HAMLET.
How say you then; would heart of man once think it? —
But you'll be secret?
HORATIO. and Mar.
Ay, by heaven, my lord.
HAMLET.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.
HORATIO.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.
HAMLET.
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.
HORATIO.
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
HAMLET.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, faith, heartily.
HORATIO.
There's no offence, my lord.
