GERTRUDE    Be thou assured, if words be made of breath

And breath of life, I have no life to breathe

What thou hast said to me.

HAMLET         I must to England – you know that.

GERTRUDE    Alack, I had forgot; ’tis so concluded on.

HAMLET         There’s letters sealed and my two schoolfellows –

Whom I will trust as I will adders fanged –

They bear the mandate, they must sweep my way

And marshal me to knavery.            (3.4.195-203)

Gertrude’s adamant: I won’t breathe a WORD, she says, be thou assured, if words be made of breath and breath of life, I have no life to breathe. On my life, I swear. It’s intimate, passionate, mother and son on the same team again, it seems, although she’s still wary of what he might do. Hamlet might pause, nod, relax even, and then remember: I must to England—you know that. And HE knows that he’s in danger, that it’s almost certainly a trap; he needs to ensure that his mother realises that too. Alack, I had forgot—I thought we’d have time to talk more, now we’ve had this—conversation—now that we understand each other better—but ’tis so concluded on. It’s a done deal, apparently—and Gertrude can realise, now, how she’s being excluded from decisions, not told the whole story—and that it’s too late. Yes, confirms Hamlet, there’s letters sealed—official government business, or the appearance of it, all ready to go. And my two schoolfellows—ah yes, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and Hamlet’s not going to pretend any longer—whom I will trust as I will adders fanged. I know they’re in Claudius’s pay, and I know they’re desperate, because I’ve been running rings around them. This is their last chance to prove themselves; they are SNAKES in the grass, hiding their poison, albeit incompetently, under the appearance of friendship. Traitors. They bear the mandate—they’re carrying those papers, they’re the ones in charge, and so they must sweep my way and marshal me to knavery. Hamlet imagines a kind of royal procession, with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern pushing through the crowd in front of him, clearing his path—but leading him to some kind of trick, leading him to damnation. Hamlet is on his guard. (And Gertrude should be too, is one implication. Trust no one, mum, and I’m not going to be here to protect you.)