Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord. Ham. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And, for my soul, what can it do to that, It waves me forth again;-I'll follow it. Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, That beetles o'er his base into the sea? And there assume some other horrible form, And makes each petty artery in this body [Ghost beckons. Still am I call'd;-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. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A MORE REMOTE PART OF THE PLATFORM. Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go 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; Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. 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, To ears of flesh and blood:-List, list, O list!— Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Ham. Murder? Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. Ghost. I find thee apt; And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Would'st thou not stir in this. hear: Now, Hamlet, 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in my orchard, Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth, Now wears his crown. 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! From me, whose love was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; And prey on garbage. But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air; Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, No reckoning made, but sent to my account Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit. Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell?-O fie!-Hold, hold, my heart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up!-Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, |