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Thus much the business is. We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, -
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, -to suppress
His further gait herein; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow.

Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty!
Cor. et Vol. In that, and all things, will we show
our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell!
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice. What would'st thou

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?
Laer. My dread lord,


Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To shew my duty in your coronation;


In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: but to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common,
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet!
I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg!
Ham. I shall in all
best obey you,
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark.- Madam, come!
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away!

Yet now,
I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? What says

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow

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By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
1 do beseech you, give him leave to go.
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
And thy best graces: spend it at thy will!-
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,-
Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
King. How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids,
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:


[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, etc. Poloniss

and Laertes.
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead!-nay, not so much, not two
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,

Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.

Queen, If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is! I know not seems 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly. These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe,
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,

To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,
Let me not think on't;
Frailty, thy name


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A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears: why she, even she,
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourn'd longer, - married with my



My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules. Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;
But break, my heart! for 1 must hold my tongue!

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Mar. My good lord,

Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, sir!
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Ilor. A truant disposition, good my lord!
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student!
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd

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Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all;

I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham. The king my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear; till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you.

Ham. For God's love, let me hear!

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé,

Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And I with them the third night kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty, To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs! but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?
All. We do, my lord!
Ham. Arm'd, say you?
All. Arm'd, my lord!
Ham. From top to toe?

All. My lord, from head to foot.
Ham. Then saw you not

His face?

Hor. O, yes, my lord! he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale, or red?
Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham. And fix'd eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would, I had been there.
Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.
Ham. Very like,

Very like. Stay'd it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham. His beard was grizzl’d? no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant, it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it understanding, but no tongue;

I will requite your loves: so, fare you well!
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you!

All. Our duty to your honour.
Ham. Your loves, as mine to you! Farewell!

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;

I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul! Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to meu's eyes. [Exit.

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SCENE III.A room in POLONIUS's house. Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell! And, sister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you.

Oph. Do you doubt that?

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;

A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

Mar. My lord, upon the platform, where we watch'd. The pérfume and suppliance of a minute; Ham. Did you not speak to it?

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No more.

Oph. No more but so?

Laer. Think it no more!

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews, and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now;
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear,

His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and the health of the whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,

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Tis told me, he hath very oft of late

Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves you, Given private time to you; and you yourself

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; wich is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;

Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister!
And keep you in the rear of your all'ection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart: but, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own read.

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A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution,) I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth!
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you! think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool.
Oph. My lord, he hath importan'd me with love,

Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for. There, my blessing with
[Laying his hand on Laertes' head.
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all.-To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell! my blessing season this in thee!

In honourable fashion.

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to! Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a making,-
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate,
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young,
And with a larger tether may he walk,
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers
Not of that die which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways!
Oph. I shall obey, my lord!



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SCENE IV.The platform.
Hum. The air bites shrewdly; it is
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager
Ham. What hour now?
Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve.
Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed! I heard it not; it then draws near

the season,

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot of!


What does this mean, my lord?
Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes


Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord! Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-spring reels
Pol. The time invites you! go, your servants tend!
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia! and remember well

What I have said to you.

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock`d,

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?
















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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.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe 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 it chances in particular men,

That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,)
By the 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, or fortune's star,
Their 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. The dram of base
Doth all the noble substance often dout,
To his own scandal.

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 intents 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! O, answer me! Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have durst their cerements! why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in cómplete 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? 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 you to a more removed ground:

But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord!

Ham. 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!
Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood,

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Still am I call'd;—unhand me, gentlemen!

[Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets 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. Heaven will direct it.
Mar. Nay, let's follow him!

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- A more remote part of the platform. Re-enter Ghost and HAMLET.

Ham. Whither 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 myself.

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 knotted and combined 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,
Ham. O heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder!
Ham. Murder?

Ghost. Murder 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 should'st thou be, than the fat weed,
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,

my Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear!
'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard,

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!
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. It waves me still:

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 prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust

The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
O, 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 mov'd,

Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So last, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

And prey on garbage.

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

Brief left me be!-Sleeping within miue orchard,

My custom always of 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;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth passet
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,

The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'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, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, 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 pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught! leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns, that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me!


Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?

And shall I couple hell?-O fye! Hold, hold,

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,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables,- -meet it is, I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark:



So, uncle, there you are. Now, to my word; It is, Adieu, adieu! remember me!

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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 desire, shall point you; For every man hath business and desire, Such as it is, and, for my own poor part,

Look you, I will go pray.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord! Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; yes, 'Faith, heartily!

Hor. There's no offence, my lord! Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 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'ermaster it 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.

Hor. Mar. 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. [Beneath] Swear!

Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?

Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage, Consent to swear!

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord! Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, Swear by my sword!

Ghost. Beneath.] Swear!

Ham. Hic et ubique? then we will shift out ground:

Come hither, gentlemen!

And lay your hands again upon my
Swear by my sword,


Never to speak of this that you have heard!
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword!
Ham. Well said, old mole! can'st work i'the earth

so fast?

A worthy pioneer! - Once more remove,good friends! Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There ere more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,



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