Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one, [Bell strikes one. Mar. Peace! break thee off: look, where it comes again! Enter Ghost. Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. Mar. Question it, Horatio. Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, 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. Ber. See! it stalks away. Hor. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. [Exit Ghost. Ber. How now, Horatio! you tremble, and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible 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 on, He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 'Tis strange. 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, This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Mar. Good now, sit down; and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land? And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, And foreign mart for implements of war? 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? Hor. That can I ; Our last king, At least, the whisper goes so. Did forfeit with his life all those his lands Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in 't: which is no other And terms compulsative, those 'foresaid lands Is the main motive of our preparations, The source of this our watch, and the chief head Ber. I think it be no other, but e'en so: 2 Disasters in the sun;] There is evidently some corruption here, which it is impossible now to set right: Malone imagined that a line had been omitted. No conjecture is worth notice. And even the like precurse of fierce events- Re-enter Ghost. But soft! behold! lo, where it comes again! I'll cross it, though it blast me.-Stay, illusion !3 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, Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, [Cock crows. Speak of it :-stay, and speak !-Stop it, Marcellus. Stay, illusion!] At these words there is a stage-direction in the edition of 1604, copied into the later 4tos., "It spreads his arms." For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. No fairy TAKES ;] i. e., the word "takes" used in this act iv, sc. 4, p. 83. enchants, infects: we have already had sense in The Merry Wives of Windsor, |