Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. |
|
FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO. |
Ber. Who's 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. '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. Not a mouse stirring. |
Ber. Well, good-night. |
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, |
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. |
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's 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 reliev'd you? |
Fran. Bernardo has 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 appear'd again to-night? |
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: |
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. Tush, tush! 'twill not appear. |
Ber. Sit down a while, |
And let us once again assail your ears, |
That are so fortified against our story, |
What we two nights have seen. |
Hor. Well, sit we down, |
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. |
Ber. Last night of all, |
When yond 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, |
The bell then beating one,— |
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 war-like 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 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 |
When he the ambitious Norway combated; |
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, |
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. |
'Tis strange. |
Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, |
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. |
Hor. In what particular thought to work I know not; |
But in the gross and scope of my opinion, |
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. |
Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, |
Why this same strict and most observant watch |
So nightly toils the subject of the land; |
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, |
And foreign mart for implements of war; |
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task |
Does not divide the Sunday from the week; |
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. That can I; |
At least, the whisper goes so. 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 compact, |
Well ratified by law and heraldry, |
Did forfeit with his life all those his lands |
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror; |
Against the which, a moiety competent |
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd |
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, |
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant, |
And carriage of the article design'd, |
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, |
Of unimproved mettle hot and full, |
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there |
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes, |
For food and diet, to some enterprise |
That hath a stomach in 't; which is no other— |
As it doth well appear unto our state— |
But to recover of us, by strong hand |
And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands |
So by his father lost. And this, I take it, |
Is the main motive of our preparations, |
The source of this our watch and the chief head |
Of this post-haste and romage in the land. |
Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so; |
Well may it sort that this portentous figure |
Comes armed through our watch, so like the king |
That was and is the question of these wars. |
Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. |
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, |
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, |
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead |
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; |
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, |
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star |
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands |
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse; |
And even the like precurse of fierce events, |
As harbingers preceding still the fates |
And prologue to the omen coming on, |
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated |
Unto our climatures and countrymen. |
But, soft! behold! lo! where it comes again. |
|
Re-Enter Ghost. |
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! |
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. Shall I strike at it with my partisan? |
Hor. Do, if it will not stand. |
Ber. 'Tis here! |
Hor. 'Tis here! [Exit Ghost. |
Mar. 'Tis gone! |
We do it wrong, being so majestical, |
To offer it the show of violence; |
For it is, 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, |
The extravagant and erring spirit hies |
To his confine; and of the truth herein |
This present object made probation. |
Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. |
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes |
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, |
The bird of dawning singeth all night long; |
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad; |
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, |
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, |
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. |
Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it. |
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; for, upon my life, |
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. |
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, |
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? |
Mar. Let's do 't, I pray; and I this morning know |
Where we shall find him most conveniently. [Exeunt. |
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