Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt.[351]
Scene IV. The platform.[352]
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.[353]
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.[354]
Ham. What hour now?
Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.
Mar. No, it is struck.[355]
Hor. Indeed? I heard it not: it then draws near the season[356] 5
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.[357]