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It shall do well: but yet do I believeThe origin and commencement of his griefSprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia!You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;We heard it all. My lord, do as you please;But, if you hold it fit, after the playLet his queen mother all alone entreat himTo show his grief: let her be round with him;And I'll be placed, so please you, in the earOf all their conference. If she find him not,To England send him, or confine him whereYour wisdom best shall think.