GERTRUDE    What have I done that thou dar’st wag thy tongue

In noise so rude against me?

HAMLET                                 Such an act

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,

Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose

From the fair forehead of an innocent love

And sets a blister there, makes marriage vows

As false as dicers’ oaths…     (3.4.37-43)

Gertrude can be RAGING, how bloody dare you, or else utterly bewildered, or indeed both: what have I done that thou dar’st wag thy tongue in noise so rude against me? How DARE you speak to me like that, whatever you’re accusing me of I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, young man! (What would your father say if he heard you taking that tone with me?) But also: I don’t understand! You’ve just killed a man, killed POLONIUS, his body is right there, not even cold, and now you’re completely ignoring that and yelling at me? But it’s all pouring out now, all the disgust and bile, all the misogyny and anger and resentment: the act you’ve done, the ACT (remarrying so quickly, or at all, but also the sexual act) is such an act that blurs the grace and blush of modesty—you’ve outraged decency, let yourself down, you should be ashamed of yourself! And it calls virtue hypocrite—you’ve forfeited any claim to be called chaste—and takes off the rose from the fair forehead of an innocent love and sets a blister there; you’ve trashed everything lovely that you had with dad! as if you’ve cast away a wreath of bridal roses and instead branded your forehead like a prostitute (or perhaps shown the signs in your face of venereal disease). I used to think you were beautiful—you told me it was a beautiful thing, if two people loved each other—but now you disgust me. You’ve betrayed your marriage vows, made them false as dicers’ oaths, and broken them in retrospect as lightly as drunkards swearing over a dice game.

Don’t hold back, will you? what’s coming next, I didn’t ASK to be born?