Look, my lord, it comes!
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
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 canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
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
thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Ghost beckons HAMLET
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.
No, by no means.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Do not, my lord.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life in a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.
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
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation,
motive, into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
It waves me still.
Go on; I'll follow thee.
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