 | Macbeth |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Court of Macbeth's Castle at Inverness.Enter Banquo, Fleance, and a Servant with a Torch.
Ban.
How goes the night, boy?
Fle.
The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.
Ban.
And she goes down at twelve.
Fle.
I take't, 'tis later, Sir.
Ban.
There's husbandry in heaven,
Their candles are all out.—
A heavy summons lie like lead upon me,
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Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose!
Enter Macbeth, and Seyton with a Torch.
Who's there?
Mac.
A friend.
Ban.
What, Sir, not yet at rest? the king's a bed:
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices:
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up
In measureless content.
Mac.
Being unprepar'd,
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.
Ban.
All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
To you they have show'd some truth.
Mac.
I think not of them:
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in some words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.
Ban.
At your kind'st leisure.
Mac.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you.
Ban.
So I lose none,
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsel'd.
Mac.
Good repose, the while!
Ban.
Thanks, Sir; the like to you!
Exeunt Banquo, Fleance, and Servant.
Mac.
Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
Exit Seyton.
Is this a dagger, which I see before me,
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I have thee not; and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to fight? 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 marshal'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,
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 where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it.—
A Clock strikes two.
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.
Thunder and Lightning.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady.
That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold;
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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.
Mac.
[Within]
Who's there?—what, ho!
Lady.
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 them.—Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't.—My husband?
Enter Macbeth.
Mac.
I have done the deed:—Didst thou not hear a noise?
Lady.
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
Mac.
When?
Lady.
Now.
Mac.
As I descended?
Lady.
Ay.
Mac.
Hark!—
Who lies i'the second chamber?
Lady.
Donalbain.
Mac.
This is a sorry fight.
Lady.
A foolish thought, to say a sorry fight.
Mac.
There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cry'd, 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.
There are two lodg'd together.
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One cry'd, 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.
Consider it not so deeply.
Mac.
But wherefore could not I pronounce, Amen?
I had most need of Blessing, and Amen
Stuck in my throat.
Lady.
These deeds must not be thought
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
Mac.
Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!
Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!
Lady.
Who was it, that thus cry'd? Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brain-sickly 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.
Mac.
I'll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on't again, I dare not.
Lady.
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.
Mac.
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.
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Lady.
My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knock.]
I hear a knocking
A 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. [Knock.]
Hark! more knocking:
Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us,
And shew us to be watchers: Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.
Mac.
To know my deed,—'twere best not know myself.
Knock.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay,' would thou could'st!
Exeunt. Knock.
Enter Seyton, and open the Gate to Macduff, and Lenox.
Macd.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to-bed,
That you do lie so late?
Sey.
'Faith, Sir, we were carousing 'till the second cock.
Macd.
Is thy master stirring?—
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.
Exit Seyton.
Enter Macbeth.
Len.
Good-morrow, noble Sir!
Mac.
Good-morrow, both!
Macd.
Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
Mac.
Not yet.
Macd.
He did command me to call timely on him
I have almost slipp'd the hour.
Mac.
I'll bring you to him.
Macd.
I know, this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet 'tis one.
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The labour we delight in, physicks pain.
This is the door.
Macd.
I'll make so bold to call,
For 'tis my limited service.
Exit Macduff.
Len.
Goes the king hence to-day?
Mac.
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 bird
Clamour'd the live-long night: some say, the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
Mac.
'Twas a rough night.
Len.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
Re-enter Macduff.
Macd.
O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor heart,
Cannot conceive, nor name thee!
Mac. and Len.
What's the matter?
Macd.
Confusion now hath made his master-piece!
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building.
Mac.
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!
Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the alarum bell:—Murder! and treason!
Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfe,
And look on death itsef—up, up, and see
The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo!
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To countenance this horror!
Bell rings.
Enter Banquo, and Rosse.
O Banquo! Banquo!
Our royal master's murder'd!
Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox.
Mac.
Had I but dy'd 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.
Mal.
What is amiss?
Mac.
You are, and do not know it:
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopt; the very source of it is stopt.
Rosse.
Your royal father's murder'd.
Mal.
Oh, by whom?
Len.
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.
Exeunt Malcolm and Donalbain.
Mac.
O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.
Macd.
Wherefore did you so?
Mac.
Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
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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 his love known?
Ban.
Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of heaven I stand; and, thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.
Macd.
And so do I.
All.
So all.
Macd.
Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it further.
And meet i' the hall together,
All.
Well contented.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Health.Thunder and Lightning.
Enter several Witches.
1 Witch.
Speak, sister, speak,—is the deed done?
2 Witch.
Long ago, long ago;
Above twelve glasses since have run.
3 Witch.
Ill deeds are seldom slow,
Nor single; following crimes on former wait;
The worst of creatures fastest propagate.
Chor.
Many more murders must this one ensue;
Dread horrors still abound,
And every place surround,
As if in death were found
Propagation too.
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He must,—
2 Witch.
He shall,—
3 Witch.
He will spill much more blood,
And become worse, to make his title good.
Chor.
He must, he will spill much more blood,
And become worse, to make his title good.
1 Witch.
Now let's dance.
2 Witch.
Agreed.
3 Witch.
Agreed.
Chor.
We should rejoice when good kings bleed.
1 Witch.
When cattle die, about we go;
When lightning and dread thunder
Rend stubborn rocks in sunder,
And fill the world with wonder,
What should we do?
Chor.
Rejoice, we should rejoice.
2 Witch.
When winds and waves are warring,
Earthquakes the mountains tearing,
And monarchs die despairing,
What should we do?
Chor.
Rejoice, we should rejoice.
3 Witch.
Let's have a dance upon the heath,
We gain more life by Duncan's death.
1 Witch.
Sometimes like brinded cats we shew,
Having no music but our mew,
To which we dance in some old mill,
Upon the hopper, stone, or wheel,
To some old saw, or bardish rhime,—
Chor.
Where still the mill-clack does keep time.
2 Witch.
Sometimes about a hollow tree,
Around, around, around dance we;
Thither the chirping cricket comes,
And beetles singing drowsy hums;
Sometimes we dance o'er fernes or furze,
To howls of wolves, or barks of curs;
And when with none of these we meet,—
Chor.
We dance, to th'echoes of our feet.
3 Witch.
At the night-raven's dismal voice,
When others tremble we rejoice.
Chor.
And nimbly, nimbly, dance we still,
To th'echoes from a hollow hill.
Exeunt.
END OF ACT II.
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