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Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
[A bell rings.
Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath
made me bold : 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, ho!
Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done:—the attempt, and not the deed, Confounds 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?
[cry. Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets Did not you speak? Macb.
As I descended? Lady M. Ay.
[Looking on his Hands. Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murder?
[them: That they did wake each other; I stood and heard 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.
* As if.
Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; [more! Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleave * of care, 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: 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, wor
thy 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. Macy.
go no more:
Infirm of purpose?
[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 incarnardinet, Making the green one red.
Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
* Sleave is unwrought silk.
To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking
Knock. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, would thou could'st!
MACBETH'S GUILTY CONSCIENCE, AND FEARS OF BANQUO. Lady M. How now, my lord; why do you keep
alone, Of sorriest* fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without remedy Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly: Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasyt. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife !
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne*.
Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocound: Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight; Ere to black Hecate's summons, The shard-borne beetlet, with his drowsy bums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M.
What's to be done! Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest
chuck 1, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, sealing $ night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond Which keeps me pale!-Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood : Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
THE BANQUET SCENE. Lady M.
My royal lord,
i. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives from nature, has its time of termination.
+ The beetle borne in the air by its shards or scaly wings. # A term of endearment.