ACT I.
SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle.
FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO.
BER.Whoâs there?
FRAN.Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
BER.Long live the King!
FRAN.Bernardo?
BER.He.
FRAN.You come most carefully upon your hour.
BER.âTis 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.Not a mouse stirring.
BER.Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals1 of my watch, bid them make haste.
FRAN.I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.
HOR.Friends to this ground.
MAR.And liegemen to the Dane.
FRAN.Give you good night.
MAR.O, farewell, honest soldier.
Who hath relieved you?
FRAN.Bernardo hath my place.
Give you good night.[Exit.
MAR.Holla, Bernardo!
BER.Say,
What, is Horatio there?
HOR.A piece of him.
BER.Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.
MAR.What, has this thing appearâd again tonight?
BER.I have seen nothing.
MAR.Horatio says âtis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night,
That if again this apparition come
He may approve our eyes2 and speak to it.
HOR.Tush, tush, âtwill not appear.
BER.Sit down awhile,
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights seen.
HOR.Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
BER.Last night of all,
When yond same star thatâs westward from the pole3
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating oneâ
Enter GHOST.
MAR.Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again.
BER.In the same figure like the King thatâs 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 usurpâst this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes4 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.âTis 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 ât?
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 frownâd he once, when, in an angry parle,5
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ic...