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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 glowworm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.

[Exit.]

Ham.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? O, fie!--Hold, my heart;
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:

[Writing.]

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;
It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me:'
I have sworn't.

Hor.
[Within.] My lord, my lord,--

Mar.
[Within.] Lord Hamlet,--

Hor.
[Within.] Heaven secure him!

Ham.
So be it!

Mar.
[Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.

[Enter Horatio and Marcellus.]

Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?

Hor.
What news, my lord?

Ham.
O, wonderful!

Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.
No; you'll reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

Ham.
How say you then; would heart of man once think it?--
But you'll be secret?

Hor. and Mar.
Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.

Hor.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
Why, right; you are i' the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:
You, as your business and desires shall point you,--
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is;--and for my own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.

Hor.
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

Ham.
I'm 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't as you may.

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