Our will became the fervant to defect; I dreamt laft night of the three weïrd fisters: Macb. I think not of them; Yet when we can intreat an hour to ferve, Ban. At your kind leisure. Mach. If you fhall cleave to my confent, when 'tiş, It fhall make honour for you. Ban. So I lose none In feeking to augment it, but ftill keep . Mach. Good repose the while! Ban. Thanks, Sir; the like to you. [Exeunt Banquo, and Fleance. Mach. Go, bid thy miftrefs, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant. Is this a dagger which I fee before me, The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee. As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'ft me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes, Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world The curtain'd fleep; now witchcraft celebrates Whofe howl's his watch) thus with his ftealthy pace, Enter Lady. [Exit. Lady. That, which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath giv'n me fire. Hark! peace! It was the owl that fhriek'd, the fatal bell-man, Which gives the ftern'ft good-night-he is about it. The doors are open; and the furfeited grooms, Do mock their charge with fnores. I've drugg'd their poffets, That death and nature do contend about them, Enter Macbeth. Mach. Who's there? what ho Lady. 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 mifs 'em.-Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I' had don't-My husband! Macb. I've done the deed-didft not thou hear a noise? Lady. I heard the owl fcream, and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? Mach. When? Lady. Lady. Now. Mach. As I defcended? Lady. Ay. Macb, Hark!-who lies i' th' fecond chamber? Lady. Donalbain. Macb. This is a forry fight. [Looks on his hands. Lady. A foolish thought, to fay, a forry fight. Macb. There's one did laugh in's fleep, and one cry'd, murder! They wak'd each other; and I ftood and heard them; Lady. There are two lodg'd together. Macb. One cry'd, God bless us! and Amen, the other; As they had feen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not fay, Amen, When they did fay, God blefs us. Lady. Confider it not fo deeply. Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen ? I had moft need of bleffing, and Amen Stuck in my throat. Lady. Thefe deeds must not be thought, After thefe ways; fo, it will make us mad. Mach. Methought, I heard a voice cry, fleep no more! Macbeth doth murder fleep; the innocent fleep; Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd fleeve of care, The death of each day's life, fore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's fecond courfe, Chief nourisher in life's feaft.. Lady. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cry'd, fleep no more, to all the house; Glamis hath murder'd fleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall fleep no more; Macbeth shall fleep no more! Lady. Who was it, that thus cry'd? why, worthy Thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brain-fickly of things; go, get fome water, And wash this filthy witnefs from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there. Go, carry them, and smear The fleepy grooms with blood. Mach. Mach. I'll go no more; I am afraid to think what I have done ; Lady. Infirm of purpose ! Give me the daggers; the fleeping and the dead Knocks within. Macb. Whence is that knocking? [Exit [Starting How is't with me, when every noife appals me? (15) What hands are here? hah! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? no, this my hand will rather Thy multitudinous fea incarnadine, Making the green one red Enter Lady. Lady. My hands are of your colour; but I fhame To wear a heart fo white; I hear a knocking [Knock. At the fouth entry. Retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed. How eafy is it then? your conftancy Hath left you unattended--hark more knocking! [Knock. So poorly in your thoughts. Macb. To know my deed, 'twere beft not know myself. Wake, Duncan, with this knocking: 'would thou couldft! [Exeunt. Enter a Porter. [Knocking within. (15) How is't with me, when ev'ry noise appals me ?] This reflection is not only drawn from the truth and working of nature; but is fo expreft, as that it might have been copied from this. paffage of SOPHOCLES, which Stobaeus has quoted in his chapter upon fearfulness; "Απανία γάρ τοι τως φοβεμένῳ ψοφεί Each noife is fent t' alarm the man of fear, Part. Port. Here's a knocking, indeed: if a man were porter of hell-gate, he fhould have old turning the key. [Knock] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there, i' th name of Belzebub? here's a farmer, that hang'd himfelf on the expectation of plenty: come in time, have napkins enough about you, here you'll fweat for't. [Knock] Knock, knock. Who's there, in th' other devil's name? faith, here's an equivocator, (16) that could fwear in both the scales against either scale, who committed treafon enough for God's fake, yet could not equivocate to heav'n: oh, come in, equivocator. [Knock] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? faith, (17) here's an English taylor come hither for ftealing out of a French hofe: come in, taylor, here you may roast your goofe. [Knock] Knock, knock. Never at quiet! what are you? but this place is toc cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in fome of all profeffions, that go the primrofe way to th' everlafting bonfire. [Knock] Anon, anon, I pray you, remember the porter. Enter Macduff, and Lenox. Macd. Was it fo late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie fo late? Port. Faith, Sir, we were caroufing 'till the fecond cock: And drink, Sir, is a great provoker of three things. Macd. What three things doth drink efpecially provoke? Port. Marry, Sir, nofe- painting, fleep, and urine. Lechery, Sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the defire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be faid to be an equivocator with (16) Here's an equivocator---who committed treafon enough for God's fake, &c.] This farcafm is levell'd at the Jefuits, who were fo mifchievous in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth and K. James Ift. and who then first broach'd that damnable doctrine. Mr. Warburton. (17) Here's an English taylor come hither for flcaling out of a French bofe:] The archness of this joak confifts in this; That a French hofe being fo very fhort and ftrait, a taylor must be a perfect mafter of his art, who could steal any thing out of it. As to the nature of the French hofe, we have feen that in Henry VIIIth: our poet calls them Short-bolfer'd breeches. Mr. Warburton. lechery; |