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I heard a voice cry “Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep”—the innocent sleep, sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, the death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, chief nourisher in life’s feast.
What do you mean?
Still it cried “Sleep no more!” to all the house. “Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more.”
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.
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