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Hamlet Shakescleare Translation
Hamlet Translation Act 3, Scene 4
GERTRUDE and POLONIUS enter.
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him. Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your grace hath screened and stood between Much heat and him. I’ll silence me even here. Pray you, be round with him.
He’ll be here right away. Be sure to really yell at him. Tell him his pranks have been too big to ignore, and that you have protected him from feeling the full heat of their consequences. I’ll be silent, right here. Please, be tough with him.
[within] Mother, mother, mother!
[Offstage] Mother, mother, mother!
I’ll warrant you. Fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming.
I’ll do as you say. Don’t worry. Hide, I hear him coming.
POLONIUS hides behind the tapestry.
HAMLET enters.
Now mother, what’s the matter?
Now, mother, what’s the matter?
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Hamlet, you have insulted your father.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Mother, you have insulted my father.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Come now, you answer is foolish.
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Go on, your question is wicked.
Why, how now, Hamlet?
Hamlet, what, why?
What’s the matter now?
Have you forgot me?
Have you forgotten who I am?
No, by the rood, not so. You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, And—would it were not so!—you are my mother.
By the Holy Cross, no. You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, and—though I wish it wasn’t so—you are my mother.
Nay, then I’ll set those to you that can speak.
Well then, I’ll go get someone who will speak and make you listen.
Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge. You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Come now, sit down. Don't budge. You will not leave until I hold a mirror up to you, so that you can see the inner most part of yourself.
What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho!
What are you going to do? Would you murder me? Help, help, hey!
[from behind the arras] What, ho? Help, help, help!
[From behind the tapestry] Hey! Help, help, help!
How now, a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!
What’s this, a rat? I’ll bet a gold coin that he’s dead now.
HAMLET stabs his sword through the tapestry and kills POLONIUS
HAMLET stabs his sword through the tapestry and kills POLONIUS.
[from behind the arras] Oh, I am slain.
[From behind the tapestry] Oh, I’ve been killed!
O me, what hast thou done?
Oh my God, what have you done?
Nay, I know not. Is it the king?
I don’t know. Is it the king?
Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Oh, what a reckless, bloody act!
A bloody deed? Almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king and marry with his brother.
A bloody act? Almost as bad, my good mother, as killing a king and marrying his brother.
As kill a king?
Killing a king?
Ay, lady, ’twas my word.
Yes, lady, that’s what I said.
HAMLET pulls back the tapestry and discovers POLONIUS
HAMLET pulls back the tapestry and discovers POLONIUS.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell. I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune. Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger. [to GERTRUDE] Leave wringing of your hands. Peace. Sit you down And let me wring your heart. For so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff, If damnèd custom have not brassed it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
You sad, silly, interfering fool, goodbye. I mistook you for your superior. You’ve gotten what you deserve, and found that meddling can be dangerous.
[To GERTRUDE] Stop wringing your hands. Quiet. Sit down and let me wring your heart —if it’s still soft enough, and your evil behavior hasn’t made it too tough to be touched by feelings.
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me?
What have I done that you dare to talk to me so rudely?
Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love And sets a blister there, makes marriage vows As false as dicers’ oaths —oh, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words. Heaven’s face doth glow O’er this solidity and compound mass With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act.
Something that corrupts modesty, turns virtue into hypocrisy, removes the blossom from the face of true love and replaces it with a blister, makes marriage vows as false as a gambler’s oath —oh, you’ve done such a thing that plucks the soul out of marriage, and turns religion into just a bunch of words. Heaven looks down on earth, its face glowing with anger as if it were Judgment Day now, and is sick because of what you’ve done.
Ay me, what act That roars so loud and thunders in the index?
Oh no, what have I done that sounds so terrible—even though I don’t yet know what it is?
Look here upon this picture and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow? Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars to threaten and command, A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill— A combination and a form indeed Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man. This was your husband. Look you now, what follows. Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed And batten on this moor? Ha, have you eyes? You cannot call it love, for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it’s humble, And waits upon the judgment. And what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, Else could you not have motion. But sure that sense Is apoplexed, for madness would not err, Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thralled, But it reserved some quantity of choice To serve in such a difference. What devil was ’t That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. O shame, where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will.
Look at this picture here and at that one there, the painted portraits of two brothers. See the saintly goodness in this face? He has curls like those of Hyperion , a forehead like that of Jove, eyes that command like those of Mars, and a stance as light as Mercury’s when that god lands on the peak of a hill. He was such a combination of good qualities that it seemed like he was put together by all the gods to be the perfect man. That was your husband. Now look at what came after: this is your husband, like a rotten ear of corn infecting the one next to it. Do you have eyes? How could you leave the beautiful heights of this man and descend down to this dank swamp of this one? Ha! Do you have eyes? You can’t say it was love—because at at your age romantic passions have been tamed with humility and reason. But there must be something wrong with your reason, because why else would you go from this to that? Your senses must still work, or else you wouldn’t be able to move. But those senses seem paralyzed, because madness would not make this mistake. And even senses overcome by desire would still be able to distinguish the huge difference between your former and current husband. What devil was it that tricked and blindfolded you? Even if you had eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, ears without hands or eyes, smell without any other senses, or the use of just one impaired sense, you would not make a mistake like this. Oh, for shame, why aren’t you blushing? If a rebellion can rage even in a mother’s bones, then in the fire of youth all virtue must burn away. There’s no longer any shame in acting on impulse when old people burn to act on impulse, and reason acts as a servant to desire.
O Hamlet, speak no more! Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grainèd spots As will not leave their tinct.
Oh, Hamlet, no more! You’re forcing me to look into my very soul, where the marks of sin are so black they’ll never be cleaned away.
Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamèd bed, Stewed in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty—
Yes, and how could you lie in the rank sweat of your dirty sheets, wet with corruption, making love in this gross pigpen—
O, speak to me no more! These words like daggers enter in my ears. No more, sweet Hamlet.
Oh, please, stop speaking to me! Your words are like daggers stabbing my ears. No more, sweet Hamlet.
A murderer and a villain, A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord, a vice of kings, A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket—
A murderer and a villain; a scoundrel who’s not worth even a twentieth of ten percent of your previous husband; an awful king; a thief of the throne and the kingdom, who stole the precious crown from a shelf and put it in his pocket—
A king of shreds and patches—
A patched-up king—
The GHOST enters.
Save me and hover o’er me with your wings, You heavenly guards!—What would your gracious figure?
Heavenly angels, protect me with your wings!
[To the GHOST] What do you want me to do, my gracious lord?
Alas, he’s mad!
Oh no! He’s crazy!
Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
Have you come to scold your tardy son for delaying and losing his passion, and failing to carry out your deadly command? Tell me!
Do not forget. This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look, amazement on thy mother sits. O, step between her and her fighting soul. Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. Speak to her, Hamlet.
Don’t forget. I’ve come to sharpen your almost dulled sense of revenge. But look, your mother is astonished. Oh, protect her from her struggling soul. The imagination works strongest in those with the weakest bodies. Speak to her, Hamlet.
How is it with you, lady?
How are you doing, madam?
Alas, how is ’t with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy And with th’ incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep, And, as the sleeping soldiers in th’ alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
Oh, how are you doing, since you stare into empty space and talk to the air? The wildness of your thoughts is visible in your eyes, and your hair is standing upright. Oh, my noble son, sprinkle some cooling patience on the hot fury of your anger! What are you staring at?
On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. [to GHOST] Do not look upon me, Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects. Then what I have to do Will want true color—tears perchance for blood.
At him, at him! Look how pale he is and how he glares at me. With the way he looks and the power of his cause, he could preach to stones and get them to act.
[To the GHOST] Don’t look at me like that, unless you want to break down my strength. Then you’ll end up with the wrong color liquid—tears instead of blood.
To whom do you speak this?
Who are you talking to?
Do you see nothing there?
You don’t see anything there?
Nothing at all, yet all that is I see.
Nothing at all, other than what’s there.
Nor did you nothing hear?
And you don’t hear anything?
No, nothing but ourselves.
No, nothing but us.
Why, look you there! Look how it steals away— My father, in his habit as he lived— Look where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
See, look there! Look how it sneaks away! My father, dressed just as he was when he was alive! Look, now he’s going out the door!
The GHOST exits.
This the very coinage of your brain. This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in.
This is all in your mind. Madness is good at creating hallucinations.
Ecstasy? My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have uttered. Bring me to the test, And I the matter will reword, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul That not your trespass but my madness speaks. It will but skin and film the ulcerous place Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven. Repent what’s past. Avoid what is to come. And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue, For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
Madness? My heart beats just as evenly, and is in the same good health, as yours. I’ve said nothing crazy. Ask me to, and I’ll rephrase what I’ve said, which a crazy person wouldn’t be able to do. Mother, for the love of God, don’t soothe your soul by saying that the problem is my madness and not your crime. That would just be putting a bandage on the open sore of your crime, and failing to see how its bad effects are spreading like an infection inside of you. Confess your sins to heaven. Repent what you’ve done, and avoid damnation. Refusing to repent would be like spreading manure over the weeds, making them even dirtier. Forgive me for having the virtue to speak to you honestly, but in the grossness of these spoiled times, the virtuous must be willing to intervene with sinners, and beg them for the chance to help them.
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
Oh, Hamlet, you’ve broken my heart in two!
Oh, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night—but go not to mine uncle’s bed. Assume a virtue if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this: That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence, the next more easy. For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either rein the devil or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night, And when you are desirous to be blessed, I’ll blessing beg of you. [points to POLONIUS] For this same lord, I do repent. But heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him and will answer well The death I gave him. So, again, good night. I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. One word more, good lady—
Oh, then throw away the worse part, and live a purer life with the other half. Good night—but don’t sleep with my uncle tonight. Pretend to be virtuous, even if you’re not. Habit can be a devil or an angel: it can get you used to doing either good or evil without thinking about it. Refrain from sleeping with Claudius tonight, and that will make it easier to say no the next time, and even easier each time after that. How you act can change your nature, and either keep the devil inside or kick him out. Once more, good night, and when you want me to bless you for following this advice, I’ll beg you to forgive me for being so harsh. [He points to POLONIUS] I apologize for what happened to this lord. But God decided to punish me by making me commit this murder—and to punish this man by having me kill him—so that I’m both Heaven’s judge and executioner. I will deal with the body, and suffer the consequences of the death I gave him. So, again, good night. I have been cruel only in order to perform a greater act of kindness. This is bad, and there are even worse things to come. One more thing, madam.
What shall I do?
What should I do?
Not this, by no means, that I bid you do— Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed, Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse, And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses Or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out: That I essentially am not in madness But mad in craft. ‘Twere good you let him know, For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? No, in despite of sense and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house’s top. Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep And break your own neck down.
By no means should you do this: let the bloated king seduce you into bed, pinch your cheek, call you his pet, or with smelly kisses and caresses of your neck with his damned fingers get you to reveal that I am not crazy, but am just pretending to be. What a good thing it would be if you told him that, because why would a queen who’s fair, sober, and wise hide such important things from a toad, a pig, a tom-cat like him? Who would do such a thing? No, forget about good sense and secrecy, and open the door of the cage and let the birds fly out, and—like that ape in the famous story who tried to imitate birds and try to fly—break your neck in the process.
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.
Trust me: as words are made of breath, and breath is a necessity of life, I will give up my life rather than breathe a word of what you’ve said to me.
I must to England, you know that?
I must go to England, did you know that?
Alack, I had forgot. ‘Tis so concluded on.
Oh no, I’d forgotten. It’s been decided.
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. Let it work, For ’tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petard. And ’t shall go hard, But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon. Oh, ’tis most sweet When in one line two crafts directly meet. [indicates POLONIUS] This man shall set me packing. I’ll lug the guts into the neighbor room. Mother, good night. Indeed this counselor Is now most still, most secret, and most grave Who was in life a foolish prating knave.— Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.— Good night, mother.
The documents are signed and sealed, and my two schoolmates—whom I’ll trust like I would a poisonous snake—are the messengers. They’re the ones who’ll lead me on to whatever trickery I’m going to face. Let it come, because it’s fun to fix things so the engineer gets blow up by his own bombs. It’s going to be tough on them. I’m going to dig down below their bombs and blow them up to the moon. Oh, it’s sweet when you can kill two birds with one stone. [ He points to POLONIUS] Killing this man is going to make me have to leave even sooner. I’ll drag his guts into the next room. Mother, good night. This adviser—who was in life a foolish, moralizing liar—is now so quiet, secretive, and serious.
[To POLONIUS' corpse] Come on, sir, let me drag you toward your end.
[To GERTRUDE] Good night, mother.
They exit, HAMLET dragging POLONIUS.
They exit, with HAMLET dragging POLONIUS' body.
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Write a Critical Analysis on Hamlet Act 3 Scene 4
Act 3 scene 4 – also known as the ‘closet’ scene – is a pivotal moment within play. It depicts Hamlet’s confrontation with his mother, Gertrude, over his recent decisions and behaviour, and dwells over the relationship between the two.
The scene begins with Polonius telling the Queen to be “straight” and direct with Hamlet about his ways and that he – Polonius – will be hiding in silence; which is ironic, as it is his inability to stay silent which leads to his death. Quite strange within this brief introduction into the scene is that Polonius finds it fit that he should have to tell the Queen what to say and do when talking to her own son – and it is these sorts of foolish interjections, into business which do not concern people of his nature, which render his death inevitable.
Following Hamlet’s entrance into the scene, Gertrude tries fruitlessly to exemplify her authority. She first tells Hamlet that he has “thy father much offended” which he immediately counters by saying that she has the Old Hamlet “much offended”. The sudden change of subject to the dead – the Old King Hamlet – sets the scene for the later comparison which apparently hurts Gertrude at the heart. The conversation progresses with Gertrude attempting yet again to show her status as his mother by reminding him, “Have you forgot me?” however, likewise to the earlier counter, Hamlet reminds her that she is her “husband’s brother’s wife”. Hamlet’s fixation upon the condition and actions of Gertrude rather than his own, exemplifies his resentment upon her – however, this may also be seen as Hamlet’s love and concern for his mother; this view is later enforced by his advice for Gertrude to keep her “virtue” or what’s left of it, by not retreating to Claudius’ bed.
The scene then takes a most shocking turn with Hamlet actually putting meaning behind his words and taking his thoughts past their boundaries into action. Gertrude, realising that she is no match for Hamlet in this argument, attempts to “set those” who has the power and authority to make him listen. Hamlet however takes her back by force and sets up a mirror to see the “inmost part of” her. This can obviously be mistaken as literally seeing the inside of her body, which Gertrude takes on and interprets as an attempt of murder – which leads to her screams for “help”. Polonius now foolishly, still from behind the arras, shouts for help – the fact that he does not come out himself shows his cowardice – and this is what leads to his murder.
This is a preview of the whole essay
Hamlet’s sudden decision to kill the “rat” on the basis of sound conveys his irrational personality – at this point – and sets the basis for the reader to assume that on some level, he may be ill at the mind. However, from this brutal act I can only assume that he was incensed due to Gertrude’s stubborn actions. Aside from the act itself, Hamlet still refers the deed “almost as bad” as “kill a king and marry his brother”. This comment shows that Hamlet is still fixated upon the actions of Gertrude rather than on the sin at hand – moreover, when realising it is Polonius who is dead, he still calls him an “intruding fool” which shows his little, if not no remorse; which again suggests that he may have already become mad.
After this their conversation continues, Hamlet tells Gertrude that he hopes that her heart hasn't become so hardened that it's impenetrable, he believes that her vices, that to her have become so habitual, are to blame. Gertrude questions Hamlets reasons for talking to her “in noise so rude”, he tells her his reasons are that she has committed an act that heaven would be ashamed of. Hamlet personifies the act by remarking that it “blurs the grace and blush of modesty” and “calls virtue hyprocrite”. He then blasphemously comments on the act opposing “sweet religion” which is ironic as Hamlet has just committed the worst sin of all, murder. Gertrude however is still confused as to what this act is which “roars so loud and thunders in the index”.
To illustrate his point, Hamlet takes two miniatures – one of Old King Hamlet, and another of the now King Claudius. He then compliments his father as if he was a God with an “eye like Mars” and “Hyperion’s curls”. Every god seemed to “set his seal” and when people were depressed with mankind they would look to him and he would be able to make them feel better and more assured. He then compares this almost too perfect picture to Claudius, “this was your husband” “here is your husband” and he remarks him as “mildewed ear”. The comparison between the two brothers are of course biased towards King Hamlet – due to Hamlet’s favour – therefore, the it is only natural that it is over-exaggerated in order to lower the appearance of Claudius.
Hamlet then forcibly attacks Gertrude, stating that it is not love that she is feeling, “for at” her “age” the feeling for love and adventure has settled. Hamlet believes that all her senses have gone, but that even if she did have part of her senses then she wouldn't be so confused. He believes that if the devil can encourage the worser nature of the older generation to rebel against their better judgement, then they have no right telling the younger generation what to do. Hamlet explains that in circumstances like these virtue becomes a soft wax melting in the fire of youthful ardour and, that reason acts as a pander to lust. Hamlet uses imagery to explain to Gertrude that things are no longer in the order that they should be “frost itself as actively doth burn” nature has lost its natural order.
When Hamlet has finished telling Gertrude this, she tells him that she doesn’t want him to speak anymore, this is because she feels guilty she tells him that as she looks in on her soul she sees black spots that now cannot be removed, here we see a change in Gertrude, she seems to have realised what she has done and why Hamlet is upset. Hamlet asks her how she could live in such a greasy and foul bed that is full of sin, and he tells her once again that Claudius is not worth even half of what her old husband was worth. After Hamlet has finished speaking he spots the ghost of his father again. His persistence in humiliating and informing Gertrude of her flaw may not only stem from his anger, but also from his love for his mother – showing his moral and humane side which contradicts his assumed madness. Shortly after, the ghost of King Hamlet appears.
He begins to talk to it; Gertrude who doesn’t see the ghost believes that he is totally mad. Hamlet tells the ghost that he has allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment he believes that he has allowed time to slip by and his commitment to his task of revenge to cool. The ghost tells Hamlet that he has come back to sharpen his will and to remind him of what he has to do; not because he has forgotten but because he is misusing the energies which should be directed towards revenge. He then tells Hamlet that he should go to try and put Gertrudes' mind at rest. Gertrude, who still cannot see who Hamlet is talking to, asks him why he is talking to an empty space. She describes how mad he looks to her, he appears to be talking to nothing, his eyes are popping out of his head and his hair is on end; she’s worried about him and she wants him to calm down. She asks him whom he is talking to. Hamlet points to the ghost and describes to her that the look on the ghosts face could make even stones cry, he doesn’t want the ghost to look at him like that as he feels that it will weaken him, he believes that pity is not a state of mind that is likely to generate violent behaviour. As Gertrude is still wondering what is going on, the ghost leaves.
Gertrude believes that everything that Hamlet says he can see, he has created in his imagination; she believes that madness is very skillful in creating. Hamlet tells her that he is not mad, he knows what he is saying and he tells her that he wants her to stop reassuring herself that he is mad, as he believes that that will encourage this to continue. He wants Gertrude to repent for what she has done, here we see Hamlet acting like a moral judge, he sees himself as the only person upholding morality. He becomes sarcastic by asking Gertrude for forgiveness for being a good person; he’s mocking her. Gertrude becomes confused, her heart has been divided into two and she doesn't know in which direction to turn. Hamlet tells her that she should throw away the bad part of her heart and keep the good part of it; he wants her to pretend that she is virtuous even if she isn't. He tells her that when she's goes to sleep tonight she shouldn't go Claudius' bed, as this will make the next night away from him easier for her. He tells her that he will pray to be forgiven for what he has done and that at the same time he will also pray for her to be forgiven, he won't ask ask for her blessing (like a son normally should do) until she is repentant and seeks God's blessing. Hamlet tells us such has been the will of heaven that he should be punished by being the cause of Polonius's death, and that because of this Polonius will be punished in death. Hamlet tells Gertrude that he will be honest about the death of Polonius and he carries on to say that he sees the death of Polonius as the bad beginning of a vengeance that will yet be worse.
Getrude asks him what she must do now and Hamlet tells her that she must not let the King tempt her again, she must not tell him what has happened tonight. He tells her that he is not mad, but that he has created this madness "I essentially am not in madness, but mad in craft". Once again Hamlet turns sarcastic towards Gertrude and asks her what reason a good and honest Queen may have to keep a secret from a bad and dishonest King, he tells her that if she lets any of this out she will live to suffer and that should do this for her own good. Hamlet uses a fable to illustrate to Gertrude what will happen to her if she tells anyone; she will gain nothing by it and that if she imagines that she can act with the king as cleverly as he can, independently of him, then she will be like the ape trying to fly and so will come to grief. She swears to him that she will not tell a soul.
Hamlet has a plan to do with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, that instead of them trapping him, he will trap them. The scene finishes off by Hamlet telling Gertrude that he could never trust Polonius before, but now that he is dead he can. He says goodnight to Gertrude and then leaves tugging Polonius' body behind him. In this scene we can see Hamlets relationship with women and his mother in particular, even thought he talks to her he is still very suspicious of her and this gives him a bad impression of women in general, he feels as though he cannot trust them.
Hamlet’s behaviour and character is sending the reader a very confusing signal. The fact that he shows no remorse over the killing of Polonius illustrates his detachment with reality, but at the same time, he loves his mother enough to warn her not to fall deeper in sin. The fact that Gertrude could not see the ghost but he could suggests that it was merely an apparition which contributes to the idea of his insanity. Whether sane or insane, it is without doubt that Hamlet still remains a powerful character, and with his hands already stained with blood, it is assured that he will shed more.
Document Details
- Word Count 2130
- Page Count 4
- Level AS and A Level
- Subject English
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