HORATIO                   Never believe it.

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:

Here’s yet some liquor left.

HAMLET                     As thou’rt a man

Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven I’ll ha’t!

O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,

Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart

Absent thee from felicity awhile

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain

To tell my story.        (5.2.324-333)

Horatio’s pushing back at Hamlet’s request that he live on to tell the truth: never believe it, no I won’t, I can’t. I am more an antique Roman than a Dane—Roman stoics being a byword for dying by suicide rather than living on in shame or suffering—Horatio is the most classical of the play’s characters, the philosopher—and that’s the identity he claims, as he tries to grab the poisoned cup: here’s yet some liquor left. (He’s not going to stab himself, it seems, but if there’s poison, he’ll take it.) Hamlet’s  aghast, incensed, summons up all his remaining strength to wrest the cup away: as thou’rt a man give me the cup. Now! Hand it over, let go! By heaven I’ll ha’t! You can’t refuse me my last request! But even more, I need you to live, Horatio, please! O God, Horatio, what a wounded name, things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me! If there isn’t anyone left who can tell the truth of what’s happened here, then my reputation will be mud, my death will have been dishonourable and in vain. You’re my only chance: if thou didst ever hold me in thy heart—for the sake of our friendship, if you have ever loved me, absent thee from felicity awhile, postpone the joys of heaven—and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain (the monosyllables gasped out perform Hamlet’s own pain, his final struggle to speak, to breath)—I know you don’t want to live on, alone in this grim world of suffering—but I need you to, just a bit longer, to tell my story. Please.