LAERTES                    Think it no more.

For nature crescent does not grow alone

In thews and bulks, but as this temple waxes

The inward service of the mind and soul

Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,

And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch

The virtue of his will; but you must fear,

His greatness weighed, his will is not his own.      (1.2.10-17)

Laertes is just getting started in his advice to his sister, but it’s interesting in both its substance and expression, and more so as he goes on. It’s a bit stuffy—Laertes clearly has a commonplace book full of wise material about ‘young love’ and ‘brotherly advice’ and ‘growing up’ which he has not yet fully digested—but it’s thoughtful rather than bullying or emptily pompous, at least potentially. He’s being quite wise? (Although what he’s NOT saying to his sister at any point is, so how do YOU feel about HIM?) Think it no more: that’s right, don’t think of Hamlet’s love as anything more than a youthful infatuation. For nature crescent does not grow alone in thews and bulks—basically, growing up isn’t just a physical process, it’s not just that Hamlet is young in years and physically—but as this temple waxes, as the body grows, the inward service of the mind and soul grows wide withal. People change, in their characters, their sensibilities, their minds and their spirits. Hamlet’s still growing up in every way, and it would only be natural for his affections to change too. Perhaps he loves you now—I don’t deny the possibility, not at all—and now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch the virtue of his will. At the moment, right now, perhaps his intentions towards you are wholly honourable and he’s got no ulterior motive; perhaps he loves you purely, innocently. (Partly Laertes is being so dense and so arcane in his language because he’s embarrassed; he’s talking to his sister about love and desire and sexuality; he’s not sure how much she’s thought this through, how much she knows. There is, after all, apparently no Mrs. Polonius, no mother in this family.) But you must fear, he says: you’ve still got to be wary, keep your guard up, for both your sakes. Laertes’ next point, however, is more interesting, and more worldly too: his greatness weighed, his will is not his own. Yes, Hamlet’s will can be in the familiar sense of sexual desire, but it’s also his volition, his capacity to decide and choose for himself: Hamlet’s the prince of Denmark, and—frankly, dear sister—he’s not entirely free to make choices about who he loves and how, at least not in the long term.