there's a special Providence in the fall of a Sparrow

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET,

PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Actus Primus. Scaena Prima.

Enter Barnardo and Francisco two Sentinels.

Barnardo. Who's there?

Fran. Nay answer me: Stand and unfold your self.
Bar. Long live the King.

Fran. Barnardo?

Bar. He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.

Bar. 'Tis now struck twelve, get thee to bed Francisco.
Fran. For this relief much thanks: 'Tis bitter cold,

And I am sick at heart.

Barn. Have you had quiet Guard?

Fran. Not a Mouse stirring.

Barn. Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, the Rivals of my Watch, bid them make haste.

Mar. O farewell honest Soldier, who hath reliev'd you?

Fra. Barnardo has my place: give you goodnight.

Mar. Holla Barnardo.

Bar. Say, what is Horatio there?

Exit Fran.

Hor. A piece of him.

Bar. Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus.
Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night.
Bar. I have seen nothing.

Mar. 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.
Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
Bar. Sit down a-while,

And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our Story,
What we two Nights have seen.

Hor. Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Barnardo speak of this.

Barn. 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 my self,

The Bell then beating one.

Mar. Peace, break thee off:

Look where it comes again.

Enter the Ghost.

Barn. In the same figure, like the King that's dead.
Mar. Thou art a Scholar; speak to it Horatio.
Barn. Looks it not like the King? Mark it Horatio.
Hora. Most like: It harrows me with fear and wonder.

Barn. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Question it Horatio.

Hor. 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.
Mar. It is offended.

Barn. See, it stalks away.