First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Enter LADY MACBETH, How now, what news? Lady M. He has almost supp'd. Why have you left the chamber? Mach. Hath he ask'd for me? Lady M. Know you not he has? Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Lady M. Was the hope drunk, Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? Art thou afeard own act and valour, Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, Macb. Pr'ythee, peace : I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none. Lady M. What beast was't then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man ; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck; and know Macb. If we should fail, We fail. But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassel so convince, That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? Macb. Bring forth men-children only, For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy .two Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers, That they have done't? Lady M. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? Macb. I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show : False face must hide what the false heart doth Enter BANQUO and FLEANCE, and a Servant with a torch before them. Fle. Banquo. OW goes the night, boy? Fle. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. Ban. And she goes down at twelve. I take't, 'tis later, sir. Ban. Hold, take my sword.-There's hus bandry in heaven, Their candles are all out.-Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead.upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose !-Give me my sword; Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch. Who's there? Macb. A friend. Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed : He hath been in unusual pleasure, and By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up Macb. Being unprepared, 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. Macb. I think not of them; Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. Ban. At your kind'st leisure. Macb. 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 I shall be counsell'd. Macb. Good repose, the while! [Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE. Ban. Thanks, sir; the like to you! Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant. Is this a dagger which I see before me, I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going, Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er the one half world 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 where-about, |