I see thee yet, as palpable in make, As that which from my pocket now I take. Thou point'st the way I purpos'd to proceed, And such a thing I was to use indeed. Mine eyes are t'other senses dupes I swear, Or else worth all the rest-still art thou there; And on thy blade and handle drops of gore, A circumstance which was not so before. 'Tis all my eye, (14) it is the cut-throat job, I am about, that doth my vision fob. (15) SONG. Tune-O what pleasure will abound. All are silent-fast asleep, Earth be very stout, - Hide my whereabout, (16) While on tiptoe now I creep. (Rell rings. Hark! the signal-there's the bell; Hear't not Duncan-'tis thy knell; When I'm nigh to you, Then-good bye to you; Hear't not Duncan, 'tis thy kuell. (Exit. Enter Lady Macbeth (tipsey) What's stupified my guests hath made me stout; What's made them sleep makes me to stir about: (reeling. Now for it-hark!—he's open'd wide the doors, The fuddled grooms assist him with their snores. Enter Macbeth, bloody. Macbeth. Who's there?-what ho! Lady Macbeth. I hope he may succeed. Th' attempt is more terrific than the deed; Had I not thought him, while asleep. I watch'd him, The picture of my dad, I'd have dispatch'd him. Art there? Macbeth. I've done the deed.— 1 Lady Macbeth. Then thou'st done right. Macbeth. Alack-a-day! this is a sorry sight. (Looks on his hands. Lady Macbeth. A foolish fellow to imagine so. Macbeth. One titter'd in his sleep and one eried oh! One said God bless us!-t'other said amen, my throat. Lady Macbeth. And what of that? Macbeth. Why stuck it in the way? I had more need of blessing sure than they, Lady Macbeth. If the affair you take so much to heart, Macbeth. Methought that "sleep no more," a voice express'd, "Macbeth doth murder sleep-innocent rest, (18) The comfort of the weary-sweet repose, The hush-a-bye (19) of all our cares and woes” 10 の ; "Glamis hath banish'd sleep from every bed, And therefore he-Macbeth shall sleep no more. Lady Macbeth. And pray who was it made this hideous roar? And smear with blood, while fast asleep, each groom. Macbeth. No, hang me if I do! that place I'll shun; Lady Macbeth. Poor timid soul! give me the razor then; (Ex. 1 |