Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
He did command me to call timely on him.
I have almost slipped the hour.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you; but yet 'tis one.
The labor we delight in physics pain. This is the door.
I'll make so bold to call, for 'tis my limited service.
Goes the king hence today?
He does — he did appoint so.
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 confused events
New hatched to the woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamored the livelong night. Some say, the earth
Was feverous and did shake.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart
Cannot conceive nor name thee.
Macbeth and Lennox
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building.
What is 't you say, the life?
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak;
See, and then speak yourselves.
[Exit Macbeth and Lennox]
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 sprites,
To countenance this horror. Ring the bell.
[Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth]
What's the business, that such a hideous trumpet
Calls to parley the sleepers of the house?
'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak.
The repetition, in a woman's ear,
Our royal master's murdered.
Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,
[Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross]
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.
[Enter Malcolm and Donalbain]
You are, and do not know't.
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopped. The very source of it is stopped.
Your royal father 's murdered.
Those of his chamber, as it seemed, had done 't.
Their hands and faces were all badged with blood;
So were their daggers which, unwiped, we found
Upon their pillows. They stared, and were distracted.
No man's life was to be trusted with them.
O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
The expedition of my violent love
Outran the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin laced with his golden blood;
And his gashed stabs looked like a breach in nature
For ruin's wasteful entrance — there, the murderers,
Steeped in the colors of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breeched with gore. Who could refrain
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make's love known?
[Lady Macbeth faints]