POLONIUS      Marry, I will teach you; think yourself a baby

That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay

Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly

Or – not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,

Wronging it thus – you’ll tender me a fool.

OPHELIA        My lord, he hath importuned me with love

In honourable fashion.

POLONIUS      Ay, ‘fashion’ you may call it. Go to, go to.

OPHELIA        And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.    (1.3.104-113)

You don’t know what to think? Marry, I will teach you: you listen to me, carefully. Think yourself a baby that you have ta’en these tenders for true pay which are not sterling. You’ve been a fool—naïve at least—to have believed everything Hamlet has said, taken it at face value, like counterfeit coins. It’s not genuine, whatever he’s saying, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t count! Tender yourself more dearly—have a higher sense of your own worth, and also, look out for yourself a bit more—or else—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, wronging it thus—not to labour the point, beat the word to death with quibbling—you’ll tender me a fool. You’ll make a fool of me, and of yourself too. (Some editors suggest tender me a fool = present me with a baby. Which feels a bit of a stretch? Polonius can be worried about propriety, reputation and Ophelia being unrealistic, unworldly, and getting hurt, rather than seduction and pregnancy?)

Ophelia’s a bit more explicit as she tries to explain, get her father to take her seriously, but still polite: my lord, he hath importuned me with love in honourable fashion. He says he loves me! But nothing improper, although he’s been quite persistent? Polonius is having none of that: ay, ‘fashion’, you may call it. It’s just a whim, you’re just his latest fancy, a diversion. Go to, go to. Get away with yourself, get a grip.

Ophelia’s persistent, she’s just trying to get her father to take her seriously, she thinks this is important, and true, she needs him to listen and understand: and hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, with almost all the holy vows of heaven! She can sound a bit pathetic here, young and naïve indeed—it’s useful for the audience to think, well, perhaps Polonius has a point? But Hamlet swore he was telling the truth, he did! He used almost every oath in the book to swear it! And as she recalls such instances, she can be a mixture of reverie, remembering his words, his ardent protestations, and a shiver of anxiety: what if Hamlet didn’t mean what he was saying after all?