_"Mark me! I am thy father's spirit; Doomed for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confined to fast in fires Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest words Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and confined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List! list, O list! If thou did'st ever thy dear father love,-- 'Tis given out that sleeping in my orchard A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abused; but know thou, noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown!"_ Hamlet exclaims: _"O my prophetic soul! My uncle!"_ The Ghost then makes this remarkable speech: _"Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce! won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen; O, Hamlet, what a falling off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel linked Will sate itself in a celestial bed And prey on garbage. But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches on my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That quick as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: So did it mine; And a most instant tetter barked about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatched; Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhoused, disappointed, unaneled; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head; O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever, thou pursuest this act,