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G.Vander Gucht Scal.

HGravelot in Vol: 8.P: 101.

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Dramatis Perfonæ.

CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark.
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.

Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the prefent King.
Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.

Horatio, Friend to Hamlet.

Laertes, Son to Polonius.

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Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to Hamlet.
Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius, belov'd by Hamlet.
Ladies attending on the Queen.

Players, Grave-makers, Sailors, Messengers, and other
Attendants.

SCENE, ELSINOOR.

HAMLET

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BERNARDO.

HO's there?

Fran. Nay, anfwer me: ftand, and unfold, yourself.

Ber. Long live the King!

Fran. Bernardo?

Fran. You come moft carefully upon your hour.

Ber. 'Tis now ftruck twelve; get thee to bed, Francifco. Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am fick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard?
Fran. Not a mouse stirring.

E 4

Ber

Ber. Well, good-night.

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

The rivals of my watch, bid them make hafte.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Fran. I think, I hear them. Stand, ho! who is there? Hor. Friends, to this ground.

Mar. And liege-men to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good-night.

Mar. Oh, farewel, honeft foldier; who hath reliev'd you? Fran. Bernardo has my place; give you good-night.

Mar. Holla! Bernardo,

Ber. Say, what, is Horatio there?

Hor. A picce of him.

[Exit Francifce.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus. Mar. What, has this thing appeared again to-night? Ber. I have feen nothing.

Mar. Horatio fays, 'tis but our phantafy;

And will not let belief take hold of him,

Touching this dreaded fight, twice feen of us;
Therefore I have intreated him along

With us, to watch the minutes of this night;
That if again this apparition come,

He may approve our eyes, and fpeak to it.
Hor. Tuh! tufh! 'twill not appear.
Ber. Sit down a while,

And let us once again affail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights feen.

Hor. Well, fit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Laft night of all,

When yon fame ftar, that's weftward from the pole, Had made his courfe t'illume that part of heav'n

Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,

The bell then beating one,

Mar. Peace, break thee off;

Enter

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