[Ghost beckons.]
Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.
[Breaking free from them.]
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.