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HAMLET. 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. HORATIO. Where, my lord? HAMLET. In my mind’s eye, Horatio. HORATIO. I saw him once; he was a goodly king. HAMLET. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. HORATIO. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. HAMLET. Saw? Who? HORATIO. My lord, the King your father. HAMLET. The King my father! HORATIO. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear, till I may deliver Upon the witness of these gentlemen This marvel to you. HAMLET. For God’s love let me hear. HORATIO. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie, 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. HAMLET. But where was this? MARCELLUS. My lord, upon the platform where we watch. HAMLET. Did you not speak to it? HORATIO. 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. HAMLET. ’Tis very strange. HORATIO. 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. HAMLET. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch tonight? MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. We do, my lord. HAMLET. Arm’d, say you? Both. Arm’d, my lord. HAMLET. From top to toe? BOTH. My lord, from head to foot. HAMLET. Then saw you not his face? HORATIO. O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up. HAMLET. What, look’d he frowningly? HORATIO. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. HAMLET. Pale, or red?