Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.

MACBETH. If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly. If th’ assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all—here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgement here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being taught, return To plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice Commends th’ ingredience of our poison’d chalice To our own lips. He’s here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on th’ other—

Enter Lady Macbeth.

How now! what news?

LADY MACBETH. He has almost supp’d. Why have you left the chamber?

MACBETH. Hath he ask’d for me?

LADY MACBETH. Know you not he has?

MACBETH. We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour’d me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon.

LADY MACBETH. Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would,” Like the poor cat i’ th’ adage?

MACBETH. Pr’ythee, peace! I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.

LADY MACBETH. What beast was’t, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

MACBETH. If we should fail?

LADY MACBETH. We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep (Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon Th’ unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?

MACBETH. Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv’d, When we have mark’d with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us’d their very daggers, That they have done’t?

LADY MACBETH. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death?

MACBETH. I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

[Exeunt.]