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- No, it is struck.
- It is a nipping and an eager air. I think it lacks of twelve.
- Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the seasonWherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
- The air bites shrewdly. It is very cold. What hour now?
- Look, with what courteous actionIt waves you to a more removed ground.But do not go with it.
- Look, my lord, it comes!
- It waves me still.—Go on. I’ll follow thee.
- Be thy intents wicked or charitable,Thou comest in such a questionable shapeThat I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee “Hamlet,”“King,” “Father,” “royal Dane.” O, answer me!
- Where wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further.
- Now listen, Hamlet. Everyone was told that a poisonous snake bit me when I was sleeping in the orchard. But in fact, that’s a lie that’s fooled everyone in Denmark. You should know, my noble son, the real snake that stung your father is now wearing his crown.
- Mark me. My hour is almost come When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. I am thy father’s spirit,
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