By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me.
I say, away!—Go on, I’ll follow thee.
[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.]
HORATIO.
He waxes desperate with imagination.
MARCELLUS.
Let’s follow; ’tis not fit thus to obey him.
HORATIO.
Have after. To what issue will this come?
MARCELLUS.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
HORATIO.
Heaven will direct it.
MARCELLUS.
Nay, let’s follow him.
[Exeunt.]