Macbeth Page #4

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If we should fail?

We fail!

But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

and we'll not fail.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,

hear not my steps, which way they walk,

for fear thy very stones prate of my whereabout.

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.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;

What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.

Hark!

Peace!

It was the owl that shriek'd.

He is about it.

Who's there? What, ho!

Alack!

I am afraid they have awaked,

and 'tis not done.

The attempt and not the deed confounds us.

Hark!

I laid their daggers ready; he could not miss 'em.

I have done the deed.

Didst thou not hear a noise?

I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.

Did not you speak? /When?

/Now.

As I descended?/ Ay.

/Hark!

This is a sorry sight.

A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

There's one did laugh in's sleep,

and one cried 'Murder!'

That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them.

But they did say their prayers, and address'd them again to sleep.

There are two lodged together.

One cried '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!'

Consider it not so deeply.

But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?

I had most need of blessing,

and 'Amen' stuck in my throat.

These deeds must not be thought after these ways;

so, it will make us mad.

Had I but died an hour before this chance,

I had lived 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 mere lees is

left this vault to brag of.

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 sleepy grooms with blood.

I'll go no more.

I am afraid to think what I have done.

Look on't again I dare not.

Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers.

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures

'tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,

for it must seem their guilt.

Whence is that knocking?

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

What hands are here?

Ha! They pluck out mine eyes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

clean from my hand?

No, this my hand will rather

the multitudinous seas in incarnadine,

making the green one red.

My hands are of your colour;

but I shame to wear a heart so white.

Retire we to our chamber;

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