I see you still, and you look as real as the dagger I'm drawing now. You beckon me to go where I was going already, where I was to use an instrument just like you. Either my eyes are now the fools of my other senses, or else they're greater than all the rest.
“I see thee still / And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood / Which was not so before” (2.1.45-47).
“There’s no such thing / It is the bloody business which informs / Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world / Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse / The curtained sleep. Witchcraft celebrates / Pale Hecate’s offerings, and withered murder, / Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, / Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace / With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design / Moves like a ghost” (2.1.47-56).
“Thou sure and firm-set earth / Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear / Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, / And take the present horror from the time / Which now suits with it” (2.1.56-60).
“Whiles I threat, he lives / Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives” (2.1.60-61).
KLAN
KLAN
KLAN
“I go, and it is done. The bell invites me / Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell / that summons thee to heaven or to hell” (2.1.62-64).
Fateful apparition, isn't it possible to touch you as well as see you? Or are you nothing more than a dagger of the mind, a hallucination from my fevered brain?