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They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Enter Ghost. Hor.
Look, my lord, it comes ! Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane: 0, answer me:
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell,
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
Mar. Look, with what courteous action
No, by no means.
Why, what should be the fear?
And there assume some other horrible form,
It waves me still:-
Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Hold off your hands.
My fate cries out, And makes each petty artery in this body As hardly as the Némean lion's nerve.
[Ghost beckons, Still am I callid;-unhand me, gentlemen;
[Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:I say, away :-Go on, I'll follow thee.
[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Hor. Have after :-To what issue will this come? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Hor. Heaven will direct it. Mar.
Nay, let's follow him.
A more remote Part of the Platform..
Re-enter Ghost and HAMLET.
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go no
My hour is almost come,
Alas, poor Ghost ! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham.
Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What?
Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confin'd to fast 27 in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away 2. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
Ham. O heaven!
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
I find thee apt;
Ham. O, my prophetick soul! my uncle!
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust · The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!