would be glad to prooue so.
Now when I saw this letter, thus I bespake my maiden:
Lord _Hamlet_ is a Prince out of your starre,
And one that is vnequall for your loue:
Therefore I did commaund her refuse his letters,
Deny his tokens, and to absent her selfe.
Shee as my childe obediently obey'd me.
Now since which time, seeing his loue thus cross'd,
Which I tooke to be idle, and but sport,
He straitway grew into a melancholy,
From that vnto a fast, then vnto distraction,
Then into a sadnesse, from that vnto a madnesse,
And so by continuance, and weakenesse of the braine [D4v]
Into this frensie, which now possesseth him:
And if this be not true, take this from this.