HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT I. SCENE I. ELSINORE. A PLATFORM BEFORE THE CASTLE. Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo. Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. Ber. Have you had quiet guard? Fran. Ber. Well, good night. Not a mouse stirring. B If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Fran. I think, I hear them.—Stand, ho! Who is there? Hor. Friends to this ground. Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar cellus. Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again tonight? Ber. I have seen nothing. Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy; And will not let belief take hold of him, Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us: With us to watch the minutes of this night; He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. Ber. Sit down a-while; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, Hor. Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. Ber. Last night of all, When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! Enter Ghost. Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Ho ratio. Hor. Most like:-it harrows me with fear, and wonder. Ber. It would be spoke to. Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak. Mar. It is offended. Ber. See! it stalks away. Hor. Stay; speak; speak I charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale: Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you of it? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the king? Hor. As thou art to thyself: Such was the very armour he had on, When he the ambitious Norway combated; So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. not; But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land; And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task What might be toward, that this sweaty haste Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day; Who is't, that can inform me? Hor. At least, the whisper goes so. That can I; Our last king, Whose image even but now appear'd to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, Dar'd to the combat; in which, our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compáct, Well ratified by law, and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands, Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart, His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, The source of this our watch; and the chief head |