HAMLET.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark.

HAMLET, Son to the former, and nephew to the present,

King.

POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain.

HORATIO, friend to Hamlet.

LAERTES, son to Polonius.

GERTRUDE, Queen of Denmark, and mother of Hamlet. OPHELIA, daughter of Polonius.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Gravediggers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, Elsinore

HAMLET,

PRINCE OF DENMARK,

ACT I. SCENE I.

Elfinore. A Platform before the Caftle. FRANCISCO on his poft. Enter to him Bernardo. Bernardo.

WHO's there?

Fran. Nay, answer me: ftand, and unfold Yourself.

Ber. Long live the king!

Fran.

Ber.

Bernardo?

He.

Fran. You come moft carefully upon your hour. Ber. 'Tis now ftruck twelve; get thee to bed, Francifco.

Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter

cold,

And I am fick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard?

Fran.

Ber. Well, good night.

Not a moufe ftirring.

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.

Fran. I think, I hear them.-Stand, ho! Who

A piece of him.

Hor.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar

cellus.

Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again tonight?

Ber. I have feen nothing.

Mar. Horatio fays, 'tis but our fantasy ;
And will not let belief take hold of him,
Touching this dreaded fight, twice feen 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.
Hor. Tufh! tufh! 'twill not appear.

Sit down awhile

Ber.
And let us once again affail your ears,
That are fo fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.

Hor. Well, fit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Last night of all,

When yon fame ftar, that's weftward from the pole,
Had made his courfe to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself,
The bell then beating one,-

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

Enter Ghoft.

Ber. In the fame figure, like the king that's
dead.

Mar. Thou art a fcholar, speak to it, Horatio.
Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Ho

ratio.

Hor. Moft like :-it harrows me with fear, and wonder.

Ber. It would be spoke to.

Mar.

.

Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of

night,

Together with that fair and warlike form

In which the majefty of buried Denmark Did fometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, fpeak,

Mar. It is offended.

Ber.

See! it talks away.

[Exit Ghoft.

Hor. Stay; fpeak; fpeak I charge thee, speak..

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble and look

pale:

Is not this fomething more than fantasy?

What think you of it?

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the fenfible and true avouch

Of mine own eyes.

Mar.

Is it not like the king?

Hor. As thou art to thyself:

Such was the very armour he had

d.on,,

When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He fmote the fledded Polack on the ice.

'Tis ftrange.