Laertes is quiet for a moment. He knows that Claudius means well--that he feels his own years, and that he seeks to grant Laertes the wisdom that he's earned by them and spare Laertes the suffering of earning it himself. But there is a trace of unintended condescension in his words, and it rankles. "Thinkest thou that I never think on that future?" he asks. "Thinkest thou I have not already carried my husband when he's drunken, cleaned him when he's been sick, tended him when he's been melancholy? I have had a hundred chances to consider whether I can bear this for the rest of my life--and I choose it, Claudius. His ailments are not new to me. I knew them when I wed him, and I chose him. I have chosen to bear them."