HAMLET: How purposed, sir, I pray you?

SOLDIER: Against some part of Poland

HAMLET: Who commands them, sir?

SOLDIER: The nephew to old Norway! Fortinbras.

ROS: We'll be cold. The summer won't last.

GUIL: It's autumnal.

ROS (examining the ground) : No leaves.

GUIL: Autumnal-nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day… Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it… Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses… deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth-reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

ROS (head up, listening) : I got it again then.

They listen-faintest sound of TRAGEDIANS ' band.

HAMLET: I humbly thank you, sir.

SOLDIER: God by you, sir. (Exit.)

ROS gets up quickly and goes to HAMLET .

ROS: Will it please you go, my lord?

HAMLET: I'll be with you straight. Go you a little before.

HAMLET turns to face upstage. ROS returns down. GUIL faces front, doesn't turn.

GUIL: Is he there?

ROS: Yes.

GUIL: What's he doing?

ROS looks over his shoulder.

ROS: Talking.

GUIL: To himself?

ROS: Yes.

Pause. ROS makes to leave.

ROS: He said we can go. Cross my heart.

GUIL: I like to know where I am. Even if I don't know am, I like to know that. If we go there's no knowing.

ROS: No knowing what?

GUIL: If well ever come back.

ROS: We don't want to come back.

GUIL: That may very well be true, but do we want to go?

ROS: Well be free.

GUIL: I don't know. It's the same sky.

ROS: We've come this far.

He moves towards exit. GUILfollows him.

And besides, anything could happen yet.

They go.

BLACKOUT

ACT THREE

Opens in pitch darkness. Soft sea sounds.

After several seconds of nothing, a voice from the dark…

GUIL: Are you there?

ROS: Where?

GUIL (bitterly) : A flying start…

Pause.

ROS: Is that you?

GUIL: Yes.

ROS: How do you know?

GUIL (explosion) : Oh-for-Gods-sake!

ROS: We're not finished, then?

GUIL: Well, we're here, aren't we?

ROS: Are we? I can't see a thing.

GUIL: You can still think, can't you?

ROS: I think so.

GUIL: You can still talk.

ROS: What should I say?

GUIL: Don't bother. You can feel, can't you?

ROS: Ah! There's life in me yet!

GUIL: What are you feeling?

ROS: A leg. Yes, it feels like my leg.

GUIL: How does it feel?

ROS: Dead.

GUIL: Dead?

ROS (panic) : I can't feel a thing!

GUIL: Give it a pinch! (Immediately he yelps.)

ROS: Sorry.

GUIL: Well, that's cleared that up.

Longer pause.– the sound builds a little and identifies itself-the sea. Ship timbers, wind in the rigging, and then shouts of sailors calling obscure but inescapably nautical instructions from all directions, far and near. A short list. Hard a larboard! Let go the stays! Reef down me heartiest Is that you, coxn? Hel-Ilo! Is that you? Hard a port! Easy as she goes! Keep her steady on the lee! Haul away, lads! (Snatches of sea shanty maybe.) Fly the jib! Topail up, me maties! When the point has been well made and more so.

ROS: We're on a boat. (Pause.) Dark, isn't it?

GUIL: Not for night.

ROS: No, not for night.

GUIL: Dark for day.

Pause.

ROS: Oh yes, it's dark for day.

GUIL: We must have gone north, of course.

ROS: Off course?

GUIL: Land of the midnight sun, that is.

ROS: Of course.

Some sailor sounds. A lantern is lit upstage-in fact by HAMLET . The stage lightens disproportionately Enough to see: ROS and GUILsitting downstage. Vague shapes of rigging, etc., behind.

I think it's getting light.

GUIL: Not for night.

ROS: This far north.

GUIL: Unless we're off course.

ROS (small pause) : Of course. A better light-Lantern? Moon?… Light. Revealing, among other things, three large man-sized cc on deck, upended, with lids. Spaced but in line. Behind an above-a gaudy striped umbrella, on a pole stuck into the deck, tilted so that we do not see behind it-one of those huge six-foot-diameter jobs. Still dim upstage. ROS and GUIL still facing front.

ROS: Yes, it's lighter than it was. It'll be night soon. This far north. (Dolefully.) I suppose we'll have to go to sleep. (He yawns and stretches.)

GUIL: Tired?

ROS: No… I don't think I'd take to it. Sleep all night, can't see a thing all day… Those eskimos must have a quiet life.

GUIL: Where?

ROS: What?

GUIL: I thought you– (Relapses.) I've lost all capacity for disbelief. I'm not sure that I could even rise to a little gentle scepticism.

Pause.

ROS: Well, shall we stretch our legs?

GUIL: I don't feel like stretching my legs.

ROS: I'll stretch them for you, if you like.

GUIL: No.

ROS: We could stretch each other That way we wouldn't have to go anywhere.

GUIL (pause) : No, somebody might come in.

ROS: In where?

GUIL: Out here.

ROS: In out here?

GUIL: On deck.

ROS considers the floor slaps it.

ROS: Nice bit of planking, that.

GUIL: Yes, I'm very fond of boats myself. I like the way they're –contained. You don't have to worry about which way to go, or whether to go at all-the question doesn't arise, because you're on a boat, aren't you? Boats are safe areas in the game of tag… the players will hold their positions until the music starts… I think I'll spend most on boats.

ROS: Very healthy.

ROS inhales with expectation, exhales with boredom stands up and looks over the audience.

GUIL: One is free on a boat. For a time. Relatively.

ROS: What it like?

GUIL: Rough.

ROS joins him. They look out over the audience.

ROS: I think I'm going to be sick.

GUIL licks a finger, holds it up experimentally.

GUIL: Other side, I think.

ROS goes upstage: Ideally a sort of upper deck joined to the downstage lower deck by short steps. The umbrella being on the upper deck. ROS pauses by the umbrella an behind it. GUILmeanwhile has been resuming his –looking out over the audience Free to move, speak, extemporise, and yet.

We have cut loose. Our truancy is defined by one fixed our drift represents merely a slight change of angle to it: we may seize the moment, toss it around while I pass, a short dash here, an exploration there, but we are brought round full circle to face again the single fact-that we, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern bearing a letter from one king to another, are taking Hamlet.

By which time, ROS has returned, tiptoeing with teeth clenched for secrecy, gets to GUIL , points surreptitiously behind him-and a tight whisper.

ROS: I say-he's there!

GUIL (unsurprised) : What's he doing?

ROS: Sleeping.

GUIL: Its all right for him.

ROS: What is?

GUIL: He can sleep.

ROS: It's all right for him.

GUIL: He's got us now.

ROS: He can sleep.

GUIL: It's all done for him.

ROS: He's got us.

GUIL: And weve got nothing. (A cry.) All I ask is our common due!

ROS: For those in peril on the sea…

GUIL: Give us this day our daily cue.

Beat, pause.

Sit.

Long pause.

ROS (after shifting, looking around) : What now?