POLONIUS      No, I went round to work

And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:

‘Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy star.

This must not be.’ And then I prescripts gave her

That she should lock herself from his resort,

Admit no messengers, receive no tokens;

Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,

And he, repelled, a short tale to make,

Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,

Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,

Thence to lightness, and by this declension

Into the madness wherein now he raves,

And all we mourn for.           (2.2.136-148)

Polonius is massaging the truth a bit here, casting himself as firmly in control, the strict father of an obedient daughter and a perceptive, authoritative observer of human emotion. Did I do nothing. No, I went round to work, straight to it, completely focused, and my young mistress thus I did bespeak; this is what I told my daughter. (This is a version of what Polonius said to Ophelia in the scene of Laertes’ departure, but much calmer and more stern.) ‘Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy star. This must not be’. He’s out of your league, this can’t go anywhere and so it can’t go any further. Draw a line. And then I prescripts gave her, the following detailed orders: that she should lock herself from his resort—not see him in person, not allow him to come near her; shut herself away, basiccally—admit no messengers, receive no tokens; no letters, no gifts. And she did as she was told! (My daughter is obedient, I am a good father as well as a loyal servant.) She took the fruits of my advice, and he, Hamlet, repelled—pushed away, shut out, rejected, a short tale to make (to cut a long story short; always ironic when it’s Polonius saying it) fell into a sadness, then into a fast (he moped, got depressed, went off his food), thence to a watch, thence into a weakness (wasn’t sleeping, listless, no energy), thence to lightness (he was dizzy, lightheaded, faint) and by this declension, through all the stages of this decline (the classic behaviours of the melancholy lover) he fell into the madness wherein now he raves—that’s how Hamlet went crazy for love. And all we mourn for, Polonius concludes, almost as an afterthought, to offset his smugness at setting it all out so persuasively, so logically. Obviously we’re all very sorry that he’s out of sorts and genuinely concerned for his well-being and we hope he’ll feel better soon.