I did not slumber; therefore 'twas no dream.
No, no; it was some woman cried for help.
And here within the garden did she cry,
And in this garden must I rescue her.
But stay, what murdrous spectacle is this?
A man hang'd up, and all the Murderers gone;
And in my Bower, to lay the guilt on me?
This place was made for pleasure, not for death:[He cuts him down.
These garments that he wears I oft have seen:
Alas, it is Horatio, my sweet son!'——