Port.
Here's a knocking, indeed:
if a man were porter of hell-gate, he should
have old turning the key. [Knock] Knock, knock,
knock. Who's there, i'th' name of Belzebub? here's
a farmer, that hang'd himself on the expectation of
plenty: come in time, have napkins enough about
you, here you'll sweat for't. [Knock] Knock, knock.
Who's there i' th' other devil's name? faith, 1 notehere's
an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales
against either scale, who committed treason enough for
God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heav'n: oh,
come in, equivocator, [Knock] Knock, knock, knock.
Who's there? faith, 2 notehere's an English taylor come
hither for stealing out of a French hose: come in, taylor,
here you may roast your goose. [Knock] Knock,
knock. Never at quiet! what are you? but this place
is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I
had thought to have let in some of all professions, that
go the primrose way to th' everlasting bonfire. [Knock]
Anon, anon, I pray you, remember the porter.
Lenox.
Macd.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so late?
Port.
Faith, Sir, we were carousing 'till the second cock:
-- 364 --
And Drink, Sir, is a great provoker of three things.
Macd.
What three things doth Drink especially
provoke?
Port.
Marry, Sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
Lechery, Sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes
the desire, but it takes away the performance.
Therefore much Drink may be said to be an equivocator
with lechery; it makes him, and it mars him;
it sets him on, and it takes him off; it perswades him,
and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not
stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him into a sleep,
and, giving him the lie, leaves him.
Macd.
I believe, Drink gave thee the lie last night.
Port.
That it did, Sir, i'th' very throat o' me; but
I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too
strong for him, though he took my legs some time,
yet I made a shift to cast him.
Macd.
Is thy master stirring?
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.
Luc.
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, physicks pain;
This is the door.
Macd.
I'll make so bold to call, 3 notefor 'tis my limited service.
[Exit Macduff.
Len.
Goes the King hence to day?
-- 365 --
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,
4 note
And prophesying with accents terrible
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to th' woeful time:
-- 366 --
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!
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 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.
Ring the alarum-bell—murther! and treason!
Banquo, and Donalbain! 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.—
-- 367 --
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
