Be rul'd; you shall not go.

Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.--

[Ghost beckons.]

Still am I call'd;--unhand me, gentlemen;--

[Breaking free from them.]

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!--
I say, away!--Go on; I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.]

Hor.
He waxes desperate with imagination.

Mar.
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

Hor.
Have after.--To what issue will this come?

Mar.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.