God b' wi' you, fare you well.

Rey.
Good my lord!

Pol.
Observe his inclination in yourself.

Rey.
I shall, my lord.

Pol.
And let him ply his music.

Rey.
Well, my lord.

Pol.
Farewell!

[Exit Reynaldo.]

[Enter Ophelia.]

How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?

Oph.
Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

Pol.