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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 fifters:
To you they've Thew'd some truth.

Macb. I think not of them ;
Yet when we can intreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in some words upon that bufiness;
If you would grant the time.

Ban. At your kind 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
My bosom franchis’d and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell’d.

Macb. Good repose the while!
Ban. Thanks, Sir; the like to you.

[Exeunt Banquo, and Fleance. Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She Itrike

upon
the bell. Get thee to bed.

[Exit Seruant,
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I fee thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, fenfible
To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but
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'th' other senses,
Or else worth all the rest I see thee ftill;
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts 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 one half the world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings : and wither's murder,
(Alarum'd by his centinel, the wolf,
Whofe howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design
Moves like a ghoft.-Thou found and firm-fet earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very ftones prate of my where-about;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it—whilft I threat, he lives

[A Bell rings.
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit.

Enter Lady
Lady. That, which hath made them drunk, hath made

me bold:
What hath quench'd them, hath giv'n me fire. Hark!

peace!
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bell-man,
Which gives the stern'st good-night--he is about it
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms,
Do mock their charge with snores. I've drugg'd their

possets,
That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die.

Enter Macbeth.
Macb, Who's there? what hoi

Lady. Alack! I am afraid, they have awak'd;
And 'tis not done ; th' attempt, and not the deed,
Confounds us-hark!-I laid their daggers ready,
He could not miss 'em.--Had he not resembled
My father as he flept, l'had don't-My husband !

Macb, I've done the deeddidit not thou hear a noises

Lady. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
Macb. When ?

Lady.

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Lady. Now.
Macb. As I descended?
Lady. Ay.
Macb. Hark!--who lies i' th' second chamber?
Lady. Donalbain.
Mrib. This is a sorry fight. [Looks on his hands.
Lady. A foolish thought, to say, a sorry fight.
Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cry'd,

murder !
They wak'd each other; and I stood and heard them;
But they did say their prayers, and address them
Again to sleep.
Lady. There are two lodg'd together.

Macb. One cry'd, God bless us! and Amen, the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen, When they did say, God bless us.

Lady. Consider it not so deeply.

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen! I had moft need of bleffing, and Amen Stuck in my throat.

Lady. These deeds must not be thought, After these ways; fo, it will make us mad.

Mach. Methought, I heard a voice cry, sleep no more! Macbeth doth murder sleep ; the innocent Neep; Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d fleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Lady. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cry’d, sleep no more, to all the house ; Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more!

Lady. Who was it, that thus cry'd ? why, worthy Thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brain-fickly of things; go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your

hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ?
They must lie there. Go, carry them, and smear
The fleepy grooms with blood.

Macb.

Macb. I'll go no more ;
I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look on't again, I dare not.

Lady. Infirm of purpose !
Give me the daggers ; the sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures ; 'tis the eye of child-hood,
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.

[Exito
Knocks within.
Macb. Whence is that knocking? [Starting:
How is’t with me, when every noise appals me? (15)
What hands are here? hah! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? no, this my

hand will rather Thy multitudinous sea incarnadine, Making the green one red

Enter Lady. Lady. My hands are of your colour ; but I shame To wear a heart so white; I hear a knocking (Knock. At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed. How easy is it then? your constancy Hath left you unattended--hark more knocking! (Knock. Get on your night-gown, left occafion call us, And shew us to be watchers; be not loft So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Wake, Duncan, with this knocking: 'would thou couldft!

[Exeunt. Enter a Porter,

[Knocking within, (15) How is't with me, when ev'ry noise appals me ?] This reflection is not only drawn from the truth and working of nature;

but is so expreft, as that it might have been copied from this passage of SOPHOCLES, which Stobeus has quoted in his chapter upon fearfulness;

"Απανία γάρ τοι τως φοβεμένων ψοφεί.
Each noise is sent : alarm the man of fear,

Part.

Port. Here's a knocking, indeed: if a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knock] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there, i' th' name of Belzebub ? here's a farmer, that hang'd himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time, have napkins enough about you, here you'll sweat for't. [Knock] Knock, knock. Who's there, in th other devil's name? faith, here's an equivocator, (16) that could swear in both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough for God's fake, yet could not equivocate to heav'n: oh, come in, equivocator. [Knock] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there! faith, (17) here's an English taylor come hither for stealing out of a French hose: come in, taylor, here you may roast your goose. [Knock] Knock, knock. Never at quiet! what are you? but this place is toc cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all profeffions, that go the primrose way to th' everlasting bonfire. (Knock] Anon, anon, I pray you, remember the porter.

Enter Macduff, and Lenox. Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late?

Port. Faith, Sir, we were carousing'till the second cock: And drink, Sir, is a great provoker of three things.

Macd. What three things doth drink especially provoke?

Port. Marty, Sir, nose. painting, deep, and urine. Lechery, Sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with

(16) Here's an equivocator---who committed treason enough for God's fake, &c.] This farcasm is leveld at the Jesuits, who were so mischievous in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth and K. James ist, and who then first broach'd that damnable doctrine.

Mr. Warburton. (17) Here's an English taylor come hither for stealing out of a French bose:j The archness of this joak contins in this; That a French hose being so very short and strait, a taylor must be a perfect master of his art, who could steal any thing out of it. As to the nature of the French hose, we have seen that in Henry VIIIth: our poet calls them fhort-bolster'd breeches.

Mr. Warburton.

lechery;

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