The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

It is nipping, and an eager air.

What hour now?

I think it lacks of twelve.

No, it is struck.

Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season

1.4.7610617Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

1.4.8611618What does this mean, my lord?

The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,

1.4.10613620Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels;

1.4.11614621And as he drains his drafts of Rhenish down

1.4.12615622The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out

1.4.13616623The triumph of his pledge.

Is it a custom?

Ay, marry, is't,

1.4.16619626But to my mind, though I am native here

1.4.17620627And to the manner born, it is a custom

1.4.18621628More honored in the breach than the observance.

1.4.19621.1629This heavy-headed revel east and west

1.4.20621.2630Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations.

1.4.21621.3631They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase

1.4.22621.4632Soil our addition, and indeed it takes

1.4.23621.5633From our achievements, though performed at height,

1.4.24621.6634The pith and marrow of our attribute.

1.4.25621.7635So, oft it chances in particular men,

1.4.26621.8636That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,

1.4.27621.9637As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty

1.4.28621.10638(Since nature cannot choose his origin),

1.4.29621.11639By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,

1.4.30621.12640Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,

1.4.31621.13641Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens

1.4.32621.14642The form of plausive manners, that these men,

1.4.33621.15643Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect

1.4.34621.16644(Being Nature's livery, or Fortune's star),

1.4.35621.17645His virtues else, be they as pure as grace,

1.4.36621.18646As infinite as man may undergo,

1.4.37621.19647Shall in the general censure take corruption

1.4.38621.20648From that particular fault. The dram of eale

1.4.39621.21649Doth all the noble substance often dout

1.4.40621.22650To his own scandal.

To his own scandal. Look, my lord, it comes!

Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

1.4.42625654Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,

1.4.43626655Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

1.4.44627656Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

1.4.45628657Thou com'st in such a questionable shape

1.4.46629658That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,

1.4.47630659King, father, royal Dane. Oh, answer me!

1.4.48631660Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell

1.4.49632661Why thy canonized bones, hearsèd in death,

1.4.50633662Have burst their cerements? Why the sepulcher

1.4.51634663Wherein we saw thee quietly interred

1.4.52635664Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws

1.4.53636665To cast thee up again? What may this mean

1.4.54637666That thou, dead corse, again in compleat steel

1.4.55638667Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,

1.4.56639668Making night hideous, and we fools of nature

1.4.57640669So horridly to shake our disposition

1.4.58641670With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

1.4.59642671Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?

It beckons you to go away with it,

1.4.61645673As if it some impartment did desire

1.4.62646674To you alone.

To you alone. Look with what courteous action

1.4.63648676It waves you to a more removèd ground.

1.4.64649677But do not go with it.

But do not go with it. No, by no means.

It will not speak. Then I will follow it.

Do not, my lord.

Do not, my lord. Why, what should be the fear?

1.4.67654682I do not set my life at a pin's fee,

1.4.68655683And for my soul, what can it do to that,

1.4.69656684Being a thing immortal as itself?

1.4.70657685It waves me forth again. I'll follow it.

What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,

1.4.72659687Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff

1.4.73660688That beetles o'er his base into the sea,

1.4.74661689And there assume some other horrible form

1.4.75662690Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason

1.4.76663691And draw you into madness? Think of it:

1.4.77663.1692The very place puts toys of desperation,

1.4.78663.2693Without more motive, into every brain

1.4.79663.3694That looks so many fathoms to the sea

1.4.80663.4695And hears it roar beneath.

It waves me still.--697Go on, I'll follow thee.

You shall not go, my lord.

You shall not go, my lord. Hold off your hands!

Be ruled. You shall not go.

Be ruled. You shall not go. My fate cries out

1.4.84669702And makes each petty artery in this body

1.4.85670703As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.

1.4.86671704Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen!

1.4.87672705By heav'n, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

1.4.88673706I say, away!--Go on, I'll follow thee.

He waxes desperate with imag[inat]ion.

Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.

Have after. To what issue will this come?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Heaven will direct it.

Heaven will direct it. Nay, let's follow him.