Last night of all,
When yond same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one,--

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; look where it comes again!

[Enter Ghost, armed.]

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.

Mar.
Question it, Horatio.

Hor.