Duet.—Air—“Truandaise.” Dun.
Well, Ma'am, here I am—
  And, to tell no lies of it,
We feel—dead beat—
  That's about the size of it. Lady M.
Then, Sire, to retire,
  Perhaps to rest were wise, if it
Should suit your royal highness' gracious pleasure! Dun.
Yes!
  The night is—wettish—
    And likely to be riotous,
  Yet we—must be—
    Up early; so, to quiet us,
  Kind friend, pray send
    Some gruel, or such diet as
A treacle posset, or of arrowroot a mess! (they dance to the air, a Pas de Fascination)

Dun.
Good night, good hostess—think on what we've said. Exit R.

Lady M.
You'll get your gruel—when you've gone to bed! Exit L. A Servant, with a tray, on which are oysters and porter, passes over L. to R. Enter Macbeth—he suddenly sees the Servant, brings him down the stage, drinks, swallows an oyster, and motions him off—Servant exits L.H.

Macb.
If done at all, the sooner such a thing
Is done, the better.—But to kill a king
In this off-hand way's rather a rum go,
Or, as the French say, hardly “comme il faut.”

First, I'm his kinsman, in a sort of way;
(How many times removed, I cannot say;)
Then, for a host, you know, to slay his lodger
Ain't quite the thing—and such a rare old codger
Is Duncan, on his breath to put a stopper,
I fear me, won't be looked upon as proper.
The subject's rather difficult to handle.

Duncan is heard to bawl without—
I'll thank you to bring up my chamber candle;
From Glamis' Thane you can a night-cap borrow;
And call me, please, at seven o'clock to-morrow.
I'll leave my boots outside. (Noise of boots dropping)

Macb.
Alas! poor feller!

Dun. (without)
Dry at the kitchen fire my umbereller.

Macb.
This misplaced confidence—too soon he'll rue it! Enter Lady Macbeth, L.

Lady M.
The old boy's a-bed, and now's your time to do it!

Macb.
I'm out of sorts—I feel a kind of dizziness,
And won't proceed no further in this business.

Lady M.
What! give it up?

Macb.
To tell the truth, I'm loath
To stop the old man's wizen.

Lady M.
But your oath?
You're bold enough when there's no danger nigh—
When once it comes, then you're for “fighting shy.”

Macb.
I dare do all that may a man become.

Dady M.
To an oath once made you should stick fast—by Gum!
If t's not from cowardice you keep aloof,
Strike off the prince, and let me have a proof!

Song—Lady Macbeth.—Air—“Jeanette and Jeannot.”
You ain't going for to slay, for to slay the old King yet—
But I recommend you do it now, for fear you should forget;
For I see with half an eye, you haven't half a mind to go;—
Can you look me, Sammy, in the face, and say it is not so?

When you near the turn-up bedstead whereupon the old cock's laid,
I fear you'll quite forget the valiant promise you have made;
With your hand upon his shoulder, and your dagger in his side,
You'll be taking some rum fancies, and yet leave the job untried.
You'll be taking, &c.

Macb.
Suppose the King disposed of—yet, my dear,
It seems my next course isn't over clear,—
Malcolm, my cousin, nine times removed, or so!
I'm in a fix—I fear it is no go!

Lady M.
Nine times removed already! Then it's plain
It can't hurt him to remove him once again!
Macbeth, pluck up a little courage—do man!

Macb.
Who would believe you were a female woman?
We shall be sorry for it!

Lady M.
For a warrior,
I may say that I never saw a sorrier!
Can you have sought in battle, undismayed,
So often the affray, to be afraid?

Macb.
Egad! I'll do it!

Lady M,
Why do you turn so pale?

Macb.
An awkward thought's just struck me—should we fail?

Lady M.
Fail? Stuff and nonsense! Fail? Your courage screw
But to the sticking-place, and we shall do.
Come—“if you die a pantile, be a brick!”

Macb.
The sticking-place is the place where I stick

Lady M.
Duncan's attendants are so full of beer,
They'll be quite muddled, that is very clear;
When they're asleep, bedaub their faces o'er—

Macb.
With blood? I understand. Oh my! oh lor!
Is this a clasp-knife, such as ploughboys use
For cutting bread and cheese?—You'll me excuse,
Perhaps you're but a clasp-knife of the brain! (snatches at it)
Egad! I missed it. There it is again.
And on 'ts blade gouts of—No—the maker's name,

Which was not there before! It's all a sham! (Clock strikes two) (starts)
Bless me! what's that? It gave me such a shock!

Lady M.
It's plain to me you don't know what's o'clock;
It's just struck two.

Macb.
How fast the time has run!
My hand is only on the stroke of one!

SONG—Lady Macbeth. Air—“Lucy Neal.”
Softly slip your shoes off,
  Soft to the chamber steal: Exit Macbeth, R.H.
When Duncan finds you by his side.
  How happy he will feel!
But soft!—he is about it!—
  I thought I heard a squeal:
Now Duncan has it in his side,
  How happy he must feel! Re-enter Macbeth, with daggers—his face white, his hands red.

Lady M.
Is 't done, my husband? What's the matter now?

Macb.
I've done the deed!—didn't you hear the row?
I stumbled (where I hadn't seen them standing)
Over the old boy's bluchers, on the landing.
You heard it?

Lady M.
No one else did.

Macb.
That's all right.
But just look here—this is a sorry sight. (Looking at his hands)

Lady M.
Pshaw! stuff!

Macb.
One sung out in his sleep—how soon,
I fear, he'll sing to quite another tune!
They were both beery,—one declared outright
He'd no intention to go home that night,
And, as in hideous mockery of the scene,
Added, in hiccups, it was “all serene!”
The other, in no high state of sobriety,
Heedless of manners, sung out, “Tulla-li-ety!”
I couldn't echo it—“What was amiss?”

Lady M.
Oh! nonsense now—you mustn' think of this.

Macb.
How much more need of joyousness had I, yet he
Sung, and I couldn't echo, “Tulla-li-ety!”

Lady M.
Why did you bring those daggers from their places?
Go, take them back, and smear the sleepers' faces
With blood.

Macb. (doggedly)
No: come, you know, I've done one murder;
That's quite enough, and I sha'n't go no furder.

Lady M.
Don't leave the job unfinished, come now, don't;
Go.

Macb.
If I do, I'm—Never mind, I won't!

Lady M.
Be mine the task, since you the courage lack.
Give me the daggers. I shall soon be back! Exit R.

Macb. (solus)
Were all the waters of the Serpentine
With those of the New River to combine—
Were e'en the potent Thames to lend its aid,
And Regent Park's canal—I am afraid,
Failing to wash from off my hands this gore,
They'd make red what mud-coloured was before Re-enter Lady Macbeth—her hands red.

Lady M.
My hands are like yours—p'r'aps a little redder. (Loud Knocking)
I thought I heard a knock;—we'd best to bed.

Macb.
Ah!
And not to lose the public's good opinion—

Lady M.
We'll red our eyebrows with a Spanish inion. (Knocking repeated)

DUET.—Air—“Who's dat knocking at de dor?” Macb,
Who's that knocking at the door? (Knock) Lady M.
Who's that knocking at the door? (Knock) Macb.
  I don't care a pin,
  He sha'n't come in. Lady M.
  Our hands are not clean,
  So he can't come in!

Both.
Whoever is a-knocking at the door, at the door?
  Whoever is a-knocking at the door? (Loud Knocking)

Macb.
There's certainly a knock—let's in to rest;
All's safe—a host won't be a murderer guessed. Exeunt L. Knocking.—A Porter passes across the stage, L. to C., rubbing his eyes, and yawning, as just awake. Enter Macduff, the Porter following, from C.D.

Macd.
I hope you've kept me long enough, before
You condescended to unbar the door.
What ails the porter, that he can't appear!

Port.
It's not the porter's fault—it was the beer;
I drank too freely; besides, I am so stout,
It takes me some time, Sir, to get about.

Macd,
I have to call the King—fetch me a light,—
His room?

Port.
Upstairs, the first door on your right. Exit Macduff, R.
And now to sleep again—we've work to-morrow,
Should the King stay. (going) Macduff rushes on R.

Macd.
Oh! horror! horror! horror
A hideous sight—tongue cannot name nor tell!
Alarm the house, and ring the upstairs bell! Porter goes to back, and rings vigorously) Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Banquo, Malcolm, Donalbain, Rosse, Lenox, and Attendants, on all sides, in great confusion, with night dresses and nightcaps on, and with lighted chamber candles in their hands—they surround Macduff, and sing

Chorus—‘Out, John.” (First Part.)
How, Sir—how, Sir!
What's the matter now, Sir?
For goodness' sake, speak out at once,
And tell us what's the row, Sir!

Macd.
Oh, Sirs—oh, Sirs!
Here's a heavy blow, Sirs,
Has fallen on our country and
The Princes! Here's a go, Sirs! The rest.
Well, Sir—well, Sir!
Is anybody ill, Sir?
Why do you bring us all down stairs
In this here dishabille, Sirs? Macd.
He's dead, Sirs—dead, Sirs!
Horrid to be said, Sirs,
While we were fast asleep, the King
Was murdered in his bed, Sirs! (general consternation) Chorus.
Oh, Sirs—oh, Sirs!
Here's a heavy blow, Sirs,
Has fallen on our sountry and
The Princes! Here's a go, Sirs!

Macb.
What! Royal Duncan murdered? You don't mean it!

Macd.
I'd not believe it, if I hadn't seen it. Macbeth draws, and exit R. (to Malcolm)
Oh, Princes, you have lost your Royal Dad

Lady M.
And in our house, too! Oh, this is too bad (faints into Banquo's arms)

Malc.
Our bark of happiness no longer floats! Re-enter Macbeth, with drawn sword, R.

Macb.
Well, never mind—I've cut the villains' throats!
I almost do repent me of my fury,
And know the case was matter for a jury.

Macd.
You didn't kill them?

Macb.
Though my rage be chid.
I've a persuasion that I rather did.
But if you doubt about the rogues infernal,
Their last account read in that chamber's journal! (pointing off R.)
I can restrain myself when any one can;
But here at full length lay the Royal Duncan,
Dead as a herring, door-nail, or a hammer!

Malc.
D'ye mean to stuff us?

Macb.
Sir, I scorn a crammer!
There lay the grooms, where sleep and crime had linked them.
Crimsoned with blood, even before I'd pinked them!

Chorus—“Robert le Diable.” Chorus.
Our grief and sorrow within compass,
  We can't keep—our tears must flow.
Oh, crikey! won't there be a rumpus,
  When poor Duncan's fate they know. They dance the accompaniment—Macbeth and Lady Macbeth exchange glances and signs with each other. Chorus.
Who could have had a heart so cruel?— Macb.
Ah! who could? I should like to know— Chorus.
As to give the King his gruel?
  Who could strike the coward blow. Dance. Chorus repeated.
Our grief and sorrow, &c. Dance as before; at the conclusion of which, Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Banquo, and Macduff fall into the attitudes in the “Pas de Quatre”—Lady Macbeth, C., crosses her arms over her breast; the other Characters form a Tableau. END OF ACT THE FIRST.

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