William Shakespeare's Hamlet the Bard's most famous play is the story of a young man's idealism utterly destroyed
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Act I. Scene V.

Scene V.—Another Part of the Platform.

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 an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
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 God!
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't, 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 shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,
hear:
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Den-
mark
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 nay 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 lust, 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 let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always in the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebona 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 posset
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 pursuit 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! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit.
Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth!
What else?
And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, 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'm 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!
Mar. [Within.] So be it!
Hor. [ Within.] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!
Ham. Hlllo, 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 will 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. & 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 desire shall point
you,—
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is,—and, for mine own poor part,
Look you, I'll 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't 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. Ah, ha, boy! sayst thou so? art thou
there, true-penny?
Come on,—you hear this fellow in the cellar-
age,—
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'll shift our
ground.
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword:
Never to speak of this that you have heard,
Swear by my sword.
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear.
Ham. Well said, old mole! canst work i' the
earth so fast?
A worthy pioner! once more remove, good
friends.
Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous
strange!
Ham. And therefore aa a stranger give it
welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth,
Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come;
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on,
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
As,' Well, well, we know,' or, 'We could, an if
we would;'
Or, 'If we list to speak,' or, 'There be, an if
they might;'
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me: this not to do,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you,
Swear.
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. [They swear.
Ham. Best, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentle-
men,
With all my love I do commend me to you:
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to
you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to-
gether;
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!
Nay, come let's go together. [Exeunt.
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