Macbeth

Macd. Humh: I guesse at it Rosse. Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere To adde the death of you Malc. Mercifull Heauen: What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes: Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake, Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake Macd. My Children too? Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too? Rosse. I haue said Malc. Be comforted. Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge, To cure this deadly greefe Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones? Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All? What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme At one fell swoope? Malc. Dispute it like a man Macd. I shall do so: But I must also feele it as a man; I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on, And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff, They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am, Not for their owne demerits, but for mine Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes, And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens, Cut short all intermission: Front to Front, Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe Within my Swords length set him, if he scape Heauen forgiue him too Mal. This time goes manly: Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the Powres aboue Put on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may, The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day. Exeunt. Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman. Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee last walk'd? Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her say? Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse to confirme my speech. Enter Lady, with a Taper. Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually, 'tis her command Doct. You see her eyes are open Gent. I, but their sense are shut Doct. What is it she do's now? Looke how she rubbes her hands Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seeme thus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in this a quarter of an houre Lad. Yet heere's a spot Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie, a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much blood in him Doct. Do you marke that? Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now? What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'that my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting Doct. Go too, go too: You haue knowne what you should not Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh Doct. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charg'd Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body Doct. Well, well, well Gent. Pray God it be sir Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue Doct. Euen so? Lady. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What's done, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed. Exit Lady. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly