GERTRUDE                            What shall I do?

HAMLET         Not this, by no means, that I bid you do –

Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed,

Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse

And let him for a pair of reechy kisses,

Or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers,

Make you to ravel all this matter out

That I essentially am not in madness

But mad in craft.        (3.4.178-186)

What shall I do? it’s a request for instruction, yes, but it’s also existential, and terrified, what do I do now, what the HELL do I do now, if all this is true, or, conversely, if you’re totally delusional, even, are you going to kill me? Easier for Gertrude to have been convinced, to be asking simply what shall I do now, in the immediate future, right now, tonight? Hamlet’s sarcastic: not this, by no means, that I bid you do, well don’t do this: let the bloat King tempt you again to bed, disgusting old letch that he is. Don’t let him seduce you with his old tricks, pinch wanton on your cheek (Hamlet could demonstrate), call you his mouse. Don’t let him for a pair of reechy kisses—foul, disgusting—or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers, those little caresses, I’ve seen, I’ve watched (and Claudius and Gertrude could indeed have performed such intimacies in previous scenes; there’s a comparison with Hamlet’s earlier fond recollection of the affection between his mother and father; here it’s embarrassing, dirty)—don’t let him get all this out of you, make you to ravel all this matter out, and especially don’t let on that you know, now, that I essentially am not in madness but mad in craft. Don’t let him know that this is all an act, that I’ve got a plan. DON’T. That’s all you’ve got to do.