Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

Ham.
How say you then; would heart of man once think it?--
But you'll be secret?

Hor. and Mar.
Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.

Hor.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
Why, right; you are i' the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:
You, as your business and desires shall point you,--
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is;--and for my own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.