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unfold yourself.

Barnardo

      Long live the King!

Francisco

      Barnardo?

Barnardo

      He.

Francisco

      You come most carefully upon your hour.

Barnardo

      'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

Francisco

      For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold,

      And I am sick at heart.

Barnardo

      Have you had quiet guard?

Francisco

      Not a mouse stirring.

Barnardo

      Well, good night.

      If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

      The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

      [Enter Horatio and Marcellus]

Francisco

      I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?

Horatio

      Friends to this ground.

Marcellus

      And liegemen to the Dane.

Francisco

      Give you good night.

Marcellus

      O, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev'd you?

Francisco

      Barnardo has my place. Give you good-night.

      [Exit]

Marcellus

      Holla, Barnardo!

Barnardo

      Say, what, is Horatio there?

Horatio

      A piece of him.

Barnardo

      Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.

Marcellus

      What, has this thing appear'd again tonight?

Barnardo

      I have seen nothing.

Marcellus

      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.

Horatio

      Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Barnardo

      Sit down awhile,

      And let us once again assail your ears,

      That are so fortified against our story,

      What we two nights have seen.

Horatio

      Well, sit we down,

      And let us hear Barnardo speak of this.

Barnardo

      Last night of all,

      When yond same star that's westward from

                               the pole,

      Had made his course t'illume that part of heaven

      Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,

      The bell then beating one —

Marcellus

      Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again.

      [Enter Ghost]

Barnardo

      In the same figure, like the King that's dead.

Marcellus

      Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

Barnardo

      Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.

Horatio

      Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

Barnardo

      It would be spoke to.

Marcellus

      Question it, Horatio.

Horatio

      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.

Marcellus

      It is offended.

Barnardo

      See, it stalks away.

Horatio

      Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!

      [Exit Ghost]

Marcellus

      'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Barnardo

      How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale.

      Is not this something more than fantasy?

      What think you on't?

Horatio

      Before my God, I might not this believe

      Without the sensible and true avouch

      Of mine own eyes.

Marcellus

      Is it not like the King?

Horatio

      As thou art to thyself:

      Such was the very armour he had on

      When he th'ambitious Norway combated;

      So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle

      He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.

      'Tis strange.

Marcellus

      Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,

      With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Horatio

      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.

Marcellus

      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?

Horatio

      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 cov'nant

      And carriage of the

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