Enter [a Player as the] PROLOGUE.

HAMLET         We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep council – they’ll tell all.

OPHELIA        Will ’a tell us what this show meant?

HAMLET         Ay, or any show that you will show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll not shame to tell you what it means.

OPHELIA        You are naught, you are naught. I’ll mark the play.

PROLOGUE     For us and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,

We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit.]

HAMLET         Is this a prologue or the posy of a ring?

OPHELIA        ’Tis brief, my lord.

HAMLET         As woman’s love.       (3.2.134-147)

Oh, we shall know by this fellow, what the play’s about. The players cannot keep council, they’ll tell all. No secret is safe with them! Of course Hamlet’s talking about his plan, that the play will bring to light the truth of his father’s murder—but he’s also referring to the custom of prologues revealing the plot of a play in advance, as in (for example) Romeo and Juliet. That isn’t quite what Ophelia meant: will ’a tell us what this show meant? it’s what we’ve just seen that I want to be explained, not what we’re about to see. But just when Hamlet seems to be being a bit more straightforward, or at least polite, he has another go at Ophelia: oh yes, he’ll tell you what it meant, ay, or any show that you will show him. Whatever you care to show—and the implication is obscene—he’ll interpret it, be you not ashamed to show, he’ll not shame to tell you what it means. Go on, then, give him an eyeful, let him have a good look, let us all have a good look and see what you’ve got. You are naught, you are naught. Stop it! (But also, you are nothing, stop being an ARSE, it’s boring and tiring. Another option, perhaps a more old-fashioned one: oh you are a one, such a naughty boy! I’d rather have an Ophelia who didn’t react like that.) I’ll mark the play. Let me just watch it and work it out for myself.

Prologue. Probably wearing black, perhaps a long cloak, and with a laurel wreath, all conventional. If wearing black, he might look not unlike Hamlet. For us and for our tragedy, here stooping to your clemency, we beg your hearing patiently. It’s very short and old-fashioned, but does the job: we crave your indulgence, please listen attentively to our play, we’re doing our best! Hamlet seems to feel short-changed (prologues were often much longer, and frequently occasional too; this is utterly generic): is this a prologue or the posy of a ring? It’s short enough to be inscribed inside a ring, and also has the triteness of such inscriptions. Ophelia tries again to be nice, to agree, keep him calm: ’tis brief, my lord. You’re right, it is short. He bites back: as woman’s love. It’s a snarl at her, at Gertrude, at the action of the dumb-show—and at the world. He’s so wound up that everything is a slight, a jab, a needle, an opportunity to lash out.