HORATIO, and MARCELLUS
The air bites shrewdly. It is very cold.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
I think it lacks of twelve.
5No, it is struck.
Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
A flourish of trumpets and two pieces of ordnance goes
What does this mean, my lord?
The king doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
10Keeps wassail and the swaggering upspring reels,
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
15Ay, marry, is ’t.
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honored in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
20Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations.