University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Lady and Macbeth.
LADY.
Macbeth, Macbeth, rid me of misery.—
All things in nature have become adverse
And daunt me out of life. The glorious sun,
That sheds to all delight and lumination,
Is the remembrancer of that dread dawn
Which show'd us Duncan, murder'd by our hands,
All horrible with his upbraiding gashes;
The beauteous moon that makes black night so fair,
With her chaste splendour as she climbs the sky,
Still wears, at rising, that deep blush of shame,
With which she look'd on Banquo's bleeding corse.
The steller gems, the wakeful eyes of heav'n,
Show as they shine that they kept Argus watch
When we were busy at our midnight crime;
If one but glance at me an eager look,
The time has been when admiration pleas'd,
I shrink appall'd, and trembling shun the gaze;
The soothing phials of the doctor's skill,
Beget suspicion, for they bring to mind
The drugged wassail that seduc'd the grooms
To leave their royal charge in fenceless sleep,
To the foul carve of our ambitious waste;
Yea, my own hands, though costly scents perfume,
Are hateful by the old man's tainting blood;
And thou thyself, my former love and pride,
Art made so terrible by my remorse,
That I am madly urg'd by wicked fiends,
To think thy death would calm the hell that's here.

MACBETH.
What potent sorcery transmutes thy nature,
Changing its high imperial arrogance
Into this weak and timid phantasy?
Rouse thee, dear wife, with that intrepid mind
Which when I shrunk appall'd in my intents,
Was wont by its courageous inspiration,
To nerve my soul with valour like its own.

LADY.
Oh! it hath perish'd with the pageant hope
That marshal'd my ambition. O'er my thoughts
Tremendous fancies fall like chilling shadows
On lonely spots by untold crimes accurs'd,
And a dread vista opening in the tomb,
Has shewn me horrors that dismay Despair
To cling to life.—I would but dare not die.

MACBETH.
And come the apparitions to thee too?

LADY.
As I, enchanted by the poppy's drouze,
Lay on my couch, me-thought time had relaps'd
Back to that night on which we Duncan slew;
And as I would have wash'd my bolter'd hands,
Deep anguish pierc'd me, and in thought I died.
Exposed a space upon the regal bier,
The same on which, we falsely, sad adorn'd
That good man's corpse; me-thought I was convey'd
With dues of heraldry into the vault,
Where all the royalty of Scotland rest,
And plac'd, dread punishment! by Duncan's side.
The requium finish'd and the herald done,
The mouldy yawn of the sepulchre's gloom
Was clos'd, and I, left to resolve to dust.

MACBETH.
Terrible state.

LADY.
Then did I hear around,
The churm and chirruping of busy reptiles,
At hideous banquet on the royal dead.
Full soon, me-thought, the loathsome epicures,
Came thick on me, and underneath my shrowd,
I felt the many-foot and beetle creep;
And on my breast, the cold worm coil and crawl.
When all that was corporeal had resumed
Its elemental essence, I became
Lost in vacuity and silent gloom;
A strange oblivion of sense, space, and time.
Anon I heard a trumpet from afar,
Swell with a sweet melodious invitation;
And saw ascend, millions of radiant forms:
Joyous they rose, and with them Duncan pass'd
More glorious than the Indian gem. His breast
Was ruby-stain'd, Macbeth!

MACBETH.
Our guilty mark!

LADY.
Again the trumpet sounded; but so shrill,
So wild, so dissonant, so dread a shriek,
That I in terror started from the tomb,
And saw around me, all the wretched throng
That wrought on earth, catastrophes of sin.
Thou too wast there, but so, in form, transnatur'd,
That, fear to see thee, broke the spell of sleep.
Why stand you dumb, entranced in moody thought?

MACBETH.
The mind hath other vision than the eyes;
They are but windows in its tenement.—
Baudron is right, and these prospective sights,
Are but the distant coming-round of things.

LADY.
What is't you mean? Believ'st thou in this dream?
Shall we in death, lie conscious of the rot?

MACBETH.
Calm thyself, love—I have a culdee priest,
A wond'rous man, whose years exceed the round
Of a full century; and in his frame,
The faded energy of life renewing,
Puts forth a-fresh, the redolence of youth.
He hath deep insight of this complex world,
And knows the springs and pivots of events;
Th'invisible pervaders that controul
The secret lymphs which bear into the brain,
Those drifting fancies, that industrious Reason
Converts to schemes and knowledge practical;—
All these are known to him. He is a man,
A sage, of rare peculiar faculty,
And will unfold to us, the pith of dreams,
And that imperishable consciousness,
Which wakes in sleep, and may in death survive.

LADY.
Shall we confess to him we kill'd the king,
And mew contrition like two silly urchins,
Sick with the surfeit of the pantry's spoil?

MACBETH.
My dearest partner of unhappy greatness!—

LADY.
Alas! Macbeth—but let us be ourselves,
And strongly master this enthusiasm
Look at that table—see where ranged appears
The esculapian pageantry of death,
And then survey my blanch'd and haggard form,
Which, more than sickness, canker'd thought corrodes.
With these before me, and with this at heart,
I will wear boldly what I've dearly won:
What is done, is; and though my restless couch
Be nightly hideous with phantastic gorgons,
Whose silent transit freeze me into death,
I wake to royalty, and will exact
The dues and reverence of our high estate.