Macbeth (Including The Biography of the Infamous Author). William Shakespeare
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are you?—But this place is too cold for hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.
[Opens the gate.]
[Enter Macduff and Lennox.]
MACDUFF.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so late?
PORTER. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.
MACDUFF.
What three things does drink especially provoke?
PORTER. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to: in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him.
MACDUFF.
I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
PORTER. That it did, sir, 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 sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him.
MACDUFF.
Is thy master stirring?—
Our knocking has awak’d him; here he comes.
[Enter Macbeth.]
LENNOX.
Good morrow, noble sir!
MACBETH.
Good morrow, both!
MACDUFF.
Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
MACBETH.
Not yet.
MACDUFF.
He did command me to call timely on him:
I have almost slipp’d the hour.
MACBETH.
I’ll bring you to him.
MACDUFF.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet ‘tis one.
MACBETH.
The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.
MACDUFF.
I’ll make so bold to call.
For ‘tis my limited service.
[Exit Macduff.]
LENNOX.
Goes the king hence to-day?
MACBETH.
He does: he did appoint so.
LENNOX.
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.
MACBETH.
‘Twas a rough night.
LENNOX.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
[Re-enter Macduff.]
MACDUFF.
O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart
Cannot conceive nor name thee!
MACBETH, LENNOX.
What’s the matter?
MACDUFF.
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.
MACBETH.
What is’t you say? the life?
LENNOX.
Mean you his majesty?
MACDUFF.
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon:—do not bid me speak;
See, and then speak yourselves.
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox.]
Awake, awake!—
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!
[Alarum-bell rings.]
[Re-enter Lady Macbeth.]
LADY MACBETH.
What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!
MACDUFF.
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.
[Re-enter Banquo.]
O Banquo, Banquo!
Our royal master’s murder’d!
LADY MACBETH.
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?
BANQUO.
Too cruel any where.—
Dear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself,
And say it is not so.
[Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross.]
MACBETH.
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.]
DONALBAIN.
What is amiss?
MACBETH.
You are, and do not know’t:
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.
MACDUFF.
Your royal father’s murder’d.
MALCOLM.
O, by whom?
LENNOX.
Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done’t: