SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. The Tragedy of Macbeth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Macbeth  | Act 2, Scene 1 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. 

 Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him  BANQUO  How goes the night, boy? 

 FLEANCE  The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. 

 BANQUO  And she goes down at twelve. 

 FLEANCE  I take't, 'tis later, sir. 

 BANQUO  Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; 

 Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. 

 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 

 And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, 

 Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 

 Gives way to in repose! 



 Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch  Give me my sword. 

 Who's there? 

 MACBETH  A friend. 

 BANQUO  What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: 

 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 

 Sent forth great largess to your offices. 

 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 

 By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 

 In measureless content. 

 MACBETH  Being unprepared, 

 Our will became the servant to defect; 

 Which else should free have wrought. 

 BANQUO  All's well. 

 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 

 To you they have show'd some truth. 

 MACBETH  I think not of them: 

 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 

 We would spend it in some words upon that business, 

 If you would grant the time. 

 BANQUO  At your kind'st leisure. 

 MACBETH  If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, 

 It shall make honour for you. 

 BANQUO  So I lose none 

 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 

 My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, 

 I shall be counsell'd. 

 MACBETH  Good repose the while! 

 BANQUO  Thanks, sir: the like to you! 



 Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE  MACBETH  Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 

 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 



 Exit Servant  Is this a dagger which I see before me, 

 The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. 

 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 

 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

 To feeling as to sight? or art thou but 

 A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 

 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 

 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

 As this which now I draw. 

 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; 

 And such an instrument I was to use. 

 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 

 Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, 

 And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 

 Which was not so before. There's no such thing: 

 It is the bloody business which informs 

 Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld 

 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 

 The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates 

 Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, 

 Alarum'd 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. 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. Whiles I threat, he lives: 

 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 



 A bell rings  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. 



 Exit  Shakespeare homepage  |  Macbeth  | Act 2, Scene 1 

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