Marcellus: You shall not go, my lord.
[They hold back Hamlet]
Hamlet: Hold off your hands.
Horatio: Be ruled. You shall not go.
Hamlet: My fate cries out And makes each pretty arture in this body As hardy as the Neamean lion's nerve. Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me! I say, away!---Go on. I'll follow thee.
[Ghost and Hamlet exit]
Horatio: He waxes desperate with imagination.