[Outside the walls of Macbeth's castle, late at night. Banquo and his son Fleance are taking an after dinner walk.]
The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.
And she goes down at twelve.
I take't 'tis later, sir.
Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven;
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep.
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
[Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch]
What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's abed.
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices.
This diamond he greets your wife withal
By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters.
To you they have showed some truth.
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
We would spend it in some words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honor for you.
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,
Thanks, sir; the like to you.
[Exit Banquo and Fleance]
Go bid thy mistress: when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight, or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
[Macbeth draws out his dagger]
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else, worth all the rest. I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing!
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now, o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder —
Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch — thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives.
Words, to the heat of deeds, too cold breath gives.
[A bell rings]
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.