But shall be remedied, to your public laws, Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. The Senators descend, and open the gates. Enter a Soldier. Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; Entombed upon the very hem o' the sea: And on his gravestone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES reads. "Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft : Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait." These well express in thee thy latter spirits: From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Prescribe to other, as each other's leech- [Exeunt. And I am sick at heart. Ber. Have you had quiet guard? Ber. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS. Hor. Friends to this ground. And liegemen to the Dane. Fran. Give you good night. Mar. Who hath relieved you? Fran. O, farewell, honest soldier: Bernardo hath my place. [Exit Holla! Bernardo! Give you good night. Mar. Ber. Say, What, is Horatio there? Hor. A piece of him. Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar cellus. Hor. What, has this thing appeared again tonight? Ber. I have seen nothing. Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy; And will not let belief take hold of him, Fran. I think I hear them.-Stand, ho? Who That, if again this apparition come, is there? He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. Hor. Tush, tush! 't will not appear. And let us once again assail your ears, Hor. Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, 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? That can I; Our last king, Hor. Did forfeit with his life, all those his lands Of this post-haste and romage in the land. Ber. I think it be no other, but even 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 preceeding still the fates, And prologue to the omen coming on) Have heaven and earth together démonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen.— Re-enter Ghost. But soft; behold! lo, where it comes again! |