LAERTES        Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,

And therefore I forbid my tears. But yet

It is our trick – nature her custom holds

Let shame say what it will. When these are gone

The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord,

I have a speech o’fire that fain would blaze

But that this folly drowns it. (Exit.)

CLAUDIUS                  Let’s follow, Gertrude.

How much I had to do to calm his rage!

Now fear I this will give it start again.

Therefore let’s follow. (Exeunt.)      (4.7.183-192)

All the fight goes out of Laertes, and—trying to hang on to some dignity—he dissolves into tears, and his choppy sentences, beginning on the half-line, sob for him. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears. I’m not going to cry! I’m not going to drown you even further. I’m not! I’m trying my best! But yet it is our trick, I can’t help it, I’m only human, and nature her custom holds let shame say what it will. I don’t care if it’s embarrassing or shameful, I can’t help it. I just can’t. I don’t care what anyone thinks, I don’t care about anything! (A few years later, Macduff will protest that he must also feel it as a man, when he is brought the news of his family’s murder and told to turn his grief to anger.) When these are gone the woman will be out; once my tears have dried, once I’ve had my cry, I’ll be a man again…

But he’s not going to stick around with Claudius, he’s desperate to get out of there, retain some dignity, just be alone to try to process this, on top of everything else. Adieu, my lord, I have a speech o’fire that fain would blaze but that this folly drowns it. I’m SO angry, I could say such things, burning with righteous rage, but—I can’t. My foolish tears, they’ve put my fire out. Exit at a run, perhaps.

At least Claudius doesn’t have to pretend to be sympathetic, and in fact he’s notably unpleasant; his initial let’s follow, Gertrude, could seem as if he’s concerned for Laertes, wanting to comfort this young man who’s now lost everyone he loves—but no, it’s entirely self-interested. How much I had to do to calm his rage! I’d just got him on side, so painstaking, so clever; I’d just got his anger channelled towards Hamlet! Now I fear this will give it start again, he’ll blow up, become a total loose cannon. Therefore let’s follow—come on, woman, what are you waiting for?

And Gertrude can indeed follow, perhaps after a long stare of disbelief: are you going to express any kind of sympathy, ask any more questions about that poor girl? (In productions which suggest that Ophelia’s been silenced by royal command, definitely not.)

And that’s the end of the scene and the act.