HAMLET: The air is biting cold. What hour is it?
HORATIO: A little before twelve, I think.
MARCELLUS: No, it’s already struck twelve.
HORATIO: Indeed? Then the time when the spirit walks is drawing near.
HORATIO: What’s that racket for, sir?
HAMLET: Tonight the king stays awake with drinking and dancing—
—as he drains down his German wine, the drums and trumpets blare in approval.