OPHELIA: He has, my lord, made many tenders of affection to me lately.
POLONIUS: “Affection”? Puh! You speak like . . .
A green, innocent girl, inexperienced in these dangerous games!
Do you believe his “tenders,” as you call them?
OPHELIA: I don’t know what I should believe, father.
POLONIUS: Then I’ll tell you. Believe yourself a foolish little baby for taking these “tenders” for something real. “Tender” yourself more respect, or—not to beat this word to death . . .
You’ll “tender” me the chance to be a fool.