Macbeth | Page 9

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; now witchcraft celebrates 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 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.]
[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: 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!
[Re-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' the 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. Listening 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. 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