HAMLET         ’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. [to Polonius] Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

POLONIUS      My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

HAMLET         God’s bodkin, man, much better! Use every man after his desert and who shall scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity – the less they deserve the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.   (2.2.459-470)

’Tis well, yes, it’s OK, that’s probably enough, says Hamlet; I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. I’d love to hear the end of the speech; later, perhaps. And then a neat little illustration of how Hamlet is still the prince, still the highest-ranking person in the scene, committed to the values of courtesy and hospitality. He’s on the side of the actors: my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Make sure they’ve got comfortable lodgings, everything they need, yes? Polonius might be demurring—this is below his paygrade, among other things—but Hamlet repeats himself, emphatically: do you hear, let them be well used—you make sure they’re properly taken care of, treated well—for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time. These people have more power than you think; they’re the recorders and the storytellers, the reporters and the commentators. You don’t want to annoy them: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live; you’d be better off with an unflattering inscription on your tomb than to be in their bad books while you’re alive. (The players have the power, don’t mess with them; a knowing glance at the audience, perhaps.)

Polonius is officious, offended, he knows what’s what, and after all, these are only actors: my lord, I will use them according to their desert. They’ll get everything they’re entitled to, of course (the implication is, which isn’t much). Hamlet’s not having that, God’s bodkin, man, much better! A mild oath, as editors say, by God’s little body (nothing to do with needles, alas): for heaven’s sake, you’ve got to treat them better than that! Use every man after his desert and who shall scape whipping? If we only gave people what they deserved, as a reward for their virtue or otherwise—well, we’d all be in trouble, wouldn’t we? (Whipping is a reminder that vagabonds and sturdy beggars could be whipped as a punishment for their indigence and homelessness; travelling players counted as vagabonds.) Use them after your own honour and dignity—the less they deserve the more merit is in your bounty. Treat them as you’d wish to be treated yourself—and also, in a way that is a credit to your own generosity and magnanimity. The more extreme their need, the lower their status—that makes your good treatment of them, your kindness and courtesy all the more praiseworthy. (Do it out of self-interest, if you can’t do it out of the goodness of your heart, is partly the implication.) Take them in. Go on, do as you’re told, just do it!