Ban.
How goes the night, boy?* ^note

Fle.
The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

Ban.
And she goes down at twelve.

Fle.
I tak't 'tis later, sir.

Ban.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep. Merciful pow'rs!
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose. Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a light.
Who's there?

Macb.
A friend.

Ban.
What, sir, not yet at rest? the king's a-bed.
He hath to night been in unusal pleasure,
And sent great largess to your officers;
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up
In measureless content.

Macb.
Being unprepar'd,
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.

Ban.
All's well.
I dreamt, last night, of the three weyward sisters:
To you they've shew'd some truth.

Macb.
I think not of them;
Yet when we can intreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in some words upon that business;
If you would grant the time.

Ban.
At your kind leisure.

Macb.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you.

Ban.
So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but still keep

My bosom franchis'd and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell'd.

Macb.
Good repose, the while!

Ban.
Thanks, Sir, the like to you. [Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.

Macb.* ^note
Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit. Serv.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still;
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable,
As this which now I draw—
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use—
Mine eyes are made the fools o'th' other senses,
Or else worth all the rest—I see thee, still;
And on the blade o'th' dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.—There's no such thing.—
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes—Now o'er one half the world,
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings: and wither'd murder,
(Alarmed, by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design
Moves like a ghost.—Thou sound and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it— [A bell rings. ^note

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
That summons thee to heav'n, or to hell. [Exit. Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady.
That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold;
What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire. Hark! peace!
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bell-man,
Which gives the stern'st good night—he is about it—
The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores. I've drugg'd their possets,
That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
Who's there? what, ho?—* ^note

Lady.
Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd;
And 'tis not done; th' attempt and not the deed,
Confounds us—hark!—I laid their daggers ready,
He could not miss 'em—Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had don't—My husband!

Macb.
I've done the deed—didst thou not hear a noise?

Lady.
I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.
Did you not speak?

Macb.
When?

Lady.
Now.

Macb.
As I descended?

Lady.
Ay.

Macb.
Hark!—who lies i' th' second chamber?

Lady.
Donalbain.

Macb.
This is a sorry sight. [Looks on his hands.

Lady.
A foolish thought, to say, a sorry sight.

Macb.
There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cry'd murder!
They wak'd each other; and I stood and heard them;
But they did say their prayers, and addrest them
Again to sleep.

Lady.
There are two lodg'd together.

Macb.
One cry'd, Heav'n bless us! and Amen, the other;
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands,
List'ning their fear. I could not say Amen,
When they did say, Heav'n bless us.

Lady.
Consider it not so deeply.

Macb.
But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen?
I had most need of blessing, and Amen
Stuck in my throat.

Lady.
These deeds must not be thought,
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

Macb.
Methought, I heard a voice cry, sleep no more!
Macbeth doth murder sleep; the innocent sleep;
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.—

Lady.
What do you mean?

Macb.
Still it cry'd, sleep no more, to all the house;
Glamis has murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!

Lady.
Who was it, that thus cry'd? why, worthy Thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brain-sickly of things. Go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there. Go, carry them, and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb.
I'll go no more;
I'm afraid to think what I have done;
Look on't again, I dare not.

Lady.
Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers; the sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood,
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocks within.

Macb.
Whence is that knocking? [Starting.
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
What hands are here? hah! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood,
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous sea incarnadine,
Making the green one red—† ^note Enter Lady.

Lady.
My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white; I hear a knocking, [Knock.
At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed.
How easy is it then; your constancy
Hath left you unattended...hark, more knocking! [Knock
Get on your night gown, lest occasion call us,
And shew us to be watchers; be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb.
To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. [Knock.
Wake, Duncan, with this knocking: would thou could'st! [Exeunt. [A loud knocking. A Servant crosses the stage, and opens the door. Enter Macduff and Lenox.* ^note

Macd.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so long?

Serv.
Faith, sir, we were carousing, till the second cock. Len.
The might has been unruly; where we lay
Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i' th' air, strange screams of death,
And prophesying with accents terrible
Of dire cumbustion, and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to th' woful times!
The obscure bird clamour'd the live long night;
Some say the earth did quake.

Macd.
Is thy master stirring?
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. Enter Macbeth.* ^note

Len.
Good-morrow, noble sir.

Macb.
Good-morrow both.

Macd.
Is the king stirring, worthy Thane?

Macb.
Not yet.

Macd.
He did command me to call timely on him;
I've almost slipt the hour.

Macb.
I'll bring you to him.

Macd.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet 'tis one.

Macb.
The labour we delight in physicks pain:
This is the door.

Macd.
I'll make so bold to call, for 'tis my limited service. [Exit Macduff.

Len.
Goes the king hence, to-day?

Macb.
He did appoint so.
'Twas a rough night.

Len.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it. Enter Macduff.

Macd.
O horror! horror! horror!
Nor tongue nor heart cannot conceive, nor name thee.

Macb. and Len.
What's the matter?

Macd.
Confusion now hath made his master-piece,
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o'th' building.

Macb.
What is't you say? the life?

Len
Mean you his majesty?

Macd.
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon.—Do not bid me speak;
See, and then speak yourselves: awake! awake! [Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the alarum bell—murder! and treason!
Banquo and Donalbane! Malcolm! awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
And look on death itself—up, up, and see
The great doom's image—Malcolm! Banquo!
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights,
To countenance this horror.— Bell rings. Enter Banquo.
O Banquo, Banquo, our royal master's murder'd.

Banq.
I pry'thee, contradict thyself,
And say it is not so. Enter Macbeth, Lenox and Rosse.

Macb.
Had I but dy'd an hour before this chance,
I had lived a blessed time: for, from this instant,
There's nothing serious in mortality;
All is but toys; renown and grace is dead;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of. Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.* ^note

Mal.
What is amiss?

Macb.
You are, and do not know't:
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood,
Is stopt; the very source of it is stopt.

Macd.
Your royal father's murder'd.

Mal.
Oh, by whom?

Len.
Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had don't;

Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood,
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found
Upon their pillows; they stared and were distracted;
No man's life was to be trusted with them.

Macb.
O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.—

Macd.
Wherefore did you so?

Macb.
Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
The expedition of my violent love,
Out-ran the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan;
His silver skin laced with his golden blood,
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
For ruin's wasteful entrance; there, the murderers,
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain,
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make love known?* ^note

Mal.
Why do we hold our tongues,
That most may claim this argument for ours?

Don.
What should be spoken here,
Where our fate, hid within an augre hole,
May rush and seize us? Let's away, our tears
Are not yet brew'd.

Mal.
Nor our strong sorrow on
The foot of motion.

Ban.
Let us meet,
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of Heav'n I stand, and thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treas'nous malice.

Macb.
So do I.

All.
So, all.

Macb.
Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i'th' hall together.

All.
Well contented. [Exeunt.

Mal.
What will you do? let's not consort with them:
To shew an unfelt sorrow, is an office
Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.

Don.
To Ireland, I; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer; where we are,
There's daggers in men's smiles; the near in blood,
The nearer bloody.

Mal.
This murderous shaft that's shot,
Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;
And let us not be dainty to leave-taking,
But shift away; there's warrant in that theft,
Which steals itself when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt. Scene The SCENE changes to a Wood. Thunder and Lightning. Enter several Witches and sing.

1 Witch.
Speak, sister,—is the deed done?

2 Witch.
Long ago, long ago;
Above twelve glasses since have run.

3 Witch.
Ill deeds are seldom slow,
Or single, but following crimes on former wait.

4 Witch.
The worst of creatures safest propagate.
Many more murders must this one ensue;
  Dread horrors still abound,
  And ev'ry place surround,
  As if in death were found
    Propagation too.

2 Witch.
He must!

3 Witch.
He shall!

4 Witch.
He will spill much more blood,
And become worse, to make his title good.

Chor.
He will, he will spill much more blood,
And become worse, to make his title good.

1 Witch.
Now let's dance.

2 Witch.
Agreed.

3 Witch.
Agreed.

4 Witch.
Agreed.

All.
Agreed.

Chor.
We should rejoice when good kings bleed.

When cattle die about, about we go;
When lightening and dread thunder
Rend stubborn rocks in sunder,
And fill the world with wonder,
What should we do?

Chor.
Rejoice—we should rejoice.
When winds and waves are warring,
Earthquakes the mountains tearing,
And monarchs die despairing,
What should we do?—

Chor.
Rejoice—we should rejoice.

I.

1 Witch.
Let's have a dance upon the heath,
We gain more life by Duncan's death.

2 Witch.
Sometimes like branded cats we shew,
Having no music but our mew,
To which we dance in some old mill,
Upon the hopper, stone, or wheel;
To some old saw, or bardish rhime,

Chor.
Where still the mill-clack does keep time.

II.
Sometimes about a hollow tree,
Around, around, around dance we;
Thither the chirping crickets come,
And beetles sing in drowsy hum;
Sometimes we dance o'er fernes or furze,
To howls of wolves, or barks of curs:
Or if with none of these we meet,

Chor.
We dance to th' echoes of our feet,

Chor.
At the night raven's dismal voice,
When others tremble we rejoice,
And nimbly, nimbly dance we still,
To th' echoes from a hollow hill. [Exeunt. ^note End of the Second Act.

Previous section

Next section