Macbeth Act 2 Scene 1
Court of Macbeth's castle. Night.
The Original
Plain Modern English
Enter Banquo, and Fleance bearing a torch before him.
Banquo
How goes the night, boy?
Banquo
How late is it, son?
Fleance
The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.
Fleance
The moon's gone down, but I haven't heard the clock strike.
Banquo
And she goes down at twelve.
Banquo
And the moon sets at midnight.
Fleance
I take't, 'tis later, sir.
Fleance
Then I'd guess it's later than that, 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!
Banquo
Here, hold my sword. Heaven's being thrifty tonight —
all its candles are out. No stars. Take this too.
Sleep is pressing down on me like lead,
and yet I don't want to sleep. Merciful powers,
hold back the cursed thoughts my mind
keeps drifting to the moment I rest!
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.
Banquo
Give me my sword.
Who's there?
Banquo
Give me my sword.
Who's there?
Macbeth
A friend.
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.
Banquo
Still up, sir? The king's in bed.
He's been in an unusually good mood,
and sent generous gifts to your whole staff.
This diamond is a present for your wife —
he calls her 'the kindest of hostesses' — and he's gone to bed
perfectly, boundlessly content.
Macbeth
Being unprepared,
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.
Macbeth
We weren't prepared for his visit,
so our hospitality fell short
of what we'd have loved to offer.
Banquo
All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
To you they have show'd some truth.
Banquo
It was all perfect.
I dreamed about the three weird sisters last night.
They've shown you some truth, at least.
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.
Macbeth
I never think about them. (He thinks about nothing else.)
Still — when we can find a free hour,
let's talk that business over,
if you can spare the time.
Banquo
At your kind'st leisure.
Banquo
Whenever suits you.
Macbeth
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you.
Macbeth
If you back me when the moment comes,
there'll be honor in it 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.
Banquo
As long as I lose no honor
in trying to gain more — as long as my conscience
stays free and my loyalty stays clean —
I'm willing to listen.
Macbeth
Good repose the while!
Macbeth
Sleep well, then!
Banquo
Thanks, sir: the like to you!
Banquo
Thanks — you too!
Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.
Macbeth
Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
Macbeth
Tell your mistress to ring the bell
when my drink is ready. Then get to bed.
Exit Servant.
Macbeth
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.
Macbeth
Is this a dagger I see in front of me,
its handle pointing toward my hand? Come here — let me grab you.
I can't touch you. But I can still see you.
Deadly vision — can't you be felt
as well as seen? Or are you just
a dagger of the mind, a hallucination
cooked up by my fevered brain?
I still see you — looking exactly as solid
as this real one I'm drawing right now.
You're pointing me down the road I was already taking —
and you're exactly the tool I was planning to use.
Either my eyes are the fools of my other senses,
or they're worth all the rest combined. I still see you —
and now there are thick drops of blood on your blade and handle
that weren't there before. There is no dagger.
It's the bloody business ahead taking shape
in front of my eyes. Right now, over half the world,
nature seems dead, and wicked dreams are haunting
people asleep behind their curtains. Witches are performing
their rites to pale Hecate. And withered Murder himself,
woken by his lookout, the wolf,
whose howl is his alarm clock, creeps with silent steps —
with Tarquin's predatory strides — toward his target,
gliding like a ghost. You solid, steady earth:
don't listen to my footsteps or where they're headed,
in case your very stones blab out my location
and break this horrible silence
that fits the moment so perfectly. While I stand here talking, he's still alive.
Talk just blows cold air on the heat a deed needs.
A bell rings.
Macbeth
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.
Macbeth
I'm going — and it's as good as done. The bell is my invitation.
Don't listen to it, Duncan. It's a funeral bell,
calling you to heaven — or to hell.
Exit.