Macbeth - 2

BANQUO.
All’s well.
I dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters:
To you they have show’d some truth.
MACBETH.
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.
BANQUO.
At your kind’st leisure.
MACBETH.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis,
It shall make honour for you.
BANQUO.
So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell’d.
MACBETH.
Good repose the while!
BANQUO.
Thanks, sir: the like to you.
[_Exeunt Banquo and Fleance._]
MACBETH.
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 blood,
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
The curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate’s off’rings; 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 strides, towards his design
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 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._]
SCENE II. The same.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
LADY MACBETH.
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.
MACBETH.
[_Within._] Who’s there?—what, ho!
LADY MACBETH.
Alack! I am afraid they have awak’d,
And ’tis not done. Th’ 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.
MACBETH.
I have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise?
LADY MACBETH.
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
MACBETH.
When?
LADY MACBETH.
Now.
MACBETH.
As I descended?
LADY MACBETH.
Ay.
MACBETH.
Hark!—Who lies i’ th’ second chamber?
LADY MACBETH.
Donalbain.
MACBETH.
This is a sorry sight.
[_Looking on his hands._]
LADY MACBETH.
A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
MACBETH.
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 MACBETH.
There are two lodg’d together.
MACBETH.
One cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other,
As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands.
List’ning their fear, I could not say “Amen,”
When they did say, “God bless us.”
LADY MACBETH.
Consider it not so deeply.
MACBETH.
But wherefore could not I pronounce “Amen”?
I had most need of blessing, and “Amen”
Stuck in my throat.
LADY MACBETH.
These deeds must not be thought
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
MACBETH.
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 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 MACBETH.
What do you mean?
MACBETH.
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 MACBETH.
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.
MACBETH.
I’ll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on’t again I dare not.
LADY MACBETH.
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._]
MACBETH.
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 incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
LADY MACBETH.
My hands are of your color, but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [_Knocking within._] I hear 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.
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us
And show us to be watchers. Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.
MACBETH.
To know my deed, ’twere best not know myself. [_Knocking within._]
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 key. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock. Who’s
there, i’ th’ name of Belzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on
the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you;
here you’ll sweat for’t. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock! Who’s there, i’
th’ 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 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. [_Knocking._] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.
[_Opens the gate._]
Enter Macduff and Lennox.
MACDUFF.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so late?
PORTER.
Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is
a great provoker of three things.
MACDUFF.
What three things does drink especially provoke?
PORTER.
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.
MACDUFF.
I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
PORTER.
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.
MACDUFF.
Is thy master stirring?
Enter Macbeth.
Our knocking has awak’d him; here he comes.
LENNOX.
Good morrow, noble sir!
MACBETH.
Good morrow, both!
MACDUFF.
Is the King stirring, worthy thane?
MACBETH.
Not yet.
MACDUFF.
He did command me to call timely on him.
I have almost slipp’d the hour.
MACBETH.
I’ll bring you to him.
MACDUFF.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet ’tis one.
MACBETH.
The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.
MACDUFF.
I’ll make so bold to call.
For ’tis my limited service.
[_Exit Macduff._]
LENNOX.
Goes the King hence today?
MACBETH.
He does. He did appoint so.
LENNOX.
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,
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 live-long night. Some say the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
MACBETH.
’Twas a rough night.
LENNOX.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
Enter Macduff.
MACDUFF.
O horror, horror, horror!
Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!
MACBETH, LENNOX.
What’s the matter?
MACDUFF.
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o’ th’ building.
MACBETH.
What is’t you say? the life?
LENNOX.
Mean you his majesty?
MACDUFF.
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak.
See, and then speak yourselves.
[_Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox._]
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!
[_Alarum-bell rings._]
Enter Lady Macbeth.
LADY MACBETH.
What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!
MACDUFF.
O gentle lady,
’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
The repetition, in a woman’s ear,
Would murder as it fell.
Enter Banquo.
O Banquo, Banquo!
Our royal master’s murder’d!
LADY MACBETH.
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?
BANQUO.
Too cruel anywhere.—
Dear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself,
And say it is not so.
Enter Macbeth and Lennox with Ross.
MACBETH.
Had I but died an hour before this chance,
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.
DONALBAIN.
What is amiss?
MACBETH.
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.
MACDUFF.
Your royal father’s murder’d.
MALCOLM.
O, by whom?
LENNOX.
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.
MACBETH.
O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.
MACDUFF.
Wherefore did you so?
MACBETH.
Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
Th’ 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 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?
LADY MACBETH.
Help me hence, ho!
MACDUFF.
Look to the lady.
MALCOLM.
Why do we hold our tongues,
That most may claim this argument for ours?
DONALBAIN.
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.
MALCOLM.
Nor our strong sorrow
Upon the foot of motion.
BANQUO.
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 further. Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of God I stand; and thence
Against the undivulg’d pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.
MACDUFF.
And so do I.
ALL.
So all.
MACBETH.
Let’s briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i’ th’ hall together.
ALL.
Well contented.
[_Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain._]
MALCOLM.
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.
DONALBAIN.
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.
MALCOLM.
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. The same. 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 night
Hath trifled former knowings.
ROSS.
Ha, good father,
Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man’s act,
Threatens 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.
OLD MAN.
’Tis said they eat each other.
ROSS.
They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,
That look’d upon’t.
Here comes the good Macduff.
Enter Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now?
MACDUFF.
Why, see you not?
ROSS.
Is’t known who did this more than bloody deed?
MACDUFF.
Those that Macbeth hath slain.
ROSS.
Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?
MACDUFF.
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.
ROSS.
’Gainst nature still:
Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up
Thine own life’s means!—Then ’tis most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
MACDUFF.
He is already nam’d; and gone to Scone
To be invested.
ROSS.
Where is Duncan’s body?
MACDUFF.
Carried to Colmekill,
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.
ROSS.
Will you to Scone?
MACDUFF.
No, cousin, I’ll to Fife.
ROSS.
Well, I will thither.
MACDUFF.
Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu!
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!
ROSS.
Farewell, father.
OLD MAN.
God’s benison go with you; and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!
[_Exeunt._]

ACT III
SCENE I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Banquo.
BANQUO.
Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
As the Weird Women promis’d; and, I fear,
Thou play’dst most foully for’t; yet it was said
It should not stand in thy posterity;
But that myself should be the root and father
Of many kings. If there come truth from them
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine)
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well,
And set me up in hope? But hush; no more.
Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth as Queen; Lennox,
Ross, Lords, and Attendants.
MACBETH.
Here’s our chief guest.
LADY MACBETH.
If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.
MACBETH.
Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir,
And I’ll request your presence.
BANQUO.
Let your Highness
Command upon me, to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.
MACBETH.
Ride you this afternoon?
BANQUO.
Ay, my good lord.
MACBETH.
We should have else desir’d your good advice
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous)
In this day’s council; but we’ll take tomorrow.
Is’t far you ride?
BANQUO.
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
’Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night,
For a dark hour or twain.
MACBETH.
Fail not our feast.
BANQUO.
My lord, I will not.
MACBETH.
We hear our bloody cousins are bestow’d
In England and in Ireland; not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention. But of that tomorrow,
When therewithal we shall have cause of state
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?
BANQUO.
Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon’s.
MACBETH.
I wish your horses swift and sure of foot;
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell.—
[_Exit Banquo._]
Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
Till supper time alone: while then, God be with you.
[_Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, &c._]
Sirrah, a word with you. Attend those men
Our pleasure?
SERVANT.
They are, my lord, without the palace gate.
MACBETH.
Bring them before us.
[_Exit Servant._]
To be thus is nothing,
But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep, and in his royalty of nature
Reigns that which would be fear’d: ’tis much he dares;
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour
To act in safety. There is none but he
Whose being I do fear: and under him
My genius is rebuk’d; as, it is said,
Mark Antony’s was by Caesar. He chid the sisters
When first they put the name of king upon me,
And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,
They hail’d him father to a line of kings:
Upon my head they plac’d a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench’d with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding. If’t be so,
For Banquo’s issue have I fil’d my mind;
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d;
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace
Only for them; and mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man,
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!
Rather than so, come, fate, into the list,
And champion me to th’ utterance!—Who’s there?—
Enter Servant with two Murderers.
Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.
[_Exit Servant._]
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
FIRST MURDERER.
It was, so please your Highness.
MACBETH.
Well then, now
Have you consider’d of my speeches? Know
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under fortune, which you thought had been
Our innocent self? This I made good to you
In our last conference, pass’d in probation with you
How you were borne in hand, how cross’d, the instruments,
Who wrought with them, and all things else that might
To half a soul and to a notion craz’d
Say, “Thus did Banquo.”
FIRST MURDERER.
You made it known to us.
MACBETH.
I did so; and went further, which is now
Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell’d,
To pray for this good man and for his issue,
Whose heavy hand hath bow’d you to the grave,
And beggar’d yours forever?
FIRST MURDERER.
We are men, my liege.
MACBETH.
Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;
As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clept
All by the name of dogs: the valu’d file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos’d; whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the bill
That writes them all alike: and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file,
Not i’ th’ worst rank of manhood, say’t;
And I will put that business in your bosoms,
Whose execution takes your enemy off,
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.
SECOND MURDERER.
I am one, my liege,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Hath so incens’d that I am reckless what
I do to spite the world.
FIRST MURDERER.
And I another,
So weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it or be rid on’t.
MACBETH.
Both of you
Know Banquo was your enemy.
BOTH MURDERERS.
True, my lord.
MACBETH.
So is he mine; and in such bloody distance,
That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near’st of life; and though I could
With barefac’d power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
For certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Who I myself struck down: and thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.
SECOND MURDERER.
We shall, my lord,
Perform what you command us.
FIRST MURDERER.
Though our lives—
MACBETH.
Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves,
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o’ th’ time,
The moment on’t; for’t must be done tonight
And something from the palace; always thought
That I require a clearness. And with him
(To leave no rubs nor botches in the work)
Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father’s, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart.
I’ll come to you anon.
BOTH MURDERERS.
We are resolv’d, my lord.
MACBETH.
I’ll call upon you straight: abide within.
[_Exeunt Murderers._]
It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul’s flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out tonight.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.
LADY MACBETH.
Is Banquo gone from court?
SERVANT.
Ay, madam, but returns again tonight.
LADY MACBETH.
Say to the King, I would attend his leisure
For a few words.
SERVANT.
Madam, I will.
[_Exit._]
LADY MACBETH.
Naught’s had, all’s spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
’Tis safer to be that which we destroy,
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Enter Macbeth.
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 all remedy
Should be without regard: what’s done is done.
MACBETH.
We have scorch’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 peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. 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.
LADY MACBETH.
Come on,
Gently my lord, sleek o’er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.
MACBETH.
So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you.
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we
Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.
LADY MACBETH.
You must leave this.
MACBETH.
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
LADY MACBETH.
But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne.
MACBETH.
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-born beetle, with his drowsy hums,
Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.
LADY MACBETH.
What’s to be done?
MACBETH.
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,
Scarf 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 th’ rooky wood.
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
Whiles night’s black agents to their preys do rouse.
Thou marvell’st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
So, pr’ythee, go with me.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.
Enter three Murderers.
FIRST MURDERER.
But who did bid thee join with us?
THIRD MURDERER.
Macbeth.
SECOND MURDERER.
He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers
Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction just.
FIRST MURDERER.
Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
THIRD MURDERER.
Hark! I hear horses.
BANQUO.
[_Within._] Give us a light there, ho!
SECOND MURDERER.
Then ’tis he; the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i’ th’ court.
FIRST MURDERER.
His horses go about.
THIRD MURDERER.
Almost a mile; but he does usually,