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Francisco on his post.
Enter ta him BERNARDO. Ber. Who's there?
Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold
Ber. Long live the king!
Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, Francisco.
Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.
Ber. Have you had quiet guard ?
Ber. Well, good night.
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.
Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier:
Fran. Bernardo hath my place. Give you good night.
[Erit Fran. Mar. Holla! Bernardo!
Hor. A piece of him.
Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy;
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
Hor. Tush ! tush ! 'twill not appear.
Ber. Sit down awhile;
Hor. Well, sit we down,
Ber. Last night of all,
Enter Ghost. Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio, Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, Horatio.
Hor. Most like :-it harrows me with fear, and wonder.
Ber. It would be spoke to.
Hor. What art thou, that usurp’st this time of night,
Mar. It is offended.
Hor. Stay; speak: speak I charge thee, speak.
[Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer.
Ber. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and look pale:
Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe,
Mar. Is it not like the king?
Hor. As thou art to thyself:
Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With mårtial stalk bath 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;