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Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,

King, Father, royal Dane. O, answer me!

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,

Have burst their cerements; why the sepulcher

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned

Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws

To cast thee up again. What may this mean,

That thou, dead corpse, againin complete steel,

Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous, and we fools of nature

So horridly to shake our dispostiion

With thoughts beyond th reaches of our souls?

Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?