For 'tis my limited service.

Len.

From hence to-day?

Macb.

[Exit Macduff.

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 accents terrible,

Of dire combustion, and confus'd events,

New hatch'd to the woful time.

The obscure 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. 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.

Macb.

What is't you say? the life?

Len. Mean you his majesty ?

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your

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 sprites,
To countenance this horror!
[Bell ringss

Enter Lady Macbeth.

What's the business

O, gentle lady,

Lady M.
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,-

Macd.

"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.

What, in our house?

Ban.

Woe, alas!

Too cruel, any where.

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,

And say, it is not so.

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.

Don.

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.

What is amiss?

Macb. You are, and do not know it:

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood

Is stopp'd; the very souree 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.

Mach. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,.

Wherefore did you so?

That I did kill them.

Macd.

Mach. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and fa

rious,

Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:

The expedition of my violent love

Outran the pauser reason.

Here lay Duncan, His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood;

And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature, For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart

Courage, to make his love known?

Lady M.

Macd. Look to the lady.

Mal.

Help me hence, ho!

Why do we hold our tongues,

That most may claim this argument for ours?
Don. What should be spoken here,

Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole,
May rush, and seize us? Let's away; our tears
Are not yet brew'd.

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 pretence I fight

All.

Well contented.

[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. 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 fortunes
Shall keep us both the safer: where we are,
There's daggers in men's smiles: 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV-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 strange; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Rosse.

Ah, good father,

Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubied with man's act,
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth intomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Old Man.

'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.

Old Man.

"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 Macduff: Enter Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now?

Macd.

Why, see you not?

Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than bloody

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons,

Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

Rosse.

'Gainst nature still:

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up

Thine own life's means !-Then 'tis most like,
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth?

Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone,
To be invested.

Rosse.

Where is Duncan's body?

Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill;

The sacred store-house of his predecessors,

And guardian of their bones.

Rosse.

Will you to Scone ?

Well, I will thither.

Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

Rosse.

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there ;

adieu !

fest our old robes sit easier than our new!

Roste. Father, farewell