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 a 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’s there?
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.