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Mess. So please you, it is true: our thane is | Where they most breed and haunt, I have coming;

One of my fellows had the speed of him,
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely


Than would make up his message. Lady M.

He brings great news.


Give him tending: Exit Messenger. The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts! unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top full Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature. Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,

Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,


And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry Hold, hold!'

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And when goes hence? Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. Lady M.

Shall sun that morrow see.

O! never


Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent

But be the serpent under 't. He that's coming
Must be provided for; and you shall put
This night's great business into my dispatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 70
Macb. We will speak further.
Lady M.

Only look up clear;

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SCENE VI.-The Same. Before the Castle. Hautboys and torches. COLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants. Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Ban.

This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his lov'd mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:

observ'd The air is delicate.


Enter Lady MACBETH,


See, see, our honour'd hostess ! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains. And thank us for your trouble. Lady M. All our service, In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business, to contend Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits.


Dun. Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor; but he rides well,
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp

To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
We are your guest to-night.
Lady M.

Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,

To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own.

Dun. Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess.



SCENE VII.-The Same. A Room in the Castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter MACBETH.

Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly; if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'd jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor; this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'dchalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust: 12
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his

Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been


So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels trumpet-tongued against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other-

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Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
Have done to this.
Lady M.

If we should fail,—

We fail. But screw your courage to the sticking-place, 60 And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only; when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 70 His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?

Macb. Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy


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I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 20
To you they have show'd some truth.
I think not of them:
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
We would spend it in some words upon that

If you would grant the time.
At your kind'st leisure.
Mach. If you shall cleave to my consent,
when 'tis,

It shall make honour for you.


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.

Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE. 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

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Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat he
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.

SCENE II. - The Same.

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Enter Lady MACBETH.


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Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep,
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? 40 Macb. Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house :

Exit. Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore

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.

about it:

He is

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.

Mach. 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 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept I had done 't. My husband! Enter MACBETH.

Mach. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?


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.

I'll go no more: 50
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on 't again I dare not.
Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead
Lady M.
Infirm of purpose!
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.
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 Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will crickets cry.

Did not you speak?

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The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

Re-enter Lady MACBETH.


Lady M. My hands are of your colour, but I

To wear a heart so white. Knocking within
I hear a knocking
At the south entry; retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed;
How easy is it then! Your constancy
Hath left you unattended. Knocking within.
Hark! more knocking.

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SCENE III.-The Same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter. Porter. Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate he should have old turning the key. Knocking within. 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 within. Knock, knock! Who's there, i' 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 within. 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 within. Knock, knock! never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devilporter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within. Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate.

Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX. 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 o' 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?


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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

Clamour'd the livelong night: some say the earth
Was feverous and did shake.
'Twas a rough night.
Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.

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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 yourselves.

Awake! awake!
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 bell.
Bell rings.

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Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.
Len. Good morrow, noble sir.
Good morrow, both. so
Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
Not yet.

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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.

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
Outrun 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



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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

The nearer bloody.



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 itself when there's no mercy left. Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Without the Castle.
Enter Ross and an old Man.

Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well;

Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore
Hath trifled former knowings.

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 travelling lamp. 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 Man.

'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.


Ross. 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 mankind.

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| Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up

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