What is your tidings? Atten. The king comes here to-night. Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it:Is not thy master with him? who, were 't so, Would have inform'd for preparation.

Atten. So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:

One of my fellows had the speed of him,
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his
message.
Lady M.

He brings great news.

Give him tending; [Exit Attendant.

The raven himself is hoarse

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 40
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal3 thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the accéss and passage to remorse,1
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering
ministers,

Wherever in your sightless substances 5

50

Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.

Ban.

This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his lov'd mansionry that the heavens' breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:

Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd

The air is delicate.

To alter favour, i.e. to change countenance. 7 Approve, prove.

8 Jutty, i.e. jetty, a projection in buildings.

9 Coign of vantage, convenient corner.

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 wassail2 so convince,3
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.

69

Bring forth men-children only! For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two

Of his own chamber, and us'd 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?