HORATIO        O day and night, but this is wondrous strange.

HAMLET         And therefore as a stranger give it welcome:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come,

Here as before: never – so help you mercy,

How strange or odd some’er I bear myself

(As I perchance hereafter shall think meet

To put an antic disposition on) –

That you at such times seeing me never shall

With arms encumbered thus, or this headshake,

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase

As ‘Well, well, we know’, or ‘We could an if we would’,

Or ‘If we list to speak’, or ‘There be an if they might’,

Or such ambiguous giving out to note

That you know aught of me.             (1.5.163-177)

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange. Ah, Horatio, master of understatement. Totally batshit is what he means. I’m completely out of my depth. But Hamlet’s on a roll—and this is one of the moments, I think, even more than the soliloquies, that really brings out the complexity and thrill of this role, how Hamlet grapples with himself in the moment, gains some kind of self-control which is also insight, which is also about appearing not to be in control, which might also be being out of control in reality. Yes, Horatio, friend, I can see that this is all a bit weird—but therefore as a stranger give it welcome. Embrace the weird! (The Ghost is a stranger, a foreigner, an outsider; the play’s concern with boundaries and borders is never far away.) Horatio, get out of your comfort zone, because there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet’s speaking existentially but also experientially and emotionally: there are ghosts, yes, and villains, and madmen—and also grief and love and hate and doubt. We can’t think our way out of everything, my friend. Sometimes (o irony) we have to speak and act.

But come, here as before, and he holds out the hilt of his sword yet again. Swear this oath. It’s a new oath, though; Hamlet asks his companions to swear never—so help you mercy, how strange or odd some’er I bear myself—never, no matter how crazy my behaviour seems—(as I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on, because it’s not impossible that I might deem it a good idea to act like a total madman at some point in the near future; antic particularly suggests wild physical movement)—if I’m doing that, don’t let on that you think or even know that it might all be an act, that you know aught of me. If you see me with arms encumbered thus—a gesture, obviously, possibly folding them elaborately across his chest, sign of the love-melancholic, or hugging secrets to his chest—or this headshake (exaggerated, again, nodding, shaking?). Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase: weird verbal tics, nonsense, repeated again and again, vaguely menacing though, ‘well, well, we know’ (paranoid, are you?) or ‘We could an if we would’ (yes, we are out to get you, we could do it if we wanted to) or ‘if we list to speak’ (the things we could say if we chose to) or ‘there be an if they might’ (people know what’s going on and they could reveal all). If I start with all that ambiguous giving out, nudge nudge wink wink, if you know you know, letting People know that I’ve got their number: don’t let on that you know that I know. Mad but sane, logical but manic, compelling, baffling, concerning. What a part.