Banquo.
How goes the night, boy?

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

Ban.
And she goes down at twelve.

Fle.
I take't, 'tis later, Sir.

Ban.
Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heav'n,
Their candles are all out.—Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lyes 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 torch.
Give me my sword: who's there?

Mab.
A friend.

Ban.
What, Sir, not yet at rest? the King's a-bed.
He hath to-night been in unusual pleasure,
And sent great largess to your officers;
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By th' 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. [Exit Banquo. *SCENE II.

Macb.
Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant.
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 thy blade and dudgeon, † ^notegouts of blood
Which was not so before.—There's no such thing—
It is the bloody business which informs
This 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,
(Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing ^{a note}strides, tow'rds his design
Moves like a ghost—Thou ^{b note}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—Whilst I threat, he lives—* ^note


[A Bell rings.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. *SCENE III. Enter Lady.

Lady.
That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold:
What hath quencht them, hath giv'n 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?—

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 not thou hear a noise?

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

Macb.
When?

Lady.
Now.

Macb.
As I descended?

Lady.
Ay.

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

Lady.
Donalbaine.

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 murther,
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, God bless us, and Amen the other,
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listning their fear, I could not say Amen,
When they did say, God 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 murther sleep. The innocent Sleep,* ^note



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 hath murther'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 lye there. Go, carry them, and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb.
I'll go no more;
I am 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 child-hood,
That fears a painted devil. If he 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 appalls 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* ^note



Make the green ocean red— 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 easie 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 my self.
Wake Duncan with this knocking: would thou couldst! [Exe.* ^note

SCENE IV. Enter Macduff, Lenox and Porter.

Macd.
Is thy master stirring?
—Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.

Len.
Good morrow, noble Sir. Enter Macbeth.

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, † ^notephysicks 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.

Len.
The night 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 combustions, and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to th' woful time:
The obscure bird clamour'd the live-long night.
Some say the earth was fev'rous, and did shake.

Macb.
'Twas a rough night.

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

Macd.
O horror! horror! horror!
Or tongue or heart cannot conceive, nor name thee—

Macb. and Len.
What's the matter?

Macd.
Confusion now hath made his master-piece,
Most sacrilegious murther 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 your selves: awake! awake!— [Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.

Macd.
Ring the alarum-bell—murther! and treason!—
Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolme! awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
And look on death it self—up, up, and see
The great doom's image! Malcolme! Banquo!

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights,
To countenance this horror. Ring the bell— SCENE V. Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady.
What's the business
That such an hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak.

Macd.
Gentle lady,
'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak.
The repetition in a woman's ear
Would murther as it fell. Enter Banquo.
O Banquo, Banquo, our royal master's murther'd.

Lady.
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?—

Ban.
Too cruel, any where.
Macduff, I pr'ythee contradict thy self,
And say, it is not so. Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse.

Macb.
Had I but dy'd an hour before this chance,
I had liv'd 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 Malcolme, and Donalbaine.

Don.
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 star'd, 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-run the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his ^{c note}goary blood,
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
For ruin's wasteful entrance; there the murtherers,
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's love known?

Lady.
Help me hence, ho!— [Seeming to faint.

Macd.
Look to the lady.

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.
Look to the lady; [Lady Macbeth is carried out.
And when we have our naked frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure; 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 God 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 easie. I'll to England.

Don.
To Ireland, I; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer; where we are,
There's daggers in mens 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 of leave-taking,
But shift away; there's warrant in that theft,
Which steals it self when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Enter Rosse, with an old Man.

Old Man.
Threescore and ten I can remember well,
Within the volume of which time, I've seen

Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Rosse.
Ah, good father,
Thou seest the heav'ns, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten his bloody stage: by th' clock 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth intomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Old M.
'Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A faulcon towring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawkt at, and kill'd.

Rosse.
And Duncan's horses, a thing most strange and certain!
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would
Make war with man,

Old M.
'Tis said, they eat each other.

Rosse.
They did so; to th' amazement of mine eyes,
That look'd upon't. Enter Macduff.
Here comes the good Macduff.
How goes the world, Sir, now?

Macd.
Why, see you not?

Rosse.
Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?

Macd.
Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Rosse.
Alas the day!
What good could they pretend?

Macd.
They were suborn'd;
Malcolm, and Donalbain, the King's two sons,

Are stoln away and fled, which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

Rosse.
'Gainst nature still;
Thriftless ambition! that will raven upon
Thine own life's means. Then 'tis most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth?

Macd.
He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone,
To be invested.

Rosse.
Where is Duncan's body?

Macd.
Carried to Colmes-hill,
The sacred store-house of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.

Rosse.
Will you to Scone?

Macd.
No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

Rosse.
Well, I will thither.

Macd.
Well may you see, things well done there; adieu.
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new.

Rosse.
Farewel, Father.

Old M.
God's benison go with you, and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section