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The great doom's image!-Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, To countenance this horror!
Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady MT.
What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,Macd.
O, gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. --O Banquo! Banquo!
Too cruel, any where.--
Re-enter Macbeth and Lenor. Mac. Had I but died 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 lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.
You are, and do not know it: your blood
The spring, the head, the fountain of
Macd. Your royal father's murder’d.
O, by whom Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had
Mac. O, yet I do repént me of my fury,
so? Mac. Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and
furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition of
Help me hence, ho!
Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours?
Don. What should be spoken here,
Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole,
Nor our strong sorrow on
Look to the lady:
[Lady Macbeth is carried out.
And so do I.
[Exeunt all but Mal, and Don. Mal. What will you do? Let's not consort with
them: To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office Which the false man does easy: I'll to England.
Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. Mal.
This murderous shaft that's shot, Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,
But shift away: There's warrant in that theft
WITHOUT THE CASTLE.
Enter Rosse, and an old Man. Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember
well: Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore
night Hath trifled former knowings. Rosse.
Ah, good father, Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's
act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth intomb, When living light should kiss it? Old M.
'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most
strange and certain,) Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
War with mankind.
'Tis said, they eat each other. Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine
eyes, That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac
Enter Macduff How goes the world, sir, now? Macd.
Why, see you not? Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than
bloody deed? Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. Rosse.
Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? Macd.
They were suborn'd: Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon
them Suspicion of the deed. Rosse.
'Gainst nature still:
Macd. He is already nam’d; and gone to Scone,
Where is Duncan's body?
Will you to Scone?
Well, I will thither.