Fleance, with a torch before him1 note.
Ban.
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 heaven2 note;
-- 120 --
Their candles are all out.—Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers!
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose!—Give me my sword.—
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.
Who's there?
Macb.
A friend.
Ban.
What, sir! not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices3 note.
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the 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 weird sisters:
To you they have show'd some truth.
Macb.
I think not of them:
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
We would spend it in some words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.
Ban.
At your kind'st leisure.
Macb.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you4 note
.
Ban.
So I lose none
-- 121 --
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.
[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance5 note.
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 toward 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 marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.—
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood6 note,
Which was not so before.—There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes.—Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
-- 122 --
The curtain'd sleep 11Q0991: witchcraft celebrates7 note
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 strides8 note, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth9 note,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk1 note, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
[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.
-- 123 --
SCENE II.
The Same.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M.
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold: 11Q0992
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.—Hark!—Peace!
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,
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 have drugg'd their possets,
That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live, or die.
Macb. [Within.]
Who's there?—what, ho2 note!
Lady M.
Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd,
And 'tis not done:—the attempt, and not the deed,
Confound us.—Hark!—I laid their daggers ready,
He could not miss them.—Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't.—My husband?
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
I have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise?
Lady M.
I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
Macb.
When?
Lady M.
Now.
Macb.
As I descended?
-- 124 --
Lady M.
Ay.
Macb.
Hark!
Who lies i' the second chamber?
Lady M.
Donalbain.
Macb.
This is a sorry sight.
[Looking on his hands.
Lady M.
A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.
Macb.
There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried, “murder!”
That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them;
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them
Again to sleep.
Lady M.
There are two lodg'd together.
Macb.
One cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other,
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say amen,
When they did say God bless us.
Lady M.
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 M.
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 does murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep;
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care3 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 M.
What do you mean?
Macb.
Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house:
-- 125 --
“Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!”
Lady M.
Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly 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 lie 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 M.
Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers. The sleeping, and the dead,
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood,
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.
[Exit.—Knocking within.
Macb.
Whence is that knocking?—
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnardine,
Making the green one, red4 note.
Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M.
My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking
At the south entry:—retire we to our chamber.
-- 126 --
A little water clears us of this deed:
How easy is it, then? Your constancy
Hath left you unattended.—[Knock.] Hark! more knocking.
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers.—Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.
Macb.
To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.
[Knock.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou couldst!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The Same.
Enter a Porter.
[Knocking within.
Porter.
Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were
porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the
key5 note. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there,
i' the name of Beelzebub?—Here's a farmer, that
hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in
time; have napkins enough about you; here you'll
sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock. Who's there,
in the other devil's name?—'Faith, here'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 heaven: O! come in, equivocator.
[Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock. Who's
there?—'Faith, here's an English tailor come hither
for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor;
here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock,
knock. Never at quiet! What are you?—But this
-- 127 --
place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no farther:
I had thought to have let in some of all professions,
that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. 11Q0993
[Knocking.] Anon, anon: I pray you, remember the
porter.
[Opens the gate.
Enter Macduff and 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; and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three
things.
Macd.
What three things does 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 persuades him, and
disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand
to: in conclusion, equivocates him in 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' the very throat on me: but
I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too
strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime,
yet I made a shift to cast him.
Macd.
Is thy master stirring?—
Enter Macbeth.
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.
Len.
Good-morrow, noble sir!
Macb.
Good-morrow, both!
Macd.
Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
Macb.
Not yet.
-- 128 --
Macd.
He did command me to call timely on him:
I have almost slipp'd 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 physics 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 does:—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' the air; strange screams of death,
And prophesying with accents terrible
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
Macb.
'Twas a rough night.
Len.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
Re-enter Macduff.
Macd.
O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor heart,
Cannot conceive, nor name thee!
Macb. Len.
What's the matter?
Macd.
Confusion now hath made his master-piece.
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the 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:
-- 129 --
See, and then speak yourselves.—Awake! awake!—
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the alarum-bell.—Murder, 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 sprites
To countenance this horror! Ring the bell6 note.
[Bell rings.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M.
What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!
Macd.
O, gentle lady!
'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
The repetition, in a woman's ear,
Enter Banquo.
Would murder as it fell.—O Banquo! Banquo!
Our royal master's murder'd!
Lady M.
Woe, alas!
What! in our house?
Ban.
Too cruel, anywhere.
Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,
And say, it is not so.
Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox7 note.
Macb.
Had I but died an hour before this chance,
-- 130 --
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 Malcolm and Donalbain.
Don.
What is amiss?
Macb.
You are, and do not know't:
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.
Macd.
Your royal father's murder'd.
Mal.
O! by whom?
Len.
Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done'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, temperate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
Out-ran the pauser reason.—Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,
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?
-- 131 --
Lady M.
Help me hence, ho!
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 in an auger-hole,
May rush, and seize us? Let's away: our tears
Are not yet brew'd.
Mal.
Nor our strong sorrow
Upon 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 farther. Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight8 note
Of treasonous malice.
Macd.
And so do I.
All.
So all.
Macb.
Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i' the hall together.
All.
Well contented.
[Exeunt all but Mal. and Don.
Mal.
What will you do? Let's not consort with them:
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.
Don.
To Ireland, I: our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer; where we are,
There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood,
The nearer bloody.
Mal.
This murderous shaft that's shot
-- 132 --
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 itself, when there's no mercy left.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Without the Castle.
Enter Rosse and an Old Man.
Old M.
Threescore and ten I can remember well;
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful, and things strange, but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.
Rosse.
Ah! good father,
Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travailing lamp9 note
.
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it?
Old M.
'Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd.
Rosse.
And Duncan's horses (a thing most strange and certain),
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
-- 133 --
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would
Make war with mankind.
Old M.
'Tis said, they ate each other.
Rosse.
They did so; to th' amazement of mine eyes,
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.—
Enter 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 stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.
Rosse.
'Gainst nature still:
Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up1 note
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 Colme-kill;
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—
-- 134 --
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!
Rosse.
Farewell, father.
Old M.
God's benison go with you; and with those,
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
