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Macbeth:
I have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise?
Lady Macbeth:
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
Macbeth:
When?
Lady Macbeth:
Now.
Macbeth:
As I descended?
Lady Macbeth:
Ay.
Macbeth:
Hark!—Who lies i’ th’ second chamber?
Lady Macbeth:
Donalbain.
Macbeth:
This is a sorry sight.
(Looking on his hands.)
Lady Macbeth:
A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
Macbeth:
There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried, “Murder!”
That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them.
But they did say their prayers, and address’d them
Again to sleep.
Lady Macbeth:
There are two lodg’d together.
Macbeth:
One cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other,
As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands.
List’ning their fear, I could not say “Amen,”
When they did say, “God bless us.”
Lady Macbeth:
Consider it not so deeply.
Macbeth:
But wherefore could not I pronounce “Amen”?
I had most need of blessing, and “Amen”
Stuck in my throat.
Lady Macbeth:
These deeds must not be thought
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
Macbeth:
Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep;
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.
Lady Macbeth:
What do you mean?
Macbeth:
Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house:
“Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more!”
Lady Macbeth:
Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength to think
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.—
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go carry them, and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.
Macbeth:
I’ll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on’t again I dare not.
Lady Macbeth:
Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures. ’Tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.
(Exit. Knocking within.)