Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet, 'tis one. Macb. The labour we delight in, physicks* pain. This is the door. From hence to-day? Macb. He does :-he did appoint it so. Len. The night has been unruly: Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down: and, as they say, Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of death; And prophesying, with accents terrible, Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous, and did shake. Macb. 'Twas a rough night. Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter Macduff. Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o'the building. Macb. What is't you say? the life? i. e. Affords a cordial to it. + Appointed service. The use of two negatives, not to make an affirmative, but to deny more strongly, is common in our author. Len. Mean you his majesty? Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon:-Do not bid me speak ;' Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. Macd. What's the business, O, gentle lady "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! Lady M. Enter Banquo. Woe, alas! Too cruel, any where. What, in our house? Ban. Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, And say, it is not so. Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. Macb. 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; Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. Don. What is amiss? Macb. You are, and do not know it? The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. Mal. 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 Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. Macd." Wherefore did you so? Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: Out-ran the pauser reason.-Here lay Duncan, And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage, to make his love known? Lady M. Macd. Look to the lady. Mal Help me hence, ho! Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? Don. What should be spoken here, Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole, Covered with blood to their bilt. May rush, and seize us? Let's away; our tears Are not yet brew'd. Mal. Nor our strong sorrow on The foot of motion. Ban. Look to the lady: [Lady Macbeth is carried out. And when we have our naked frailties hid, 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 f I fight Of treasonous malice. Macb. And so do I. So all. Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i'the hall together. All. 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. Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, Mal. 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 [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Without the castle. Enter Rosse and an Old Man. Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. Rosse. Ah, good father, Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't 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, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, 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. eyes, duffi Here comes the good Mac |