Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,

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 canònised bones, hearsèd in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urned,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Re-visit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition,

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
[The Ghost beckons Hamlet.

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,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again;- I'll follow it.

Horatio.

[Ghost beckons.

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,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness?

[Ghost beckons.

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve.

[Ghost beckons.

Still am I called :— unhand me, gentlemen;
By heaven, I 'll make a ghost of him that lets me :

I say, away!

Go on; I'll follow thee.

[Breaking from them.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. Horatio and Marcellus follow slowly.

Scene Fourth.—ANOTHER PART OF the Platform.

[Enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Hamlet.

Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak; I 'll go no further.

My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

Must render up myself.

Alas! poor ghost!

Hamlet.

Ghost.

Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

To what I shall unfold.

Hamlet.

Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost.

So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

What?

Hamlet.

I am thy father's spirit;

Ghost.

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged 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 combinèd locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:

But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood.— List, list, O, list!-
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,—

Murder most foul, as in the best it is;

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Hamlet.

Haste me to know 't, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,

May sweep to my revenge.

I find thee apt;

Now, Hamlet, hear:

Ghost.

'T is given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark

is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life

Now wears his crown.

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
Won to his shameful lust

The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen;
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be.-Sleeping within mine orchard
My custom always in the afternoon,
Upon my 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.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched :
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled;

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:

Hamlet.

O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

Ghost.

If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damnèd incest.
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive