Ber. Long live the king!3

Fran.

Bernardo?

Ber.

He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.

Fran. For this relief much thanks: [Crosses to L.] ’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,4 bid them make haste.

Fran. I think I hear them.—Stand, ho! Who’s there?

Mar.

And liegemen to the Dane.5

Fran. Give you good night.

Mar.

O, farewell, honest soldier:

Who hath reliev’d you?

Fran. Bernardo hath my place.

Give you good night.

[Exit Francisco, L.H.]

Mar.

Holloa! Bernardo!

Ber.

Say,

What, is Horatio there?

Hor. (Crosses to C.) A piece of him.6

Ber. (R.) Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

Hor. What, has this thing appear’d again to-night?

Ber. I have seen nothing.

Mar. (L.) 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;7

That, if again this apparition come,

He may approve our eyes,8 and speak to it.

Hor. Tush! tush! ’twill not appear.

Ber. Come, let us once again assail your ears,

That are so fortified against our story,

What we two nights have seen.9

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 illume that part of heaven

Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself,

The bell then beating one—

9Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

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

Hor. Most like:—it harrows me with fear and wonder.10

Ber. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou, that usurp’st this time of night,11

Together with that fair and warlike form

In which the majesty of buried Denmark

Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!

Mar. It is offended.

[Ghost crosses to R.]

Ber.

See! it stalks away!

Hor. Stay!—speak!—speak, I 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 heaven, I might not this believe,

Without the sensible and true avouch12

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.

Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour,13

With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor. In what particular thought to work,14 I know not;

10But in the gross and scope15 of mine opinion,

This bodes some strange eruption to our state.16

In the most high and palmy17 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.

But, (L.C.) soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

I’ll cross it, though it blast me.

[Horatio crosses in front of the Ghost to R. Ghost crosses to L.]

Stay, illusion!

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,18

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!

O, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,19

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,

Speak of it:—stay, and speak!

Mar. ‘Tis gone!

We do it wrong, being so majestical,

To offer it the show of violence.

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

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing

11Upon a fearful summons.20 I have heard,

The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn,

Doth with his lofty21 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 spirit22 hies

To his confine.

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.

King. R.C. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death

The memory be green;24 and that it us befitted

To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom

To be contracted in one brow of woe;

Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,

That we with wisest sorrow25 think on him,

Together with remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,

The imperial jointress of this warlike state,

12Have we, as ’twere with a defeated joy,26

Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr’d27

Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone

With this affair along:—For all, our thanks.

And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you?

You told us of some suit; What is’t, Laertes?

Laer. (R.)

My dread lord,

Your leave and favour28 to return to France;

From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,

To show my duty in your coronation,

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

King. Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonious?

Pol. (R.) He hath, my lord, (wrung from me my slow leave

By laboursome petition; and, at last,

Upon his will I sealed my hard consent):29

I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,

And thy best graces spend it at thy will!30

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,——

Ham. (L.) A little more than kin, and less than kind.31

[Aside.]

13King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i’the sun.32

Queen. (L.C.) Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour33 off,

And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not for ever with thy vailed lids34

Seek for thy noble father in the dust:

Thou know’st ’tis common, all that live must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.

Queen.

If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.

‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,

No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,

That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,

For they are actions that a man might play.

But I have that within which passeth show;35

These but the trappings36 and the suits of woe.

King. ‘Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father:

But, you must know, your father lost a father;

That father lost, lost his;37 and the survivor bound,

In filial obligation, for some term

14To do obsequious sorrow:38 But to perséver39

In obstinate condolement,40 is a course

Of impious stubbornness; ’tis unmanly grief:

It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven.41

We pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing42 woe; and think of us

As of a father: for let the world take note,

You are the most immediate to our throne;

Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:

I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.

Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

King. Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply;

Be as ourself in Denmark.—Madam, come;

This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet

Sits smiling to my heart:43 in grace whereof,44

No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,45

But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;

Re-speaking earthly thunder.

Ham. O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,

Thaw, and resolve itself46 into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d

His canon47 ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

15Seem to me all the uses of this world!48

Fye on’t! O fye! ’tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely.49 That it should come to this!

But two months dead!—nay, not so much, not two:

So excellent a king; that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr:50 so loving to my mother,

That he might not beteem51 the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!

Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,

As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,—

Let me not think on’t,—Frailty, thy name is Woman!—

A little month; or ere those shoes were old

With which she follow’d my poor father’s body,

Like Niobe, all tears;—she married with my uncle,

My father’s brother; but no more like my father

Than I to Hercules.

It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!

Hor. Hail to your lordship!

Ham.

I am glad to see you well:

Horatio,—or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I’ll change that name with you:52

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—

Marcellus?

[Crosses to C.]

Mar. (R.) My good lord,—

16Ham. (C.) I am very glad to see you; good even, sir.

[To Bernardo, R.]

But what, in faith,53 make you54 from Wittenberg?55

Hor. (L.) A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;

Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,

To make it truster of your own report

Against yourself: I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We’ll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;

I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak’d meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Would I had met my dearest foe56 in Heaven

Ere ever I had seen that day, Horatio!

My father,—Methinks, I see my father.

Hor.

Where,

My lord?

Ham. In my mind’s eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.57

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

[Crosses to L.]

Hor. (C.) My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham.

The king my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while58

17With an attent ear; till I may deliver,

Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

This marvel to you.

Ham.

For Heaven’s love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,

Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead waste and middle of the night,59

Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father,

Arm’d at all points exactly, cap-à-pé,

Appears before them, and, with solemn march

Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk’d

By their oppress’d and fear-surprisèd eyes,

Within his truncheon’s length; whilst they, distill’d

Almost to jelly with the act of fear,60

Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me

In dreadful secrecy impart they did;

And I with them the third night kept the watch:

Where, as they had deliver’d, both in time,

Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

The apparition comes.

Ham. But where was this?

[Crosses to Marcellus.]

Mar. (R.) My lord, upon the platform where we watch’d.

Ham. (C.) Did you not speak to it?

Hor. (L.)

My lord, I did;

But answer made it none: yet once methought

It lifted up its head, and did address61

Itself to motion, like as it would speak:

But, even then, the morning cock crew loud,

And at the sound it shrunk in haste away;

And vanish’d from our sight.

Ham.

‘Tis very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true;

And we did think it writ down62 in our duty

To let you know of it.

18Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.

Hold you the watch to-night?

Mar.

We do, my lord.

Ham. Arm’d, say you?

Mar.

Arm’d, my lord.

Ham.

From top to toe?

Mar. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.

Then saw you not

His face?

Hor.

O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.63

Ham. What, looked he frowningly?

Hor.

A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham.

Pale or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham.

And fix’d his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham.

I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amaz’d you.

Ham.

Very like,

Very like. Stay’d it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham.

His beard was grizzl’d, No?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silver’d.

Ham.

I will watch to-night;

Perchance, ’twill walk again.

Hor. (C.)

I warrant it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father’s person,

I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,

And bid me hold my peace. [Crosses to L.] I pray you all,

If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight,

Let it be tenable64 in your silence still;

And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,

19Give it an understanding, but no tongue;

I will requite your loves. So, fare you well:

Upon the platform, ‘twixt eleven and twelve,

I’ll visit you.

Hor. (R.)

Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: Farewell.

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo, R.H.]

My father’s spirit in arms! all is not well;

I doubt some foul play: ‘would the night were come;

Till then sit still, my soul: Foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.

[Exit, L.H.]

Laer. (L.C.) My necessaries are embarked: farewell:

And, sister, as the winds give benefit,65

Let me hear from you.

Oph. (R.C.)

Do you doubt that?

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,66

Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

The pérfume and suppliance of a minute.67

Oph. No more but so?

Laer. He may not, as unvalued persons do,

Carve for himself; for on his choice depends

The safety and the health of the whole state.

Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,

If with too credent ear you list his songs.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;

20And keep within the rear of your affection,68

Out of the shot and danger of desire.

The chariest maid69 is prodigal enough,

If she unmask her beauty to the moon:

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:

Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear:

Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,

As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven

Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine,70

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own read.71

Laer.

O, fear me not.

I stay too long;—but here my father comes.

Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,72

And you are staid for. There,—my blessing with you!

[Laying his hand on Laertes’ head.]

And these few precepts in thy memory—

Look thou charácter.73 Give thy thoughts no tongue, any unproportion’d thought74 his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,

21Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

Take each man’s censure,75 but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France of the best rank and station

Are most select and generous, chief in that.76

Neither a borrower nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.77

This above all,—To thine ownself be true;

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!78

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.

[Crosses to L.]

Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well

What I have said to you.

Oph. (Crosses to Laertes.) ‘Tis in my memory lock’d,

And you yourself shall keep the key of it.79

Laer. Farewell.

[Exit Laertes, L.H.]

Pol. What is it, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.

Pol. Marry, well bethought:

‘Tis told me, he hath very oft of late

Given private time to you;80 and you yourself

Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:

If it be so (as so ’tis put on me,81

And that in way of caution), I must tell you,

You do not understand yourself so clearly

As it behoves my daughter, and your honour.

22What is between82 you? give me up the truth.

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders

Of his affection to me.

Pol. Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,

Unsifted83 in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Pol. Marry, I’ll teach you: think yourself a baby;

That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay,

Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

Or, you’ll tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath impórtun’d me with love

In honourable fashion.

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.

Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks.84 I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

Lends the tongue vows: This is for all,—

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,

Have you so slander any leisure moment,85

As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.

Look to’t, I charge you: come your ways.

Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

[Exeunt, R.H.]

Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.86

23Ham. What hour now?

Hor.

I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. (R.C.) Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season,

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot off without.]

What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. (L.C.) The king doth wake to-night,87 and takes his rouse,88

And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.

Is it a custom?

Ham. Ay, marry, is’t: [Crosses to Horatio.]

But to my mind,—though I am native here,

And to the manner born,—it is a custom

More honour’d in the breach than the observance.

Enter Ghost (L.H.)

Hor. (R.H.) Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. (C.) Angels and ministers of grace defend us!—

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com’st in such a questionable shape,89

That I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee—Hamlet,

King, father: Royal Dane: O, answer me!

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell

Why thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death,90

Have burst their cerements;91 why the sepulchre,

Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn’d,

Hath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws,

24To cast thee up again! What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again, in cómplete steel,

Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous; and we fools of nature92

So horridly to shake our disposition93

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

[Ghost beckons.]

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,

As if it some impartment did desire

To you alone.

[Ghost beckons again.]

Mar. Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to a more removèd ground:94

But do not go with it.

Hor.

No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham.

Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin’s fee;95

And for my soul, what can it do to that,

Being a thing immortal as itself?

[Ghost beckons.]

It waves me forth again;—I’ll follow it.

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,96

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff

That beetles o’er his base into the sea,97

And there assume some other horrible form,

And draw you into madness?

[Ghost beckons.]

Ham.

It waves me still.—

Go on; I’ll follow thee.

Ham.

Hold off your hands.

Hor. Be rul’d; you shall not go.

Ham.

My fate cries out,

25And makes each petty artery in this body

As hardy as the Némean lion’s nerve.98

[Ghost beckons]

Still am I call’d:—unhand me, gentlemen;

[Breaking from them.]

By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me:—99

I say, away!—Go on; I’ll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet, L.H., followed at a distance by Horatio and Marcellus.]

Ham. (R.) Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak; I’ll go no further.

Ghost. (L.) Mark me.

Ham.

I will.

Ghost.

My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

Must render up myself.

Ham.

Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

To what I shall unfold.

Ham.

Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father’s spirit;

Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,

And for the day confin’d to fast in fires,100

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

26Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid

To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul;101 freeze thy young blood;

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;

Thy knotted and combinèd locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,102

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:103

But this eternal blazon104 must not be

To ears of flesh and blood.—List, list, O, list!—

If thou didst ever thy dear father love,——

Ham. O Heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Ham. Murder!

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham. Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift

As meditation or the thoughts of love,

May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost.

I find thee apt;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed

That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,105

Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:

‘Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,106

A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark

Is by a forged process107 of my death

Rankly abus’d: but know, thou noble youth,

The serpent that did sting thy father’s life

Now wears his crown.

Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

27With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,

Won to his shameful lust

The will of my most seeming virtuous queen:

O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!

From me, whose love was of that dignity,

That it went hand in hand even with the vow

I made to her in marriage; and to decline

Upon a wretch,108 whose natural gifts were poor

To those of mine!

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

Brief let me be.—Sleeping within mine orchard,

My custom always in the afternoon,

Upon my secure109 hour thy uncle stole,

With juice of cursed hebenon110 in a vial,

And in the porches of mine ears did pour

The leperous distilment; whose effect

Holds such an enmity with blood of man,

That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through

The natural gates and alleys of the body;

So did it mine;

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand

Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch’d:111

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d;112

No reckoning made, but sent to my account

With all my imperfections on my head.

Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;

Let not the royal bed of Denmark be

A couch for luxury113 and damnèd incest.

But, howsoever thou pursu’st this act,

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive

28Against thy mother aught: leave her to Heaven,

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,

To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,

And ‘gins to pale his ineffectual fire:114

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

[Exit, L.H.]

Ham. Hold, hold, my heart;

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,

But bear me stiffly up.—Remember thee!

Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe.115 Remember thee!

Yea, from the table of my memory

I’ll wipe away all forms, all pressures past,116

And thy commandment all alone shall live

Within the book and volume of my brain,

Unmix’d with baser matter: yes, by heaven,

I have sworn’t.

Hor. (Without.) My lord, my lord,——

Mar. (Without.) Lord Hamlet,——

Hor. (Without.) Heaven secure him!

Ham.

So be it!

Mar. (Without.) Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come.117

Mar. (R.) How is’t, my noble lord?

Hor. (L.)

What news, my lord?

Ham. (C.) O, wonderful!

Hor.

Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.

No;

You will reveal it.

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.

Nor I, my lord.

Ham. How say you, then; would heart of man once think it?

But you’ll be secret?—

Ham. There’s ne’er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark—

But he’s an arrant knave.118

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave

To tell us this.

Ham. Why, right; you are in the right;

And so, without more circumstance at all,

I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part:

You as your business and desire shall point you,

For every man hath business and desire,

Such as it is;—and, for my own poor part,

Look you, I will go pray.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words,119 my lord.

Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily.

Hor. There’s no offence, my lord.

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick,120 but there is, Horatio,

And much offence, too. Touching this vision here,

It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:

For your desire to know what is between us,

O’er-master it121 as you may. And now, good friends,

As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,

Give me one poor request.

Hor.

What is’t, my lord?

We will.

Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night.

30

[Horatio and Marcellus again place their hands on Hamlet’s sword.]

31Heaven willing, shall not lack.125 Let us go in together;

[Crosses to L.]

And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

The time is out of joint;—O cursèd spite,

That ever I was born to set it right!

Nay, come, let’s go together.

[Exeunt L.H.]