Horatio
Where, my lord?
Hamlet
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Horatio
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Hamlet
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Horatio
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Hamlet
Saw? Who?
Horatio
My lord, the King your father.
Hamlet
The King my father!
Horatio
Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear, till I may deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen
This marvel to you.
Hamlet
For God's love let me hear.
Horatio
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
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.
Hamlet
But where was this?
Marcellus
My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
Hamlet
Did you not speak to it?
Horatio
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.
Hamlet
'Tis very strange.
Horatio
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.
Hamlet
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch tonight?
Marcellus and Barnardo
We do, my lord.
Hamlet
Arm'd, say you?
Both
Arm'd, my lord.
Hamlet
From top to toe?
Both
My lord, from head to foot.
Hamlet
Then saw you not his face?
Horatio
O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
Hamlet
What, look'd he frowningly?
Horatio
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Hamlet
Pale, or red?
Horatio
Nay, very pale.
Hamlet
And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Horatio
Most constantly.
Hamlet
I would I had been there.
Horatio
It would have much amaz'd you.
Hamlet
Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
Horatio
While one with moderate haste might tell
a hundred.
Marcellus and Barnardo
Longer, longer.
Horatio
Not when I saw't.
Hamlet
His beard was grizzled, no?
Horatio
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
Hamlet
I will watch tonight;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Horatio
I warrant you it will.
Hamlet
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.
All
Our duty to your honour.
Hamlet
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]
Scene III
A room in Polonius's house
Enter Laertes and Ophelia
Laertes
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?
Laertes
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.
Ophelia
No more but so?
Laertes
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 unvalu'd persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of this 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 particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further
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
If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear.
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Ophelia
I shall th'effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But good my brother,