LAERTES        Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain

If with too credent ear you list his songs

Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open

To his unmastered importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,

And keep you in the rear of your affection

Out of the shot and danger of desire.          (1.3.28-34)

And another thing—and my sense is that, in performance, this is more likely to be played in full than the political stuff in the previous lines, which is Interesting—you need to guard your Reputation. Yes, then weigh what loss your honour may sustain if with too credent ear you list his songs—don’t let Hamlet seduce you with his music, his poetry, his sweet nothings; don’t believe everything he says! Don’t lose your heart—don’t fall for him, irrevocably (does Laertes actually mean heart here, though?)—or (and now he spells it out, perhaps with embarrassment, in a great rush, not looking her in the eye as he reaches for a particularly cringy metaphor) or your chaste treasure open to his unmastered importunity. (Ophelia is allowed to squeak here, or glare at him, or hit him; grim, brother, and also, don’t tell me what I can or can’t do, don’t treat me like a fool, with your prim metaphors. Also: how do you know that’s never going to happen, or else, that it already has, by mutual and happy consent?) Unmastered importunity is striking though, unmastered both because Hamlet can’t control himself (or so Laertes imagines, perhaps thinking of himself, his own life in Paris?) and because no one (despite what he’s just been saying) can tell Hamlet what to do, or say no to him, because he’s the prince. Whatever he tells you, whatever he asks: just say no, sister? (Brother, SO embarrassing.)

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister—and this does seem genuine, for all Laertes’ pompous stuffiness and projection, and it’s the first time he addresses her by name; he’s perhaps just realising that he’s leaving her, in a court and with a prince in circumstances which have recently changed radically. And keep you in the rear of your affection out of the shot and danger of desire. He can’t resist another dodgy metaphor though: keep your head down, stay out of range. Look after yourself?