Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.
HORATIO My lord, my lord!
MARCELLUS Lord Hamlet!
HORATIO Heavens secure him!
HAMLET So be it.
MARCELLUS Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
HAMLET Hillo, ho, ho, boy, come and come!
MARCELLUS How is’t, my noble lord?
HORATIO What news, my lord?
HAMLET O, wonderful.
HORATIO Good my lord, tell it.
HAMLET No, you will reveal it.
HORATIO Not I, my lord, by heaven.
MARCELLUS Nor I, my lord. (1.5.113-119)
Noise, movement—but also a reminder that it’s still quite dark. Horatio and Marcellus burst onto the stage (I guess creeping up, whispering, is still a possibility? But an unlikely one) calling for Hamlet with anxiety and fear; they don’t know where he is, they’re scared of what they might find. My lord, my lord! (Horatio being formal and polite again.) Lord Hamlet, even more formal, adds Marcellus. Heavens secure him! God defend him, keep him safe! They might still be off-stage for this first part, or at least they haven’t seen Hamlet yet—although this prayer could be Horatio’s first response to glimpsing his friend, evidently distracted, changed—and alone. So be it, Hamlet says, and it’s not clear whether he’s heard Horatio and is adding his own amen, yes, God defend me, or whether he’s affirming his resolution to remember, and to act.
But in fact it seems they haven’t seen Hamlet yet because they start calling louder, with hunting cries or the calls that a falconer would use for his bird, summoning it back. They are hallooing, illo, ho ho, changing the soundscape, bringing movement, life—day. And Hamlet shifts too, responding in kind, as if in a game, yes, you’ve found me! Hillo, ho, ho, boy, come and come! Here I am! Catch me if you can!
So they see him, and it’s a careful approach. How is’t my noble lord? How are you, what’s going on? What news, my lord?Both Marcellus and Horatio are wary as well as relieved: they’ve been running around in the dark, scared out of their wits, and last time they saw Hamlet he was going off in company with his father’s ghost, possibly over the edge of a cliff. What’s happened to him in the interim? O, wonderful, is his not at all reassuring response. It’s—amazing. Astonishing. Good my lord, tell it. Are you able to explain? expand on ‘wonderful’ even a bit? No, you will reveal it. Can’t, you’ll tell on me. Not I, my lord, by heaven. Absolutely not, of course I won’t, reassures Horatio. Nor I, my lord, adds Marcellus. Me neither.
A good way of keeping the suspense while changing its nature and its pace, jittery, paranoid: is Hamlet going to tell them? if so, what will he tell them, how much will he share? how long will he prevaricate? And can he trust anyone anyway?