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Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,
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 where was this?
My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
Did you not speak to it?
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up it head, and did address
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.
'Tis very strange.
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.
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch tonight?
We do, my lord.
Arm'd, say you?
Arm'd, my lord.
From top to toe?
My lord, from head to foot.
Then saw you not his face?
O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
What, look'd he frowningly?
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Pale, or red?
Nay, very pale.
And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Most constantly.
I would I had been there.
It would have much amaz'd you.
Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
While one with moderate haste might tell
a hundred.
Longer, longer.
Not when I saw't.
His beard was grizzled, no?
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
I will watch tonight;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
I warrant you it will.
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 tonight,
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.
Our duty to your honour.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo]
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]