HAMLET                     Yes, by heaven,

O most pernicious woman,

O villain, villain, smiling damned villain,

My tables! Meet it is I set it down

That one may smile and smile and be a villain –

At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word.

It is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me.’

I have sworn’t.           (1.5.104-112)

Yes, by heaven: I will remember you. I promise. But Hamlet’s whirling, trying to process all this information, all these big feelings. O most pernicious woman: mum, how could you DO that? How could you betray my father? Then: O villain, villain, smiling damned villain. It’s almost as if he’s seeing Claudius in front of him: you absolute bastard. My tables! I’ve got to make a note of all this (to remember it, and also because it sounds good, a kind of paradox, I like paradoxes): meet it is I set it down that one may smile and smile and be a villain. Appearances are deceiving. At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. This is a slight attempt at a joke, perhaps, or an intellectually scrupulous correction: not claiming this is universal, but here, in this country, absolutely. (Denmark might just refer to Claudius as king; he, now, is Denmark.) So, uncle, there you are. Nailed it, a pen portrait, the essentials of your character.

(It’s a trite observation, in some ways, that appearances can deceive, but it’s going against the familiar moral adage that outward should reflect inward, that people should be as they seem. Hamlet’s going to copy this observation from his tables—a temporary repository—into his commonplace book, perhaps under the heading ‘smile’ or ‘villain’ or ‘outward show’ or ‘fair seeming’.)

Now to my word, my motto, my slogan, my touchstone for the future: I’ll write it in my books, on my walls; have it engraved on my sword, get a tattoo (inky cloak, full sleeve). It is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me’. That’s what I’ll live by from now on. I have sworn’t. Dad, I promise.