They must lie there: Go, carry them; and smear
The fleepy grooms with blood.

MACB. I'll go no more:

I am afraid to think what I have done;

Look on't again, I dare not.

LADY M. Infirm of purpose !

Give me the daggers: The fleeping, 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.

[Exit.

Knocking within.

MACB. 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
this my

The multitudinous feas incarnardine,
Making the green-one red.

hand will rather

Re-enter Lady MACBETH.

LADY M. My hands are of your colour; but I fhame To wear a heart fo white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking At the fouth entry :-retire we to our chamber:

A little water clears us of this deed:

How easy is it then? Your conftancy

Hath left you unattended. [Knocking.] Hark! more knocking:

Get on your nightgown, left occafion call us,
And fhow us to be watchers :-Be not loft

So poorly in your thoughts.

MACB. To know my deed,-'twere beft not know my

felf.

could'ft!

[Knock.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would thou

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The fame.

Enter a PORTER.

[Knocking within. PORTER. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's there, i'the name of Belzebub? Here's a farmer, that hang'd himself on the expectation of plenty: Come in time; have napkins enough about you; here you'll fweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Who's there, i'the other devil's name? 'Faith, here's an equivocator, that could fwear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treafon enough for God's fake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? 'Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hofe: Come in, tailor; here you may roaft your goofe. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devilporter it no further: I had thought to have let in fome of all profeffions, that go the primrose way to the everlafting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray you, remember the porter. [Opens the gate.

Enter MACDUFF and LENOX. MACD. Was it fo late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie fo late?

PORT. 'Faith, fir, we were caroufing 'till the fecond cock and drink, fir, is a great provoker of three things. MACD. What three things does drink efpecially provoke ?

PORT. Marry, fir, nose-painting, fleep, and urine. Lechery, fir, it provokes, and unprovokes: it provokes the defire, but it takes away the performance: Therefore,

much drink may be faid to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it fets him on, and it takes him off; it perfuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to: in conclufion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

MACD. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night.

PORT. That it did, fir, i'the very throat o'me: But I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs fometime, yet I made a fhift to caft him.

MACD. Is thy master stirring ?

Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.

Enter MACBETH.

LEN. Good morrow, noble fir!

MACB. Good-morrow, both!

MACD. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ?

MACB. Not yet.

MACD. He did command me to call timely on him;

I have almost flipp'd the hour.

MACB. I'll bring you to him.

MACD. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you;

MACB. The labour we delight in, phyficks pain.

This is the door.

MACD. I'll make fo bold to call,

For 'tis my limited service,

LEN. Goes the king

From hence to-day.

MACB. He does :-he did appoint fo.

[Exit MACDUFF,

LEN. The night has been unruly: Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down: and, as they fay, Lamentings heard i'the air; ftrange fcreams of death;

And prophecying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combuftion, and confus'd events,
New hatch'd to the woeful time.

The obfcure bird

Clamour'd the live-long 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 heart, Cannot conceive, nor name thee!

MACB. LEN. What's the matter?

MACD. Confufion now hath made his mafter-piece!

Moft facrilegious murder hath broke ope

The Lord's anointed temple, and ftole thence

The life o'the building.

MACB. What is't you fay? the life?

LEN. Mean you his Majesty?

MACD. Approach the chamber, and destroy your fight 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 treafon!
Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!
Shake off this downy fleep, death's counterfeit,
And look on death itself!-up, up, and fee
The great doom's image!.
doom's image!_______Malcolm! Banquo!
As from your graves rife up, and walk like fprights,
To conntenance this horror.

Enter Lady MACBETH.

LADY M. What's the bufinefs,

That fuch a hideous trumpet calls to parley

The fleepers of the house? fpeak, speak,

[Bell rings.

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.O Banquo! Banquo!
Enter BANQUO.

Our royal master's murder'd!

LADY M. Woe, alas!

What, in our house?

BAN. Too cruel, any where.

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,

And fay, it is not fo.

Re-enter MACBETH and LENOX.

MACB. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a bleffed time; for, from this inftant, 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.

DON. What is amiss?

MACB. You are, and do not know it:

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is ftopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.

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,

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.

MACB. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.