POLONIUS                  That hath made him mad.

I am sorry that with better heed and judgement

I had not quoted him. I feared he did but trifle

And meant to wrack thee – but beshrew my jealousy –

By heaven it is as proper to our age

To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions

As it is common for the younger sort

To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King:

This must be known which, being kept close, might move

More grief to hide than hate to utter love.

Come.                                      (Exeunt.)         (2.1.107-117)

That hath made him mad, says Polonius, apparently with breathtaking unfairness (and the audience may well be thinking: oho, this is the antic disposition, this is Hamlet putting his plan into action already), and a lively, strong-minded Ophelia might well react in a way that expresses as much; she’s done exactly as her father asked, by not seeing Hamlet and returning his letters, and now she’s the one to blame? But then Polonius modifies it a bit; it’s his fault too: I am sorry that with better heed and judgement I had not quoted him. I didn’t realise that things had got so serious; I dropped the ball on this one, should have seen it coming. I feared he did but trifle and meant to wrack thee. I thought Hamlet was leading you on, that he had improper designs on you, that he was cynically plotting a seduction. I was trying to protect you, Polonius protests. He’s concerned with his own apparent lack of judgement too, though. Beshrew my jealousy; bother my misgivings, my misinterpretation of Hamlet’s intentions and emotional state. And then even more self-reproach: by heaven it is as proper to our age to cast beyond ourselves in our opinions as it is common for the younger sort to lack discretion. Hamlet may have been misguided, acted unwisely in his behaviour towards Ophelia, and Ophelia too may have been foolish, at least initially—but that’s what young people do. What old people do is assume that they know best, making ill-advised decisions, giving bad advice, because they haven’t properly thought things through. My bad, says Polonius, in effect. (An actor can play this simply as Polonius Going On A Bit and being sententious, yet again—but it can be a useful admission of fallibility and regret. His daughter’s upset and this messy situation is in part his own fault.

So, come, go we to the King. We’ve got to report this. This must be known which, being kept close, might move more grief to hide than hate to utter love. If we try to keep this a secret it could cause problems down the line, really get out of control. It’s embarrassing and painful I know, but there’s no help. Come.