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 stren'st goodnight. He is about it. The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores. I have drugged their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.
Alack, I am afraid they have awaked. And 'tis not done! Th' attempt and not the deep Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had ha not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't.
Who's there? What, ho?
I have done the deep. Didst thou not hear a noise?
I heard the olw scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?
Hark! Who lies i'th' second chamber.
As I descended.
This is a sorry sight.
A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
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 addressed them Again to sleep.