Doth all the noble substance of a doubt,
To his own scandal.1

Ho.

Enter GHOST.

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 comest in such a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me:
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell,
Why thy canonised bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition,3
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Ho. It beckons you to go away with it,

As if it some impartment did desire

To you alone.
Mar.

Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to a more removed ground.

But do not go with it.

Ho.

No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Ho. Do not, my lord.

Ham.

Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 1

And, for my soul, what can it do to that,

Being a thing immortal as itself ?

It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.

Ho. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my

lord,

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
That beetles 2 o'er his base into the sea;
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,

And hears it roar beneath.
Ham.

Go on; I'll follow thee.

It waves me still.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.

Hold off your hands.

Ho. Be ruled; you shall not go.

Ham.

My fate cries out, And makes each petty artery in this body As hardy as the Nemean 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 1

me:

I say, away. Go on; I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.

Ho. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow: 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Ho. Have after. To what issue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Den-

mark.

Ho. 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

My hour is almost come,