HAMLET         Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! What replication should be made by the son of a king?

ROSENCRANTZ          Take you me for a sponge, my lord?

HAMLET         Ay, sir – that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he keeps them like an ape in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed to be last swallowed. When he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again!

ROSENCRANTZ          I understand you not, my lord.

HAMLET         I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.    (4.2.11-22)

Hamlet manages to be both cautionary and insulting—and funny—in this exchange with Rosencrantz. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! That’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it, being ordered around by—well, you! Wet, obviously, and insubstantial, is the start of it. What replication should be made by the son of a king? How can I possibly respond—how can ONE possibly respond—to questions being put by such a person as you?

Rosencrantz, like the audience, is puzzled; is this more of the mad thing? Take you me for a sponge, my lord? He’s feeling his way, humouring Hamlet a bit. Oh yes, ay, sir—spitting out the courtesy—a sponge that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his authorities. You’ve taken everything that you can get, haven’t you, crawling around, currying favour, yes Your Majesty, no Your Majesty, can’t get enough of him, can you? Hanging on his every look, like a lover. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he keeps them like an ape in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed to be last swallowed. Enjoy it while it lasts; the moment you stop being useful to him, that’s it—and it’s a disturbing image, the monstrous king, chewing up his followers, swallowing them whole—or spitting them out. But then back to the sponge: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again!You’re expendable; once he’s got everything out of you that you think you can get out of me—and he mightn’t be too fussy about the squeezing, either—that’s it, game over. He’ll kick you out as soon as look at you.

I understand you not, my lord. Rosencrantz can be forgiven, it’s one of Hamlet’s more baroque metaphors, and the chumbling ape, keeping its nuts for later in its cheek, is disturbing enough. Well that’s just as well, suggests Hamlet, I am glad of it. (You are so thick and SO naive; he’s treating them with contempt, as well as that note of caution.) A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear; you’re being wilfully ignorant as well as naturally stupid, and it’s probably for the best.