A PLATFORM BEFORE THE CASTLE OF ELSINEUR.

HAMLET, HORATIO, MARCELLUS, AND THE GHOST.



Hamlet. 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.—
[Ghost beckons. 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.