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And 'tis not done; th' attempt, and not the deed
Confounds us-hark!-I laid their daggers ready,
He could not mifs 'em.-Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't-My husband!
Macb. I've done the deed-didft not thou hear a noise?
Lady. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
Did not you fpeak?

Mach. When?

Lady. Now.

Macb. As I defcended?

Lady. Ay.

Macb. Hark!-who lyes i'th' fecond chamber ▸

Lady. Donalbain.

Mach. This is a forry fight.

[Looks on his bands.

Lady. A foolish thought, to fay a forry fight.

Mach. There's one did laugh in's fleep, and one cry'd,

Murther!

They wak'd each other; and I ftood and heard them;
But they did fay their prayers, and addreft them
Again to fleep.

Lady. There are two lodg'd together.

Macb. One cry'd, God bless us ! and Amen the other, As they had feen me with these hangman's hands. Lift'ning their fear, I could not fay Amen,

When they did fay, God bless us !

Lady. Confider it not fo deeply.

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen ?

I had moft need of bleffing, and Amen

Stuck in my throat.

Lady. Thefe deeds muft not be thought on
After these ways; fo, it will make us mad.

Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!
Macbeth doth mursber fleep; the innocent fleep,*
The death of each day's life, fore labour's bath,
Balm of burt minds, great nature's fecond course,
Chief nourisher in life's feaft.

Lady. What do you mean?

innocent fleep,

Sleep that knits up the ravell'd fleeve of care,

The death of, .

Mach

Mach. Still it cry'd, Sleep no more, to all the houfe Glamis bath murther'd fleep, and therefore Cawdor Sball fleep no more; Macbeth fhall fleep 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 witnefs from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They muft lye there. Go, carry them, and smear The fleepy grooms with blood.

Mach. 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 fleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of child-hood,
That fears a painted devil. If he bleed,

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,

For it must seem their guilt.

Knock within.

Macb. Whence is that knocking?

[Exit.

[Starting.

How is't with me, when every noise appalls me ?

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
Make the green ocean red—

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady. My hands are of your colour; but I fhame
To wear a heart fo white. I hear a knocking
At the fouth entry. Retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed.

How eafie is it then? your conftancy

[Knock

Hath left you unattended-hark, more knocking! [Knock.

Get on your night-gown, left occafion call us,

And fhew us to be watchers; be not loft

So poorly in your thoughts.

--- will rather

Thy multitudinous sea incarnadine,

Making the green one red

Ener Lady Macbeth. &c.

VOL. VIII.

I

Mat.

Macb. T' unknow my deed, 'twere beft not know my self. Wake Duncan with this knocking: would thou could'st! [Excunt,

SCENE IV.

Enter Macduff, Lenox and Porter.

Macd. Is thy mafter stirring?

Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. Len. Good morrow, noble Sir.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach, Good morrow both,

Macd. Is the King ftirring, worthy Thane ?

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SCENE IV. Enter a Porter.

[Exeunt.

[Knocking within. Port. Here's a knocking indeed: if a man were porter of hell-gate, he fhould have old turning the key. [Knock.] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there, i'th' name of Belzebub? here's a farmer, that hang'd himfelf in th'expectation of plenty: come in time, have napkins enough about you, here you'll fweat for't. (Knock Knock, knock, Who's there in th' other devil's name? 'faith, here's an equivoca tor, that could fwear in both the fcales against either fcale, who committed treafon enough for God's fake, yet could not equivocate to heav'n oh come in, equivocator. Knock.] Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? 'faith, here's an English tailor come hither for ftealing out of a French hofe: come in, tailor, here you may roaft your goole. [Knock.] Knock, knock. Never at quiet! what are you? but this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in feme of all profeffions, that go the primrole way to th'everlafting bonfire. [Knock.]. Anon, anon, I pray you remember the porter.

Enter Macduff, and Lenox.

Macd. Was it fo late, friend, ere you went to bed,

That you do lye fo late?

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

Macd. What three things doth drink especially provoke ?

Port. Marry, Sir, nofe-painting, fleep, and urine. Letchery, Sir. it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the defire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be faid to be an equivocator with letchery; it makes him, and it mars him; it fets him on, and it takes him off; it perfwades him, and disheartens, him; makes him ftand to, and not ftand to; in conclufion, equivocates him into a fleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him.

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.

Port. That it did, Sir, i' th' very throat on me; but I requited him for this lie, and I think, being too ftrong for him, though he Look up my legs fometime, yet I made a fhift to cast him.

SCENE, &c.

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Mach. Not yet.

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him I've almoft flipt the hour.

Mach. I'll bring you to him.

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you: But yet 'tis one.

Macb. The labour we delight in * phyficks pain; This is the door.

Macd. I'll make fo bold to call,

For 'tis my limited fervice.

Len. Goes the King hence to-day?
Macb. He did appoint fo.

[Exit Macduff.

Len. The night has been unruly; where we lay Our chimneys were blown down: and, as they fay, Lamentings heard i'th air, strange screams of death, And prophefyings with accents terrible

Of dire combuftions, and confus'd events,

New hatch'd to th'woful time: the obfcure bird
Clamour'd the live-long night. Some fay the earth
Was fev'rous, and did shake.

Mach. 'Twas a rough night.

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it.

Enter Macduff.

Macd. O horror! horror! horror!

Or tongue or heart cannot conceive, nor name thee
Macb. and Len. What's the matter?

Macd. Confufion now hath made his master-piece,

Moft facrilegious murther hath broke ope

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence

The life o'th' building.

Mach. What is't you fay? the life?

Len. Mean you his Majefty?

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Macd. Approach the chamber, and deftroy your fight With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak;

See, and then speak your felves: awake! awake!

[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.

Ring the alarum-bell

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murther! and treafon!

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• Heals or cures pain.

I 2

Banque,

Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!

Shake off this downy fleep, death's counterfeit,

And look on death it felf

The great doom's image!

up, up, and fee Malcolm! Donalbain!

As from your graves rife up, and walk like sprights,
To countenance this horror. -

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Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady. What's the business,

That fuch an hideous trumpet calls to parley

The fleepers of the house? speak.

Mard. Gentle Lady,

"Tis not for you to hear what I can speak. The repetition in a woman's ear

Would murther as it fell.

O Banquo, Banquo,

Enter Banquo.

Our royal mafter's murther'd.
Lady. Woe, alas !

What, in our house ?

Ban. Too cruel, any where. Macduff, I pr'ythee contradict thy felf,

And fay, it is not fo.

Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Roffe.

Macb. Had I but dy'd an hour before this chance,
I had liv'd a bleffed time: for from this inftant,
There's nothing ferious in mortality;

All is but toys; renown and grace are dead;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Are left this vault to brag of.

Enter Malcolm, and Donalbain.

your

Don. What is amifs ?
Mach. You are, and do not know't:
The fpring, the head, the fountain of
Is ftopt; the very source of it is stopt.
Macd. Your royal father's murther'd.
Mal. Oh, by whom?

blood

Len. Thofe of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't; Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, So were their daggers, which unwip'd we found

Upon

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