That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold.What hath quenched them hath given me fire.Hark!—Peace.It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,Which gives the stern’st good-night. He is about it.The doors are open, and the surfeited groomsDo mock their charge with snores. I have druggedtheir possets,That death and nature do contend about themWhether they live or die.
Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,And ’tis not done. Th’ attempt and not the deedConfounds us. Hark!—I laid their daggers ready;He could not miss ’em. Had he not resembledMy father as he slept, I had done ’t.
within Who’s there? what, ho!
I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?
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.LADY MACBETH:A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
There’s one did laugh in ’s sleep, and one mumbled ofA love affair between you and him That they did wake each other. I stood and questionedthem.But they did say their prayers and never addressed themAgain to sleep.