“Nay, but swear it; swear by my sword.”
And from underneath the ground sounded a solemn voice, “Swear!”
Twice again they shifted their places, and each time from beneath the ground came the hollow voice, “Swear!”
“O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!” marvelled Horatio.
“And therefore as a stranger give it welcome,” said Hamlet. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy.”
Then he made them swear that never, however strange or odd he bore himself, as he perchance hereafter should think meet to put on an antic disposition—that never at such times, seeing him, were they by word or sign to show that they knew anything, or with meaning nods and smiles pretend they could explain his strange behaviour if they chose.
“Swear!” said the Ghost beneath.
“Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!” said Hamlet, and his companions took the oath demanded of them. “So, gentlemen, with all my love I do commend me to you; and what so poor a man as Hamlet is, may do to express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; and still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!—Nay, come, let us go together.”
Ophelia
The Lord Chamberlain to the Court of Denmark was an old man called Polonius, an ancient gray-bearded councillor, whose brain was stuffed with saws and proverbial sayings, and who had a very high opinion of his own sagacity. Polonius was ready to lay down the law on every occasion, and could always explain everything completely to his own satisfaction; the worldly wisdom of what he said was sometimes excellent, but his prosy moralising was often a severe tax on the patience of his hearers; in fact, he was not unfrequently what might be called “a tedious old bore.”