Fran.
I think I hear them. Stand, hoa! who's there?

Hor.
Friends to this ground.

Mar.
And liege-men to the Dane.

Fran.
Good-night.

Mar.
Farewel, honest soldier. Who hath reliev'd you?

Fran.
Bernardo has my place: good-night. [Ex. Fran.

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 appear'd again, to-night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar.
Horatio says 'tis but a phantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him,
Touching the dreadful 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 eyes, and speak to it.

Hor.
'Twill not appear.

Ber.
Come, let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights seen.

Hor.
Well, 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 enlighten that part of heaven,
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one—

Mar.
Peace, break thee off— Enter Ghost* ^note.
Look, where it comes again.

Ber.
In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.
Looks it not like the king?

Hor.
Most like: it startles 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 bury'd Denmark,
Did sometimes march? 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 phantasy?
What think you of it?

Hor.
I could 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 th' ambitious Norway he combated.

Mar.
Thus twice before, and just at the same hour,
With martial stalk, hath he gone by our watch.

Hor.
In what particular thought to work, I know not.
But in the scope of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar.
Pray tell me, he that knows* ^note,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subjects of the land?
And makes the night joint labourer with the day?
Who is't that can inform me?

Hor.
That can I; our last king,
Whose image e'en but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbrass of Norway,
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
Did slay this Fortinbrass; who, by seal'd compact,

Well ratify'd by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit (with his life) all these his lands,
Which he stood seis'd of, to the conqueror:
Now, sir, young Fortinbrass,
Of unimproved mettle, hot and full,
Hath, in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
To recover those aforesaid lands
So by his father lost. And this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations.

Ber.
I think it is no other, but even so. Enter Ghost again.

Hor.
But soft! behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, tho' it blast me. Stay, illusion! [Spreading his arms.
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me—If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me.
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which happily foreknowing may avoid, O speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life,
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, [Cock crows.
Speak of it. Stay and speak—Stop it, Marcellus.

Mar.
'Tis gone— [Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the shew of violence;
It is ever, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor.
And then it started like a guilty thing,
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill sounding throat,
Awake the god of day: and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,

Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine* ^note.
But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill;
Break we our watch up, and by my advice
Let us impart what we have seen to-night,
Unto young Hamlet: Perhaps
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.

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