HAMLET         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.        (1.4.39-45)

Hamlet’s properly shocked, and properly frightened, but manages to come up with a safely Protestant oath; no calling on the Blessed Virgin and all the saints here: angels and ministers of grace defend us! (One could imagine more expletive-laden oaths, too.) And immediately he’s wondering about what sort of thing this is, what this all means, and how to respond, putting his amazement into words, no awestruck silence here: be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned—whether you’re a friendly ghost or a devil, whether you come from heaven or hell, bringing with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell (and airs and blasts bring winds, sound, even stench into the imagination, and cold too, probably, making this a synaesthetic experience, providing the Ghost with special effects)—and be thy intents wicked or charitable, whatever you want or mean to do, whether good or bad—thou com’st in such a questionable shape, provoking such curiosity, inviting inquiry, that I will speak to thee. I can’t help it. I must. (Deep breath.) I’ll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane. Because you’re all of those, my model, my namesake; my sovereign lord. My father—and Hamlet’s voice can break here: dad, is that you? And quickly recovered, royal Dane. THE Dane, my lord, my king, my father.