Ham.
The Air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager Air.

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it has struck.

Hor.
I heard it not: Then it draws near the Season,
Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walk. [Noise of warlike Musick within.
What does this mean, my Lord?

Ham.
The King doth wake to Night, and takes his rowse,
Keeps wassel, and the swaggering upspring reels,
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The Kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his Pledge.

Hor.
Is it a Custom?

Ham.
Ay marry is't:
But to my Mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a Custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. Enter Ghost.

Hor.
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 Events wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: Oh! oh! answer me,
Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell
Why thy Canoniz'd Bones hearsed in Death,
Have burst their Cearments? why the Sepulcher
Wherein we saw thee quietly Inurn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble Jaws,
To cast thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou dead Coarse again in compleat Steel,
Revisit'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? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.

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 wafts you to a more removed Ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor.
No, by no means. [Holding Hamlet.

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

Hor.
Do not, my Lord.

Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my Life at a Pins fee;
And for my Soul, what can it do to that?
Being a thing immortal as it self.
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,
Which might deprive your Sovereignty of Reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.

Ham.
It wafts me still: Go on, I'll follow thee—

Mar.
You shall not go, my Lord.

Ham.
Hold off your Hand.

Hor.
Be rul'd, 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:
Still am I call'd? Unhand me, Gentlemen— [Breaking from them.
By Heav'n I'll make a Ghost of him that letts 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.
Heav'n will direct it.

Mar.
Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. Enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Ham.
Where 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 my self.

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;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the Night,
And for the Day confin'd to fast in Fires;
'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 knotty and combined Locks to part,
And each particular Hair to stand an end
Like Quills upon the fretful Porcupine:
But this eternal Blazon must not be
To ears of Flesh and Blood; list Hamlet! oh list!
If thou dist ever thy dear Father love—

Ham.
Oh Heaven!

Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural Murther.

Ham.
Murther?

Ghost.
Murther 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 shouldst thou be than the fat Weed
That rots it self in ease on Lethe's Wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
It's 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; mine Uncle?

Ghost.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate Beast,
With Witchcraft of his Wits, and traiterous Gifts,
Oh wicked Wit, and Gifts, that have the Power
So to seduce! won to his shameful Lust
The Will of my most seeming virtuous Queen.
Oh 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 moved,
Though Lewdness court it in a Shape of Heaven;

So lust, though to a radiant Angel link'd,
Will sate it self in a Celestial Bed, and prey on Garbage.
But soft, methinks I scent the Morning's 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 Viol,
And in the Porches of mine Ears did pour
The leprous Distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of Man,
That swift as Quick-silver it courses through
The natural Gates and Allies of the Body;
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like Eagre droppings into Milk,
The thin and wholsome blood: So did it mine
And a most instant Tetter bak'd about,
Most Lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
All my smooth Body.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a Brother's Hand,
Of Life, of Crown, and Queen at once dispatcht;
Cut off even in the Blossoms of my Sin,
Unhouzzled, disappointed, unnaneld,
No reckoning made, but sent to my Account
With all my imperfections on my Head.
Oh horrible! Oh 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 pursuest this Act,
Taint not thy Mind, nor let thy Soul contrive
Against thy Mother ought; leave her to Heav'n,
And to those Thorns that in her Bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once,
The Glow-worm shews the Matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual Fire.
Adieu, adieu, Hamlet! remember me. [Exit.

Ham.
Oh all you Host of Heaven! Oh Earth! what else?
And shall I couple Hell? Oh fie! 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
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;
And thy Commandment all alone shall live
Within the Book and Volume of my Brain,
Unmixt with baser Matter. Yes, yes, by Heav'n:
Oh most pernicious Woman!
Oh Villain, Villain, smiling damned Villain!
My Tables, my Tables—meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a Villain;
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writing.
So Uncle, there you are; now to my word;
It is; adieu, adieu, remember me: I have sworn't.

Hor. & Mar. within.
My Lord, my Lord. Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Mar.
Lord Hamlet.

Hor.
Heav'n secure him.

Mar.
So be it.

Hor.
Illo, ho, ho, my Lord.

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come.

Mar.
How is't, my Noble Lord?

Hor.
What News, my Lord?

Ham.
Oh wonderful!

Hor.
Good my Lord, tell it.

Ham.
No, you'll reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my Lord, by Heav'n.

Mar.
Nor I, my Lord.

Ham.
How say you then, would Heart of Man once think it?
But you'll be secret?—

Both.
Ay, by Heav'n, my Lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a Villain dwelling in all Denmark,
But he's an arrant Knave.

Hor.
There needs no Ghost, my Lord, come from the Grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
Why, right, you are in the right;
And so without more Circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake Hands, and part;
You as your Business and Desires shall point you,
For every Man has Business and Desire,

Such as it is; and for mine own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.

Hor.
These are but wild and hurling Words, my Lord,

Ham.
I'm sorry they offended you, heartily;
Yes Faith, heartily.

Hor.
There's no Offence, my Lord.

Ham.
Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is my Lord,
And much Offence too. Touching this Vision here—
It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master't as you may. And now, good Friends,
As you are Friends, Scholars, and Soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

Hor.
What is't, my Lord? we will.

Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to Night.

Both.
My Lord, we will not.

Ham.
Nay, but swear't.

Hor.
In faith, my Lord, not I.

Mar.
Nor I, my Lord, in faith.

Ham.
Upon my Sword.

Mar.
We have sworn, my Lord, already.

Ham.
Indeed, upon my Sword, indeed.

Ghost.
Swear. [Ghost cries under the Stage.

Ham.

Ah, ha Boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there true-penny? Come on, you hear this Fellow in the Celleridge. Consent to swear.

Hor.
Propose my Oath, my Lord.

Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
Swear by my Sword.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
Hic & ubique? Then we'll shift for ground,
Come hither Gentlemen.
And lay your Hands again upon my Sword.
Never to speak of this that you have heard,
Swear by my Sword.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
Well said, old Mole, can'st work i'th' Ground so fast?
A worthy Pioneer, once more remove, good Friend.

Hor.
Oh Day and Night! but this is wondrous strange.

Ham.
And therefore as a Stranger bid it welcome.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in our Philosophy. But come,
Here as before, never so help you Mercy,
How strange or odd so e'er I bear my self,
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an Antick disposition on,
That you at such time seeing me, never shall
With Arms encumbred thus, or thus, head shake;
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful Phrase;
As well—we know—or, we could, and if we would—
Or, if we list to speak—or, there be and if there might—
Or such ambiguous giving out to note,
That you know ought of me; this not to do,
So Grace and Mercy at your most need help you,
Swear.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit; so, Gentlemen,
With all my Love I do commend me to you;
And what so poor a Man as Hamlet is,
May do t'express his Love and Friending to you,
God willing shall not lack; let us go in together,
And still your Fingers on your Lips I pray.
The time is out of Joint; Oh cursed Spight,
That ever I was born to set it right.
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt.

Previous section