Ber: Who’s there?
Fran: Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
Ber: Long live the king!
Fran: You come most carefully upon your hour.
Ber: ’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.
Fran: For this relief much thanks: ’tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
Ber: Have you had quiet guard?
Fran: Not a mouse stirring.
Ber: Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
Fran: I think I hear them.–Stand, ho! Who is there?
[Enter Horatio and Marcellus.]
Hor: Friends to this ground.
Mar: And liegemen to the Dane.
Fran: Give you good-night.
Mar: O, farewell, honest soldier;
Who hath reliev’d you?
Fran: Bernardo has my place.
Give you good-night.