d unkindness, which
had made him less observant of her than formerly; and she compared the
faculties of his once noble mind and excellent understanding, impaired
as they were with the deep melancholy that oppressed him, to sweet
bells which in themselves are capable of most exquisite music, but
when jangled out of tune, or rudely handled, produce only a harsh and
unpleasing sound.

Though the rough business which Hamlet had in hand, the revenging of
his father's death upon his murderer, did not suit with the playful
state of courtship, or admit of the society of so idle a passion as
love now seemed to him, yet it could not hinder but that soft thoughts
of his Ophelia would come between, and in one of these moments,
when he thought that his treatment of this gentle lady had been
unreasonably harsh, he wrote her a letter full of wild starts of
passion, and in extravagant terms, such as agreed with his supposed
madness, but mixed with some gentle touches of affection, which could
not but shew to this honoured lady that a deep love for her yet lay at
the bottom of his heart. He bade her to doubt the stars were fire, and
to doubt that the sun did move, to doubt truth to be a liar, but never
to doubt that he loved; with more of such extravagant phrases. This
letter Ophelia dutifully shewed to her father, and the old man thought
himself bound to communicate it to the king and queen, who from that
time supposed that the true cause of Hamlet's madness was love. And
the queen wished that the good beauties of Ophelia might be the happy
cause of his wildness, for so she hoped that her virtues might happily
restore him to his accustomed way again, to both their honours.

But Hamlet's malady lay deeper than she supposed, or than could be
so cured. His father's ghost, which he had seen, still haunted his
imagination, and the sacred injunction to revenge his murder gave him
no rest till it was accomplished. Every hour of delay seemed to him a
sin, and a violation of his father's commands. Yet how to compass the
death of the king, surrounded as he constantly was with his guards,
was no easy matter. Or if it had been, the presence of the queen,
Hamlet's mother, who was generally with the king, was a restraint
upon his purpose, which he could not break through. Besides, the very
circumstance that the usurper was his mother's husband filled him with
some remorse, and still blunted the edge of his purpose. The mere
act of putting a fellow