My uncle! HAMLET. O my prophetic soul! GHOST. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand HAMLET. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! GHOST. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, HAMLET. Vonsuming O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? heart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee! I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! That one may smile, and smile, and be a vil lain; At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark. (Writing.) So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; I have sworn't. HORATIO and MARCELLUS. (Within.) My lord, my lord! མ་ན་ Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. MARCELLUS. How is't, my noble lord? HORATIO. What news, my lord? HAMLET. O, wonderful! HORATIO. Good my lord, tell it. HAMLET. No; you will reveal it. HORATIO. Not I, my lord, by heaven. MARCELLUS. Nor I, my lord. HAMLET. How say you, then; would heart of man once think it? But you'll be secret? HORATIO and MARCELLUS. Ay, by heaven, my lord, HAMLET. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave. HORATIO. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this. HAMLET. Why, right; you are i' the right; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part: HORATIO. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. HAMLET. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily; Yes, faith, heartily. HORATIO. There's no offence, my lord. HAMLET. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you: Give me one poor request. HORATIO. What is't, my lord? we will. |