CLAUDIUS      Come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends

And let them know both what we mean to do

And what’s untimely done. [            ]

Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter,

As level as the cannon to his blank,

Transports his poisoned shot, may miss our name

And hit the woundless air. O come away,

My soul is full of discord and dismay. (Exeunt.)     (4.1.38-45)

Claudius is at least superficially back in control: come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends and let them know both what we mean to do and what’s untimely done. It can be a moment when they both realise that their wisest friend—Polonius, for all his faults—is no more; there haven’t been any other named counsellors. First law of politics, though, or at least PR: don’t tell people something bad has happened (here, the killing of Polonius) if you can’t tell them at the same time that you’ve got a plan to deal with it. And we have! Everything’s under control! United front! There’s a missing half line, but the intent is clear; Claudius still hopes they can ride this out, but he’s worried about the optics, the long-term political ramifications. Whose whisper—gossip about what’s just happened—o’er the world’s diameter, far and wide, we’re not going to be able to hush this up for long (and the news will be in Paris with Laertes before we know it)—as level as the cannon to his blank, transports his poisoned shot, may miss our name and hit the woundless air. Bad news travels fast; we can’t necessarily control the fallout. But we might avoid a direct hit on our own reputation; we might be able to deflect the blame. (As ever with Claudius, it’s not clear whether he’s speaking for himself, in the royal plural, or for both of them.) O come away, my soul is full of discord and dismay. Let’s get out of here—he might realise, even, that Gertrude has blood on her, that she’s on the point of collapse. My soul is full of discord and dismay. Not happy about this; I fear it’s not going to end well.

The end of the scene, much shorter than those which have preceded it. The pace is picking up—but (although there may have been an interval) the actor playing Hamlet has had the longest break, forty-five lines, he’s had for an entire act.