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PRINCE OF DENMARK.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle
FRANCISCO on his post. Enter to him
Ber. Who's there?
Fran. Nay, answer me: stand and unfold Yourself.
Ber. Long live the King!
Fran. You come most carefully upon your
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter
And I am sick at heart.
Ber. Have you had quiet guard ?
Fran. Not a mouse stirring.
Ber. Well, good night.
T you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
Who is there?
Hor. Friends to this ground.
Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier:
Who hath reliev'd you?
Fran. Bernardo hath my place.
Give you good night.
Mar. Holla! Bernardo!
Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Mar
Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to
Ber. I have seen nothing.
Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy;
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole,
Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
Ber. In the same figure, like the King that's
Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the King? mark it,
Ber. It would be spoke to.
Mar. Speak to it, Horatio.
Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the Majesty of buried Denmark
Mar. It is offended.
Ber. See! it stalks away.
Hor. Stay; speak; speak 1 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 of it?
Hor. Before my God, I'might not this be
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
Mar. Is it not like the King?
Such was the very armour he had on,
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 mine opinion,
Why this same strict and most observant wateh
Hor. That can' I;
At least the whisper goes so. Our last King,
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compáct,
Well ratified by law, and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet: Now, Sir, young Eortinbras,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
[Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so:
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,