Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 1

Who’s there?

Who's there?

Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

No, you answer me. Stop where you are and say who you are.

Long live the King!

Long live the King!

Barnardo?

Barnardo?

He.

That's him.

You come most carefully upon your hour.

You're very careful to come right on your hour.

’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

It has just struck twelve. Go to bed, Francisco.

For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.

Many thanks for this relief. It's bitterly cold, and I'm sick at heart.

Have you had quiet guard?

Has your watch been quiet?

Not a mouse stirring.

Not a mouse stirring.

Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, my partners on this watch, tell them to hurry.

I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?

I think I hear them. Halt there! Who is there?

Friends to this ground.

Friends of this country.

And liegemen to the Dane.

And loyal subjects of the King of Denmark.

Give you good night.

Good night to you.

O, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev’d you?

Oh, goodbye, honest soldier. Who has taken over from you?

Barnardo has my place. Give you good-night.

Barnardo has my post. Good night to you.

Holla, Barnardo!

Hello there, Barnardo!

Say, what, is Horatio there?

Tell me, is Horatio there?

A piece of him.

A part of him.

Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.

Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.

What, has this thing appear’d again tonight?

Well, has this thing appeared again tonight?

I have seen nothing.

I've seen nothing.

Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. Therefore I have entreated him along With us to watch the minutes of this night, That if again this apparition come He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

Horatio says it's only our imagination, and he refuses to let himself believe in this dreadful sight we've seen twice. So I've begged him to come along with us and keep watch through the minutes of this night, so that if this apparition comes again he can confirm what our eyes saw and speak to it.

Tush, tush, ’twill not appear.

Nonsense, nonsense, it won't appear.

Sit down awhile, And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we two nights have seen.

Sit down a while, and let us attack your ears once again — they're so fortified against our story — with what we two have seen these past two nights.

Well, sit we down, And let us hear Barnardo speak of this.

All right, let's sit down, and let's hear Barnardo talk about this.

Last night of all, When yond same star that’s westward from the pole, Had made his course t’illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one—

Just last night, when that same star over to the west of the pole star had travelled its course to light up that part of the sky where it's shining now, Marcellus and I, with the bell then striking one—

Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again.

Quiet, stop talking. Look, there it comes again.

In the same figure, like the King that’s dead.

In the same shape, like the King who is dead.

Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

You're a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.

Doesn't it look like the King? Look closely at it, Horatio.

Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

Extremely like him. It tears me up with fear and amazement.

BARNARDO It would be spoke to.

BARNARDO: It wants to be spoken to.

Question it, Horatio.

Question it, Horatio.

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.

What are you, that take over this hour of the night without right, along with that handsome and warlike shape in which the majesty of buried Denmark used to march? In heaven's name, I order you to speak.

It is offended.

It's offended.

See, it stalks away.

Look, it's striding away.

Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!

Wait! Speak, speak! I order you to speak!

’Tis gone, and will not answer.

It's gone, and it won't answer.

How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on’t?

Well, Horatio! You're trembling and you look pale. Isn't this something more than imagination? What do you make of it?

Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes.

Before my God, I could not have believed this without the solid, sure testimony of my own eyes.

Is it not like the King?

Isn't it like the King?

As thou art to thyself: Such was the very armour he had on When he th’ambitious Norway combated; So frown’d he once, when in an angry parle He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. ’Tis strange.

As you are like yourself. That was the very armour he was wearing when he fought the ambitious King of Norway; that's how he frowned once, when in an angry parley he struck down the Polacks on their sledges on the ice. It's strange.

Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Twice before like this, and exactly at this dead hour, he has gone past our watch with that soldier's stride.

In what particular thought to work I know not; But in the gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

What precise idea to make of it I don't know; but in the broad, general sense of my opinion, this forecasts some strange upheaval for our country.

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?

Come, then, sit down, and tell me — whoever knows — why this same strict and watchful guard wears out the country's subjects night after night, and why all this daily casting of bronze cannon, and buying abroad of weapons of war; why this conscripting of shipwrights, whose hard labour doesn't set Sunday apart from the working week. What can be coming, that this sweaty haste makes the night work side by side with the day? Who can tell me?

That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King, Whose image even but now appear’d to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride, Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet, For so this side of our known world esteem’d him, Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal’d compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror; Against the which, a moiety competent Was gaged by our King; which had return’d To the inheritance of Fortinbras, Had he been vanquisher; as by the same cov’nant And carriage of the article design’d, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Of unimproved mettle, hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in’t; which is no other, As it doth well appear unto our state, But to recover of us by strong hand And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands So by his father lost. And this, I take it, Is the main motive of our preparations, The source of this our watch, and the chief head Of this post-haste and rummage in the land.

I can — at least, that's what the rumour says. Our late King, whose image just now appeared to us, was, as you know, challenged to single combat by Fortinbras of Norway, who was spurred on to it by the most competitive pride. In that fight our brave Hamlet — for that's how this side of the known world rated him — killed this Fortinbras; who, by a sealed agreement properly confirmed by law and the rules of heraldry, forfeited along with his life all the lands he possessed, to the winner. Against that, an equivalent portion had been staked by our King, and it would have gone to Fortinbras's inheritance if he had been the winner — just as, by that same agreement and the wording of the clause drawn up, his fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, being untested in spirit, hot and full of it, has here and there around the edges of Norway scraped together a list of lawless desperate men, paid in food and keep, for some undertaking with real appetite in it — which is nothing else, as it clearly appears to our government, than to get back from us by force and hard terms those lands his father lost. And this, I take it, is the main reason for our preparations, the cause of this watch of ours, and the chief source of all this rush and bustle in the country.

I think it be no other but e’en so: Well may it sort that this portentous figure Comes armed through our watch so like the King That was and is the question of these wars.

I think it's nothing but exactly that. It fits well that this ominous figure comes in armour through our watch, so like the King who was and is the subject of these wars.

A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. And even the like precurse of fierce events, As harbingers preceding still the fates And prologue to the omen coming on, Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen.

It's a speck to trouble the mind's eye. In the highest and most flourishing days of Rome, a little before the mightiest Julius fell, the graves stood empty of their tenants and the dead in their shrouds squeaked and gabbled in the Roman streets; there were stars with trails of fire and showers of blood, blemishes in the sun; and the watery star, on whose power Neptune's empire depends, was sick almost to the end of the world with eclipse. And heaven and earth together have shown our regions and our countrymen just such a forerunner of violent events, as messengers that always come before the fates and as a prologue to the disaster on its way.

But, soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again! I’ll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 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, Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O speak! Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, Speak of it. Stay, and speak!

But quiet, look! See, there it comes again! I'll cross its path, even if it destroys me. Stop, illusion! If you have any sound, or any use of a voice, speak to me. If there is some good deed to be done that might bring you relief and grace to me, speak to me. If you know something of your country's fate, which, luckily, knowing beforehand might avoid, oh speak! Or if in your lifetime you piled up extorted treasure in the belly of the earth — for which, they say, you spirits often walk after death — tell me about it. Stay, and speak!

Stop it, Marcellus!

Stop it, Marcellus!

Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

Should I strike at it with my spear?

Do, if it will not stand.

Do it, if it won't stand still.

’Tis here!

It's here!

’Tis here!

It's here!

’Tis gone! We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence, For it is as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery.

It's gone! We wrong it, since it is so majestic, by making a show of violence against it, for it is like the air, impossible to wound, and our useless blows are a spiteful mockery.

It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

It was just about to speak when the cock crowed.

And then it started, like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, Th’extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine. And of the truth herein This present object made probation.

And then it flinched, like a guilty thing at a frightening summons. I have heard that the cock, who is the trumpeter to the morning, with his high, shrill-sounding throat wakes the god of day, and that at his warning, whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, the wandering spirit that has strayed hurries back to its proper place. And the truth of this was proved by what we just saw.

It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm; So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

It faded away when the cock crowed. Some say that always, just before the season when our Saviour's birth is celebrated, the bird of dawn sings all night long; and then, they say, no spirit dares move abroad, the nights are healthy, no planets strike with bad influence, no fairy steals anything, and no witch has the power to cast spells — the time is so holy and so full of grace.

So have I heard, and do in part believe it. But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill. Break we our watch up, and by my advice, Let us impart what we have seen tonight Unto young Hamlet; for upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

So I have heard, and I partly believe it. But look, the morning, dressed in a reddish-brown cloak, is walking over the dew of that high hill in the east. Let's end our watch, and, if you take my advice, let us tell what we have seen tonight to young Hamlet; because, on my life, this spirit, silent to us, will speak to him. Do you agree that we should let him know about it, since our love for him requires it and our duty calls for it?

Let’s do’t, I pray, and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently.

Let's do it, please. And I know where we can most easily find him this morning.