Why, Ophelia, what's the matter?

Oh, my lord, I was frightened by something terrible.

By what, for heaven’s sake?

I was sewing in my room when Lord Hamlet came in, with his shirt unbuttoned, his leggings tangled, missing their garters, and hanging down around his ankles. He was as pale as his shirt, and he looked so pitiful, as if he had come from Hell to describe how horrible it is there.

Polonius

Lovesick for you? 

My Lord, I don’t know, but I’m afraid that’s what it means.

What did he say?

Ophelia

He grabbed my wrist and held me hard. He kept me out at arm’s length, and, with his hand on his forehead, he stared at my face as if he were going to draw it. He stayed that way for a long time. Finally, shaking my arm a bit, and nodding his head three times, he sighed so piteously and loud that his whole body shook and I thought he was going to die. After that he let me go, and he walked out the door without looking where he was going, while all the time staring back at me.

Polonius

Come with me. Let’s find the king. This is the craziness of love, which has such a violent nature that it destroys itself and causes people to act recklessly, as often as any other emotion that affects our behavior. I’m sorry for you. Have you spoken harshly to Hamlet lately?

No, my lord, but I followed your instructions. I sent back all his letters unopened, and I refused to see him.

Polonius

That has driven him crazy. I wish I had used better judgement, but I was afraid that he was just fooling around and wanted to take advantage of you. I’m too damn protective. It seems that it is as typical of men my age to be sure of our opinions, as it is for young men to lack judgement in theirs. Come, we have to tell the king about this. Keeping this romance a secret would be worse than the anger that’s going to result from telling him about it.

Welcome, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I really wanted to see you while you’re here at Elsinore, but I also need your help. That’s why I’ve sent for you. You’ve heard of Hamlet’s “transformation” – let’s call it that. He doesn’t look or act like he used to. I can’t imagine what’s caused this change, other than his father’s death. Since you know him so well, having grown up with him, I would prefer if you two would stay here a little longer and hang out with him. Find out if anything is bothering him that, if I knew about it, I could fix.

Gertrude

Gentlemen, he has often talked about you. I’m sure there’s not two others with whom he’s closer. If you would be so kind as to extend your stay awhile to help us, your efforts will receive the thanks befitting a king.

Rosencrantz

You are our king and queen; whatever you desire is our command.

We will comply fully with your request, do everything within our power, and be completely at your disposal.

Claudius

Thanks, Rosencrantz and sweet Guildenstern.

Thanks, Guildenstern and sweet Rosencrantz. Please go at once to see our son, who is acting so unlike himself. Someone take these gentlemen to Prince Hamlet.

May God make our presence here, and our efforts, helpful to him.

Now, my king and queen, to discuss in detail what a monarch should be, the nature of duty, why day is day, why night is night and why time is time – well, that would just be a waste of day, night, and time.  Therefore, since brevity is the essence of wisdom, while long speeches are just the pretension of it, I'll be brief. Your noble son is mad. I say he’s mad because, to define true madness, it’s nothing else other than to be mad. But never mind all this.

How about a little more substance, and less fancy language?

Polonius

Madam, I swear I use no fancy language. That he’s mad, it’s true, and it’s true that’s a pity, and it’s a pity that’s true – that’s a silly figure of speech. “Goodbye, figure of speech.” I promised that I would use no fancy language. Now, we can all agree that Hamlet’s mad. But we still need to find the cause of this effect – or rather, I should say the cause of this “defect” – because this defective effect must have a cause. Thus it remains: to find the cause of this madness in the heir to the throne.

Consider this. I have a daughter – at least she’s mine until I give her away in marriage – who, out of respect and obedience, has given me this letter.  Gather around and see what you think. [Reading] “To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia." That’s a poor word, a horrible word; “beautified” is a horrible word. But listen, there’s more, “... these in her excellent white bosom, these ...”

Hamlet wrote this to her?

Polonius

Madam, be patient, I’ll read his exact words.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.

Oh, my dear Ophelia, I am so bad at writing poetry. I can’t count the number of syllables in a line any better than than I can count how many times my heart aches for you. But, that I love you the most – that, you can believe. Goodbye.

Yours forever, my dear lady, as long as I’m alive,

Hamlet.”

Out of obedience, my daughter has shown me this letter, as well as similar ones, along with a record of when, how, and where she received them.

Claudius

How has she responded to these love letters?

What do you think of me?

As a faithful and honorable man.

I would gladly prove that’s true. What would you think of me, if, when I noticed this hot romance starting up – and I must tell you that I realized something was going on before my daughter said anything – had I just acted as their messenger, or winked and not said a word, or just given this affair a casual glance? What would you think of me? 

So, I went right to heart of the matter, and said to her, “Lord Hamlet is a prince, and above your social class. This relationship cannot continue.” Then I instructed her to quit seeing him, and not to accept any messages or gifts from him. She followed my advice, and – to make a long story short – Hamlet, because his affections were rejected, became depressed, lost his appetite, could not sleep, became weak and distracted, and in this way deteriorated into his current state of ranting and raving, which has saddened us all. 

Claudius

[To Queen] Do you think this is the cause?

It may be, very likely.

Has there ever been a time – and I would gladly know if there has been – when I’ve said, “This is so,” and it proved to be otherwise?

Not that I know.

[Indicating his head and his shoulder] You can cut off my head if what I have said turns out not to be true. I follow the facts to get to the truth, no matter where it may lead me, even to the center of the earth.

How can we test this further?

You know that sometimes Hamlet walks for hours here in the courtyard.

So he does, indeed.

At one of those times, I’ll send my daughter, alone, to run into him. You and I will hide behind the curtain and eavesdrop on their conversation. If it turns out that Hamlet is not in love with her, and this is not the cause of his madness, then I’ll resign my post as your chief councilor and go be a farmer.

We’ll try it.

But look, here comes the poor boy now, reading a book.

Leave quickly, both of you; I’ll go up to him now. Let me talk to him alone.

How are you doing, Lord Hamlet?

Well, thank you.

Do you know me, my lord?

I know you very well. You are a fish seller.

No I’m not, my lord.

Well, I wish you were as honest as a fish seller.

Honest, my lord?

You know what they say – not one man out of a thousand is honest.

That's very true, my lord.

Hamlet

Well, if the sun causes maggots in a dead dog, which is a good breeding ground for them – have you a daughter?

I have, my lord.

Don’t let her go out into the sun. Conception is a blessing, but not the way your daughter will conceive. See to it.

[Aside] How about that – he’s still going on about my daughter, and he didn’t recognize me; he said I was a fish seller. He’s really out of it. But in truth, when I was young, I too was lovesick, a lot like this. I’ll speak to him again. [To Hamlet] What do you read, my lord?

Hamlet

Words, words, words.

I mean what is the matter, my lord.

What’s the matter between whom?

I mean the subject matter of what you’re reading, my lord.

These are slanders I’m reading. This sarcastic writer says that old men have gray beards, that their faces are wrinkled, that thick sap runs from their eyes, that they have lost part of their mind, and that they have weak legs. I most certainly believe that all of this is true, but I think it’s wrong to put it in writing. You yourself, sir, would be as old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backwards.

Polonius

[Aside] Although he may be mad, there is some sense in what he says. [To Hamlet] Let’s go inside, my lord?

Into my grave?

Indeed, that would be “inside.” [Aside] How insightful some of his replies are. Sometimes crazy people see things that smart, sane people completely miss. I will leave him and quickly arrange a meeting between him and my daughter. [To Hamlet] My Lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.

Hamlet

Go ahead, sir. I'd be happy to be without you, and pretty much anything else – except my life, except my life, except my life.                   

Have a good day, my lord.

These tedious old fools!

Oh, what a lousy nobody I am! It’s unthinkable that this actor here, in a fictional play, a mere fantasy, could change his whole being to anything he wants – turning his face pale, bringing tears to his eyes, looking totally crazed, making his voice crack and his appearance exactly as he wishes – and all for nothing. For Hecuba, a character in a play. 

What does Hecuba mean to him – or him to Hecuba, for that matter – that he should cry for her? Just imagine how he would be if he had the reasons to be upset that I have? He’d drown the stage with tears, sting our ears with his horrible speeches, drive guilty people mad, shock the innocent, confuse the simple-minded, and amaze everyone’s eyes and ears. Yet I, a stupid, confused, good-for-nothing, mope around like a dreamer, oblivious to what I should be doing. I don’t say a word, not even in the name of a king whose life and property were taken from him. Am I a coward?

Who calls me a coward, slaps me on the head, yanks out my beard and blows it in my face, tweaks my nose, calls me a downright liar? Who does this, huh? I would just take it because it must be that I’m a chicken-livered coward and don’t have the nerve to get offended. Otherwise, by now I would have fattened all the vultures in the area with this loser’s guts. Bloody, stinking criminal! Unfeeling, backstabbing, horny, heartless criminal! 

My god, I’m such an idiot! This is really brave – here I am, the son of a father who was just murdered, called upon by heaven and hell to take revenge, and all I can do is rant and rave, or start cursing like a whore or dishwasher! Damn it all. Come on, I’ve got to think of something. I’ve heard that criminals sitting in the audience of a play have been so moved by the performance that they have confessed their crimes. A murder, even though it can’t talk, will always reveal itself - one way or another.

I’ll have these actors perform a play, in which the plot is similar to my father’s murder. I’ll watch closely to see how my uncle responds. If he even flinches, I’ll know what I have to do. Maybe the ghost I saw could actually be a devil, and devils are able to disguise themselves as someone we love. And because I’m really depressed right now – and devils are good at taking advantage of depressed people –  maybe he’s deceiving me in order to condemn me to Hell. I need more proof of Claudius’s guilt. I’ll use the play to find out if he is innocent or guilty.