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Who's howl'd his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
[A bell rings.
Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath
made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire:
Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd,
cry. Did not you speak? Macb.
When? Lady M.
As I descended? Lady M. Ay.
(Looking at his hands. Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Mace. There's one did laugh in his 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.
These deeds must not be thought
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
As if. + Sleave, is unwrought silk.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
I'll 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 incarnardine,* Making the green one red.
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: A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. - [Knocking.) Hark!
more knocking: Get on your night-gown, 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. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would thou
couldst! * To incarnardine is to stain of a flesh colour.
alone, or sorriest* fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With then 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, Thap on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.t 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 Can touch him further.
0, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. I Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons, The shard-borne beetle, g with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M.
What's to be done? * Most melancholy
+ Agony. #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.
Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest
chuck,* Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seelingt 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 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, You do not give the cheer; the feast is sold, "That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 'Tis given with welcome: To feed, were best at
May it please your highness sit? [The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits
in Macbeth's place. Macb. Here had we now our country's honour
His absence, sir,
Here's a place reserv'd, sir. Macb. Where? Len. Here, my lord. What is't that moves your
highness? Macb. Which of you have done this? * A term of endearment. † Blinding