Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hor. And draw you into madnesse thinke of it?
Ham. Ham.
Ham. It wafts me still: goe on, Ile follow thee.
Mar. Mar.
Mar. You shall not goe my Lord.
Ham. Hold off your hand.
Hor. Hor.
Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not goe.
Ham. My fate cries out,
Ham. And makes each petty Artire in this body,
Ham. As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue:
Ham. Still am I cal'd? Vnhand me Gentlemen:
Ham. By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me:
Ham. I say away, goe on, Ile follow thee.
Ham. Exeunt Ghost & Hamlet.
Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.