O, say!
Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits
O, step between her and her fighting soul:
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Hamlet. How is it with you, lady?
Queen. Alas, how is’t with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?