LAERTES                    O thou vile King,

Give me my father.

GERTRUDE     Calmly, good Laertes.

LAERTES        That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard,

Cries ‘Cuckold!’ to my father, brands the harlot

Even here between the chaste unsmirched brow

Of my true mother.

CLAUDIUS                  What is the cause, Laertes,

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?

Let him go, Gertrude, do not fear our person.

There’s such divinity doth hedge a king

That treason can but peep to what it would,

Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.                (4.5.115-127)

Laertes is steaming with rage and grief—and he’s also saying and doing everything that Hamlet has failed to say and do, forcing a confrontation in uncompromising terms with the man whom he believes is ultimately responsible for his father’s death: O thou vile King, give me my father. He knows this is an impossibility, of course, but it’s raising the stakes from the outset; this is on YOU, he says. Calmly, good Laertes, is Gertrude’s wholly unhelpful plea—she might be trying to restrain him, at least a hand on the arm—and (given her response to the sound of a rebellious mob) she perhaps views this as a failure of courtesy and decorum as much as an impossible request. (Or it could be a kindly response to his distress; lots of scope for little textual tweaks to shift the reading.) Of course telling someone to calm down is a sure-fire way of escalating a situation: are you SERIOUSLY asking me to calm down? really? what kind of son do you take me for? That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard, cries ‘Cuckold!’ to my father, brands the harlot even here between the chaste unsmirched brow of my true mother. If I were to be even the slightest bit CALM it’d be as good as saying that I’m not my father’s son, that my father was not my father, that my mother cheated on him, was a whore. (So this is now about Gertrude as much as it is about Hamlet, potentially; a glimpse of court gossip? does Laertes even dare to gesture here with a jabbing finger at Gertrude’s forehead?) It is the duty of the son to avenge his father’s death! And I am my father’s son! You’re insulting me, my father, my whole family, in suggesting even for a moment that I shouldn’t be doing this. So don’t tell me to CALM DOWN.

This has bought Claudius just enough time to regroup, and he’s back to Mr Smooth, pretending for a moment that he is baffled, BAFFLED I tell you, by these accusations: what is the cause, Laertes, that thy rebellion looks so giant-like?Steady on, old chap, this is all a bit extreme, isn’t it? Why all the shouting and shoving? Then he moves to take control even more, magnanimous, confident: let him go, Gertrude, do not fear our person. He’s not going to hurt me, is he? (A wolfish smile, ah, look at my wife defending me, holding back the big bad man; also, you would have shot me already if you were going to do it wouldn’t you, Laertes? You don’t really want to do it, do you, Laertes?) Then he pulls rank even more: There’s such divinity doth hedge a king that treason can but peep to what it would, acts little of his will. I’m the ACTUAL KING; divine right and all that. I’m untouchable. Having accused Laertes of being giant-like, he now makes him just another tiny annoyance, powerless, squeaking, swattable, in comparison with the force-field of the crown, however ill-gotten.

Smooth, again, look, I’m listening, really listening: tell me, Laertes, why thou art incensed. Why so much anger? What’s up? (Claudius has read all the corporate manuals about using people’s names when he speaks to them, to create intimacy—and here, also to pull rank.) Let him go, Gertrude. (You’re really not helping now.) Speak, man. Don’t be shy, come on! I’m listening.