HAMLET: Be you a blessed spirit or a cursed demon—whether you bring breezes from heaven or blasts or hellfire—whether you mean good or evil—your curious shape compels me to speak with you.
I’ll call you “Old Hamlet,” “King,” “Father,” “Royal Dane.” Tell me why your church-buried bones have burst from their coffin and why your tomb, where we quietly buried you, has opened up its heavy marble jaws to spit you out again. Answer me!
What does it mean, dead corpse, that you appear again in all your armor to watch the flickering moon? You make the night terrifying and turn us humans into fools, shaking us with supernatural thoughts. Why is this? Why? What should we do?
MARCELLUS: It beckons you to go with it, as if it has some secret to share with you alone. But do not go!
HORATIO: Definitely not.
HAMLET: It will not speak. So, I must follow it.