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Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Why, what should be the fear?
Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
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 hardy as the Némean lion's nerve. —
[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 Den
mark. 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 further. Ghost. Mark me. Ham.
I will. Ghost.
My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham.
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;
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
Ham. O heaven!
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
I find thee apt;
hear: 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in my orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus’d: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent, that did sting thy father's life,
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, (0 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; So lust, though to a radiant angel link d, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage. But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air; Brief let me be:-Sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon niy secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneld; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible ! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire: Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit. Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What
else? And shall I couple hell?–0 fie!-Hold, hold, my
beart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up!-Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there;