HAMLET         Be the players ready?

ROSENCRANTZ         Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience.

GERTRUDE    Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

HAMLET         No, good mother, here’s metal more attractive.

POLONIUS      [to King]         O ho, do you mark that!

HAMLET         Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

OPHELIA        No, my lord.

HAMLET         Do you think I meant country matters?

OPHELIA        I think nothing, my lord.

HAMLET         That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.

OPHELIA        What is, my lord?

HAMLET         Nothing.

OPHELIA        You are merry, my lord.

HAMLET         Who, I?

OPHELIA        Ay, my lord.                (3.2.102-117)

Well, be the players ready? is it showtime? asks Hamlet. Rosencrantz, always getting it slightly wrong: ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience. They’re waiting for you to tell them to start—Hamlet is well aware of that, surely, he doesn’t need idiot Rosencrantz to point it out officiously, like Polonius 2.0, so he delays a little longer still. Gertrude wants him to sit with her (and Claudius; happy families!) but (having redeemed himself a bit in the eyes of the audience, through his affection for Horatio—perhaps) Hamlet decides to have another go at Ophelia. (Just being maaaad, obviously, all part of the act—and she can possibly push back at least in her tone, which is a valid choice, but still, he is being an ARSE.) No, good mother, here’s metal more attractive. Wowee, let me at the laydeez, as he makes for Ophelia, who may well flinch, long-sufferingly indulge—she can’t afford to upset her father, or the king and queen. Polonius is still convinced that he’s right about the cause of Hamlet’s madness, frustrated love—o ho, do you mark that! He’s having another go!—(Claudius isn’t going to dignify that with a response, he doesn’t care anymore) but the attention is on Hamlet.

Lady, shall I lie in your lap? (Ophelia may well have been sitting on a cushion or at most a low stool in early performances; it’d be reasonable for only the king and queen to have chairs, and women very often sat on cushions, which were easier in a farthingale.) Lap is more sexualised than in modern usage, and the alliteration, lady-lie-lap allows Hamlet to linger lasciviously. No, my lord. Please leave me alone. PLEASE. Freeze. No eye-contact (the response to the whistle in the street, the mutter on the train). Hamlet presses on, do you think I meant country matters? He’s being obscene—it’s interesting to see who else might react, especially if Gertrude does, or Horatio—and Ophelia’s response—I think nothing, my lord, is just possibly played as giving as good as she’s getting, nothing being another obscene quibble, no-thing, no phallus. But it’s also a helpless, I don’t any thoughts, opinions, feelings, PLEASE just leave me alone, let me be invisible. You’re the prince, I’m nothing please don’t be angry and make a(nother) scene, PLEASE. But he keeps going and going, that’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs, the nothing of it, ooooo yes baby, I love it when you talk dirty. What is, my lord? innocence? or challenge, go on, keep going in this way, say it, see the disgust and contempt with which I’m looking at you—or the pity. Nothing. That’s the punchline (it’s always the punchline, punching down, thanks, the patriarchy). You are merry, my lord. Possible sarcasm: having fun, are we? Being witty and hilarious? Who, I? Two can play at the faux innocence game. Ay, my lord. She picks up on the I, perhaps, yes you’re SO funny, we’re having such a good time here, the BANTER.

(There’s the option that it can be an in-joke, that she’s sarcastic, pushing back, that they’re both doing it to shock their parents. But that’s really really hard, I think it’s mostly Hamlet being awful, again. And it’s a nastiness that gets all too easily eclipsed, forgotten, forgiven.)