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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. Macd.
I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service t.
[Erit Macd. Len.
Goes the king
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 accepts 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.
Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor
heart, Cannot conceive, nor name thee 1! Macb. Len.
What's the matter? Macd. Confusion now hath made his master
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?
sight With a new Gorgon:-Do not bid me speak;' See, and then speak yourselves.-Awake! awake!
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox. Ring the alarum-bell Murder! and treason! Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself!-up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights, To countenance this horror!
Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M.
What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,Macd.
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. Banquo! Banquo !
Too cruel, any where
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; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.
You are, and do not know it?
Macd. Your royal father's murder'd.
O, by whom? Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had
Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
Wherefore did you so ? Macb. Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and
Help me hence, ho!
Why do we hold our tongues, Thiat mošt 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
Nor our strong sorrow on
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 preténcet I fight Of treasonous malice. Macb.
And so do I.
(Exeunt all but Mal, änd 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 smilés : 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.
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 strangc; 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. oid M.
'Tis said, they eat each other. Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine
eyes, That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac.