CLAUDIUS      Haply the seas and countries different

With variable objects shall expel

This something-settled matter in his heart

Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus

From fashion of himself. What think you on’t?

POLONIUS      It shall do well. But yet do I believe

The origin and commencement of his grief

Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia?

You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said –

We heard it all.          (3.1.170-179)

Claudius is convincing himself, and Polonius, that it’s all for the best for Hamlet to be sent to England—was this his plan all along, or is he making it up, fleshing it out on the spot as he goes? Haply the seas and countries different with variable objects shall expel this something-settled matter in his heart whereon his brains still beating puts him thus from fashion of himself. What Hamlet needs now is a change of scene! Sea air! (Claudius refused to let Hamlet return to Wittenberg.) He’ll have a great time, see the sights, lots of distractions and new experiences—that’ll shake him out of this low mood, stop him brooding. A change is as good as a rest! (Gentle exercise, that’s what Hamlet needs, and has he considered taking up a hobby?) By the time he finishes Claudius sounds as if he’s convinced even himself that this is all for Hamlet’s own good, this mini/proto-Grand Tour. (Although it’s hardly Italy or the Riviera, let alone overland to India, this trip from Denmark to England.) What think you on’t? Claudius isn’t really asking Polonius’s opinion, but he needs affirmation of his reasonableness, his justification of this just-invented scheme as being entirely for Hamlet’s own good. It shall do well, replies Polonius, dutifully, although he’s not going to give up his own pet point of view that easily: but yet I do believe the origin and commencement of his grief sprung from neglected love. I really, really do still think that he’s suffering from the effects of unrequited love. That remains my considered diagnosis, yes. Oh, how now, Ophelia? You’re still here, are you? It’s not really a request to know how she is, even though he has perhaps renewed her distress by his casual blaming of her for Hamlet’s state of mind. And then an added cruelty: you need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said—we heard it all. Yes, every word, every calculated insult, every last bit of adolescent lashing out, the malice, the pain, the second-hand, day-to-day misogyny. Oh yes, we heard it all; we stood here, concealed, and just let him treat you like that.