Ber. Long live the king![3]
Fran. Bernardo?
Ber. He.
Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
Fran. For this relief much thanks:
[Crosses to L.]
'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,[4] bid them make haste.
Fran. I think I hear them.—Stand, ho! Who's there?
Hor. Friends to this ground.
