Ham.
The air bites shrewdly ^note; it is very cold. ^note

Hor.
It is a ^note nipping and an ^note eager air.

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it is ^note struck ^note.

Hor.
Indeed? I ^note heard it not: it then ^note draws near the season

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [A flourish ^note of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.
What does this mean, my lord? ^note

Ham.
The king doth wake ^note to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail ^note, and the swaggering up-spring reels ^note;
And as he drains ^note his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out ^note
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.
Is it ^note a custom?

Ham.
Ay, marry, is't: ^note
But ^note to my mind, though I am native ^note here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel ^note east and west
Makes ^note us traduced ^note and tax'd ^note of other nations:
They clepe ^note us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft ^note it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole ^note of nature in them,

As, in their birth,—wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,—
By the ^note o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners, that these men,—
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery ^note, or fortune's star ^note,—
Their ^note virtues else—be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo—
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault ^note: the dram of eale
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt ^note
To his ^note own scandal ^note. ^note

Enter Ghost. ^note

Hor.
Look, my lord, it ^note comes!

Ham. ^note
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 ^note wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable ^note shape
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O ^{note note}, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy ^note canonized ^note bones, hearsed in death ^{note note},
Have burst their cerements ^note; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd ^note,
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 ^note thus the glimpses of the moon, ^note
Making night hideous; and we ^note fools of nature
So horridly ^note to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches ^note of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? [Ghost beckons Hamlet. ^note

Hor.
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 ^note you to a more ^note removed ^note ground: ^note
But do not go with it.

Hor.
No, by no means.

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

Hor.
Do not, my lord.

Ham.
Why, what should ^note be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee; ^note
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as ^note itself?
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.

Hor.
What if it tempt you toward ^note the flood ^note, my lord ^note,
Or to the dreadful summit ^note of the cliff ^note
That beetles ^note o'er his base into the sea,
And there assume ^note some other horrible form,
Which might deprive ^note your sovereignty of reason ^note
And draw ^note you into madness? think of it: ^note
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. ^note

Ham.
It waves ^note me still.

Go on; I'll follow thee. ^note

Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.

Ham.
Hold off ^note your hands ^note.

Hor. ^{note note}
Be ruled; you shall not go.

Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery ^note in this ^note body ^note
As hardy ^note as the Nemean ^note lion's nerve. ^note
Still am I ^note call'd: ^note unhand me, gentlemen;
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:
I say, away! Go on ^note; I'll follow thee. [Exeunt ^note Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor.
He waxes desperate with imagination ^note.

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 ^note will direct it ^note.

Mar.
Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. ^note

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