Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!

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

ever.

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? -
Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord,

Ham. I am very glad to see you. [To BER.] Good

even, sir.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not have 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-stu-
dent;

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 foe in Heaven

Ere I had ever seen that day,. Horatio!

My father, methinks, I see my father.
O, where, my lord?

Hor.

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once: he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. 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 while
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.

For God's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead vast and middle of the night,

Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Arm'd at all points, exactly, cap-à-pié,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

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. I knew your father;

These hands are not more like.

But answer made it none; yet once, methought,

It lifted up it head, and did address

It self 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 down in our duty,

To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night?

All. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

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

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor. Most constantly.
Ham.

I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham.

Very like. Stay'd it long?

Very like,

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a

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

A sable silver'd.

Ham. I'll watch to-night; perchance, 'twill walk

again.

Hor. I warrant you 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. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue :
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

All.

Our duties to your honour. Ham. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell. [Exeunt HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BER

NARDO.

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.

SCENE III.

A Room in POLONIUS' House.

Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA.

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,

But let me hear from you.

Ophelia.

Do you doubt that?

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;

A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The [perfume and] suppliance of a minute;
No more.

Oph. Laer.

No more but so?

Think it no more:

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now;
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own,
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself for on his choice depends
The sanity and health of the whole State;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves

you,

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,

As he in his peculiar sect and place

May give his saying deed; which is no farther,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then, weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs,

Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia; fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,