SCENE V.
An Apartment in Mackbeth's Castle.
Enter Lady Mackbeth alone with a Letter.
Lady.
They met me in the Day of Success; and I have learn'd
by the perfect'st 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. Whiles 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 wayward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd me to the coming
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 I do 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 thee hinders from the Golden Round,
Which Fate and Metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.
Enter Messenger.
What is your Tidings?
-- 3312 --
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 Messenger.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my Battlements. Come you Spirits,
That tend on mortal Thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the Crown to the Toe, top-full
Of direct Cruelty; make thick my Blood,
Stop up the 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 ignorant Present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.
Macb.
My dearest Love,
Duncan comes here to Night.
Lady.
And when goes hence?
Macb.
To Morrow, as he purposes.
Lady.
O never,
Shall Sun that Morrow see.
Your Face, my Thane, is as a Book, where Men
May read strange Matters to beguile the time.
-- 2312 --
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.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
