Inverness.
Enter Lady Macbeth alone, with a letter.
Lady.
They met me in the day of success; and I
have learn'd by the perfectest report, they
have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I
burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselves
air, into which they vanish'd. While I stood
rapt in the wonder of it, came Missives from the King,
who all-hail'd me Thane of Cawdor; by which title, before,
these weïrd sisters saluted me, and referr'd me
to the comeing on of time, with hail, King that shalt be!
This have I thought good to deliver thee (my dearest
Partner of Greatness) that thou might'st not lose the dues
of rejoycing, by being ignorant of what Greatness is promis'd
thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewel.
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor—and shalt be
What thou art promis'd. Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o'th' milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;
Art not without ambition; but without
The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'dst have, great Glamis,
That which cries, “thus thou must do, if thou have it;
“And That which rather thou dost fear to do,
“Than wishest should be undone.” Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden Round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.
-- 402 --
Enter Messenger.
What is your tidings?
Mes.
The King comes here to night.
Lady.
Thou'rt mad to say it.
Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so,
Would have inform'd for preparation.
Mes.
So please you, it is true: our Thane is coming.
One of my fellows had the speed of him;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.
Lady.
Give him tending;
He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse,
[Exit Mes.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, all you Spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to th' toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood,
Stop up th'access and passage to Remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th' effect, and it. Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murth'ring ministers!
Where-ever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief.—Come, thick night!
And pall thee in the dunnest smoak of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, hold, hold!—
Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!
[Embracing him.
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ign'rant present time, and I feel now
The future in the instant.
Macb.
Dearest love,
Duncan comes here to night.
Lady.
And when goes hence?
-- 403 --
Macb.
To morrow, as he purposes.
Lady.
Oh, never
Shall Sun that morrow see!—
Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men(12) note
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under't. He, that's coming,
Must be provided for; and you shall put
This night's great business into my dispatch,
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
Macb.
We will speak further.
Lady.
Only look up clear:
To alter favour, ever, is to fear.
Leave all the rest to me.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
