HORATIO        A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.

In the most high and palmy state of Rome

A little ere the mightiest Julius fell

The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;

At stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,

Disasters in the sun; and the moist star

Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands

Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.            (1.1.111-119)

Is Horatio being dismissive of the ghost? A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye, just a speck of dust in the imagination, really? Or is he taking it very seriously, of course it’s a cause for concern, like that bit of grit you can’t get out of your eye, that is constantly clouding your vision. Or is even he offering a hearty kind of reassurance to these frightened soldiers: it’s only a minor ghost, a small apparition, nothing to worry about really! Look, in the most high and palmy state of Rome—I’ll tell you about some really scary portents, like how in ancient Rome, when it was at the height of its powers, a little ere the mightiest Julius fell—just before the assassination of Caesar: well, at that time the graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman street. The dead were walking the sheets in their shrouds, making terrible noises! (Squeak and gibber is great, creepier than howling, say, because more subtle, less distinct. Mutteringghosts.) At stars with trains of fire and dews of blood: there were fiery comets in the heavens, and it drizzled blood. There were portents of disasters in the sun, and the moist star—the moon, controlling the tides—upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. Reading all the movements of the stars and planets, the heavenly bodies, it looked like it was the end of the world, before Caesar was killed. It doesn’t look good for us, says Horatio, even if this ghost, as a portent, isn’t quite as dramatic as those in ancient Rome?