« AnteriorContinuar »
The great doom's image!
doom's image!-Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, To countenance this horror!
Enter Lady Macbeth.
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!
Our royal master's murder'd!
What, in our house?
O, gentle lady,
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;
Don. What is amiss?
Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.
You are, and do not know it:
The spring, the head, the fountain of blood
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,
They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life
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:
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
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,
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,
And so do I.
Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i'the hall together.
[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
Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore
Hath trifled former knowings.
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day,
On Tuesday last,
Even like the deed that's done.
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
War with mankind.
'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:
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?
Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone, To be invested.
Alas, the day!
Where is Duncan's body?
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.
Will you to Scone?
Well, I will thither.