Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats: Yet he's good, That did the like for Fleance.

1 Off. Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scap'd.

Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock: As broad, and general, as the casing air: But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd,confin'd, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.—But Banquo's safe?

1 Off. Ay, my good lord ;• safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature.

Macb. Thanks for that: ,

There the grown serpent lies: the worm, that's fled,
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present.—Get thee gone; to-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Officer.

Lady. My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold,
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,
Tis given with welcome: to feed, we re best at

home; -
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

Macb. Sweet remembrancer!
Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!

Lett. May it please your highness sit?

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mischance!

Rosse, His absence, sir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness To grace us with your royal company?

Macb. The table's full.

Len. Here is a place reserv'd, sir.

Macb. Where?

Len. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?

Macb. Which of you have done this?

Len. What, my good lord?

Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well.

Lady. Sit, worthy friends :—my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: 'pray you, keep

seat;
The fit is momentary; upon a thought
He will again be well: If much you note him,
You shall offend him, and extend his passion;
Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man?

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appall the devil.

Lady. O, proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fear;
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said,
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts,
(Impostors to true fear,) would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Wythee, see there! behold ! look! lo!

How say you?

Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.—
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those, that we bury, back ; our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.

Lady. What! quite unmann'd in folly?

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady. Fie, for shame!

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden
time,
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end: but now, they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools! This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Lady. My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.

Macb. I do forget:

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends:

I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing

To those that know me. Come, love and health to

all; Then I'll sit down:—Give me some wine, fill full :— [seyton pours out the Wine, and presents it to the King. I drink to the general joy of the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; 'Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, And all.

Banquo's Ghost appears.

Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!

Lady. Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb. What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,

The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,

Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves

Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,

And dare me to the desert with thy sword;

If, trembling, I inhibit, then protest me

The baby of a girl.—Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!— [Exit Ghost.] Why, so;—

being gone, I am a man again.

Lady. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder. Macb. Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you c#,n behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanch'd with fear. Rosse. What sights, my lord? Lady, I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him: at once, good night:— Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.

Len. Good night, and better health Attend his majesty!

Lady. A kind good night to all!

[Exeunt all but the King and Queen,

Macb. It will have blood: they say, blood will have

blood:

Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;

Augurs, and understood relations, have

By maggot pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought

forth The secret'st man of blood.—What is the night? Lady. Almost at odds with morning, which is which ,

Macb. How, say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person, At our great bidding?

Lady. Did you send to him, sir?

Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant fee'd.—I will to-morrow, (And by times I will,) unto the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good, All causes shall give way; I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

Lady. You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Macb. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and selfabuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt.

SCENE v.

The open Country.

Thunder and Lightning.

Enter the Three Witches, meeting Hecate.

1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles, and affairs of death;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?

« AnteriorContinuar »