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The deep damnation of his taking-off:
THE MURDERING SCENE. 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 bat 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,t goutst 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 witc!ıcraft celebrate Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
* Winds; sightless is invisible. + Haft.
Who's howl'd his watch, thus with his stealthy pace
[A bell rings.
Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath
made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire:
Lady M. 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. Macb. I have done the deed:-Didst thou not hear
a noise? Lady M. I heard the owls scream, and the crickets
cry. Did not you speak? Macb.
As I descended?
Looking at his hands. Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and on
There are two lodg'd together.
Consider it not so deeply:
These deeds must not be thought
• As if. † Sleave, is unwrought silk.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
I'll go no more
Infirm of purpose !
[Exit. Knocking within. Macb.
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.
Re-enter Lady MACBETH. Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I
shame To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking At the south entry:-retire we to our chamber: A little water clears us of this deed: How casy is it then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended.—[Knocking.] Hark!
more knocking: Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers:-Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. Macb. To know my deed,'twere best not know myself.
[Knock. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would thor couldst!
[Exeunt *To incarnardine is to stain of a flesh colour.
ACT III. MACBETH'S GUILTY CONSCIENCE AND FEARS OF
BANQUO. Lady M. 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 remedy, Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
Macb. We have scotch'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 place, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.t Duncan is in his grave; After lise's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreiga levy, nothing Can touch him further.
0, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. I Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd fight; ere, to black Hecate's summons, The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M.
What's to be done? * Most melancholy
+ Agony: Ii. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives from nature, has its time of termination.
9 The beetle borno in the air by its shards or scaly wings