“There’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark but he’s an—arrant knave.”
“There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave to tell us this,” said Horatio, hurt at Hamlet’s lack of confidence.
“Why, right; you are in the right,” said Hamlet. “And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part, you as your business and desire 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.”
“These are but wild and whirling words, my lord,” said Horatio, justly aggrieved.
“I am sorry they offend you, heartily—yes, faith, heartily!”
“There’s no offence, my lord,” said Horatio, rather stiffly.
“Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, and much offence, too,” returned Hamlet, but it was of the wrong done by his uncle he was thinking. “Touching this vision here, it is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. For your desire to know what is between us, overmaster it as you may. And now, good friends, as you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, give me one poor request.”
“What is it, my lord? We will,” said Horatio.
“Never make known what you have seen to-night.”
“My lord, we will not.”