MARCELLUS   Good now, sit down, and tell me he that knows

Why this same strict and most observant watch

So nightly toils the subject of the land,

And with such daily cost of brazen cannon

And foreign mart for implements of war,

Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task

Does not divide the Sunday from the week.

What might be toward that this sweaty haste

Doth make the night joint labourer with the day?

Who is’t that can inform me?           (1.1.69-78)

Marcellus has had enough: he’s cold, he’s tired, he’s frightened and frustrated, and he wants some answers and, now that Horatio’s on their side (whatever that means) he thinks that he might be able to provide some. Good now, sit down, and tell me he that knows—please, can you, can anyone shed any light on what the hell’s been going on? Why is it that this same strict and most observant watch—such vigilance, such surveillance, not least by us, compelled to be out here on guard duty, patrols upped, every precaution being taken—so nightly toils the subject of the land? Why is everyone so jumpy, so paranoid, what are we waiting for? And that’s just the start: why is it that with such daily cost of brazen cannon and foreign mart for implements of war: why the arms race, the munitions factories working overtime, arms deals being done all over the place (sometimes with dodgy characters on the global arms scene) weapons of all kinds being imported. Brazen is good, the glow of brass, but also a sense of brashness, harshness, and NOISE—this is hurried, desperate, impatient, this frantic stockpiling of arms. What’s going ON?, asks Marcellus, what aren’t They telling us? And why such impress of shipwrights—men are being conscripted to build ships, let alone to crew them—and their sore task, their backbreaking labour does not divide the Sunday from the week. They’re not even getting a day of rest, they’re at it 24/7. (Constant noise of hammering, sawing, shouting.) What’s being planned, what are we facing? Everyone’s working round the clock, under urgency, in shifts, non-stop. What might be toward that this sweaty haste doth make the night joint labourer with the day? Who is’t that can inform me? Can anyone tell me what’s going on?! Is there about to be an invasion? A war?