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The great doom's image!

doom's image!-Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, To countenance this horror!

[Bell rings.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M.
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,

What's the business,


'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!

Enter Banquo.

Our royal master's murder'd!
Lady M.

What, in our house?

O, gentle lady,

Woe, alas!

Too cruel, any where.-
Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,
And say, it is not so.

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.

Don. What is amiss?

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.

You are, and do not know it:


The spring, the head, the fountain of blood
Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.
Macd. Your royal father's murder'd.


O, by whom? Len. Those 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 their pillows:

They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life
Was to be trusted with them.

Mac. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,

That I did kill them.


Wherefore did you so? Mac. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and


Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
Out-ran the pauser reason.-Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breech'd with gore: Who could re-


That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage, to make his love known?

Lady M.

Macd. Look to the lady. Mal. Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? Don. What should be spoken here,


Help me hence, ho!

Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole,
May rush, and seize us? Let's away; our tears
Are not yet brew'd.


Nor our strong sorrow on

The foot of motion.


Look to the lady:

[Lady Macbeth is carried out.

And when we have our naked frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure, let us meet,
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:
In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.

And so do I.




So all.

Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i'the hall together.


Well contented.

[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
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left.




Enter Rosse, and an old Man.

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember


Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore


Hath trifled former knowings.

Ah, good father,
Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's

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,

On Tuesday last,

Even like the deed that's done.
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.

Old M.

'Tis said, they eat each other. Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine


That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff:

Enter Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now?


Why, see you not? Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than bloody deed?

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.


What good could they pretend?

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.

'Gainst nature still:
Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means!-Then 'tis most like,
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone, To be invested.

Alas, the day!

Where is Duncan's body?

Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill;

The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,

And guardian of their bones.

Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

Will you to Scone?

Well, I will thither.

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