Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

[Ghost beckons Hamlet.]

Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Mar.
Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it!

Hor.
No, by no means.

Ham.
It will not speak; then will I follow it.

Hor.
Do not, my lord.