HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT I. SCENE I.-Elsinore. A Platform before FRANCISCO on guard. Enter to him BERNARDO. W Ber. Bernardo. HO'S there? Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold youself. Ber. Long live the king! Fran. Bernardo? He. 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. VOL. XI. Not a mouse stirring. I 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! who's there? Hor. Friends to this ground. Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again tonight? Ber. I have seen nothing. Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy; With us to watch the minutes of this night; Hor. Sit down awhile; Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernado 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 Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, 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, Horatio. Hor. Most like :-it harrows me with fear, and wonder. Ber. It would be spoke to. Mar. Question 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 speak. Mar. It is offended. Ber. See! it stalks away. [Exit Ghost. Hor. Stay; speak: speak! I charge thee, speak! 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 on't? 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, 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he passed through our watch. Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know not; But, in the gross and scope of my opinion, Why this same strict and most observant watch Does not divide the Sunday from the week: Hor. That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd com pact, Well ratified by law, and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands, Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co venant And carriage of the article design'd, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in't: which is no other Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets : |