married. O, most wicked speed, to post
    With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
    It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
    But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!

Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

  Hor. Hail to your lordship!
  Ham. I am glad to see you well.
    Horatio!- or I do forget myself.
  Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
  Ham. Sir, my good friend- I'll change that name with you.
    And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
    Marcellus?
  Mar. My good lord!
  Ham. I am very glad to see you.- [To Bernardo] Good even, sir.-

    But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
  Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
  Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so,
    Nor shall you do my ear that violence
    To make it truster of your own report
    Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
    But what is your affair in Elsinore?
    We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
  Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
  Ham. I prithee do not mock me, fellow student.
    I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
  Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
  Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats
    Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
    Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
    Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
    My father- methinks I see my father.
  Hor. O, where, my lord?
  Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
  Hor. I saw him once. He was a goodly king.
  Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all.
    I shall not look upon his like again.
  Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
  Ham. Saw? who?
  Hor. My lord, the King your father.
  Ham. The King my father?
  Hor. Season your admiration for a while
    With an attent ear, till I may deliver
    Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
    This marvel to you.
  Ham. For God's love let me hear!
  Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen
    (Marcellus and Bernardo) on their watch
    In the dead vast and middle of the night
    Been thus encount'red. A figure like your father,
    Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
    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.
  Ham. But where was this?
  Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
  Ham. Did you not speak to it?
  Hor. 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.
  Ham. 'Tis very strange.
  Hor. 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.
  Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs. But this troubles me.
    Hold you the watch to-night?
  Both [Mar. and Ber.] We do, my lord.
  Ham. Arm'd, say you?
  Both. Arm'd, my lord.
  Ham. From top to toe?
  Both. My lord, from head to foot.
  Ham. Then saw you not his face?
  Hor. O, yes, my lord! He wore his beaver up.
  Ham. What, look'd he frowningly.
  Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
  Ham. Pale or red?
  Hor. Nay, very pale.
  Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?
  Hor. Most constantly.
  Ham. I would I had been there.
  Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.
  Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
  Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
  Both. Longer, longer.
  Hor. Not when I saw't.
  Ham. His beard was grizzled- no?
  Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
    A sable silver'd.
  Ham. I will watch to-night.
    Perchance 'twill walk again.
  Hor. I warr'nt it will.
  Ham. 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 to-night,
    Give it an understanding but no tongue.
    I will requite your loves. So, fare you well.
    Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
    I'll visit you.
  All. Our duty to your honour.
  Ham. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
                                        Exeunt [all but Hamlet].
    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. Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.

Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

  Laer. 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.
  Oph. Do you doubt that?
  Laer. 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.
  Oph. No more but so?
  Laer. 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 unvalued persons do,
    Carve for himself, for on his choice depends
    The safety 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 unmast'red importunity.
    Fear it, Ophelia, fear it,