Macbeth Act 2 Scene 2

The wine that made them drunk has made me bold.

What put their fire out lit mine.

Wait — quiet!

It was only the owl that shrieked — the fatal night-bellman

wishing the grimmest of good-nights. He's doing it right now.

The doors are open, and the stuffed guards

are snoring instead of guarding. I drugged their nightcaps

so heavily that death and nature are arguing over them,

debating whether they're alive or dead.

(from offstage) Who's there? Hey!

No — I'm afraid they've woken up

and it isn't done. It's a failed attempt that would destroy us,

not the deed itself. Listen! ... I laid their daggers out ready —

he couldn't have missed them. If Duncan hadn't looked

like my father while he slept, I'd have done it myself.

My husband!

It's done. Did you hear a noise?

I heard the owl scream and the crickets chirp.

Didn't you say something?

When?

Just now.

As I came downstairs?

Yes.

Listen!

Who's sleeping in the second room?

Donalbain.

This is a sorry sight.

That's a foolish thing to say.

One of them laughed in his sleep, and one yelled

'Murder!' —

and they woke each other up. I stood there listening.

But they just said their prayers and settled back down

to sleep.

There are two of them sharing that room.

One cried 'God bless us!' and the other 'Amen' —

as if they'd seen me standing there with these executioner's hands.

Listening to their fear, I couldn't say 'Amen'

when they said 'God bless us.'

Don't dig into it so deeply.

But why couldn't I say 'Amen'?

I needed a blessing more than anyone alive, and 'Amen'

stuck in my throat.

We can't think about what we've done

this way. It will drive us insane.

I thought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!

Macbeth is murdering sleep!' — innocent sleep,

the sleep that knits up the frayed threads of worry,

the death of each day's life, a warm bath after hard labor,

medicine for hurt minds, the main course of nature's feast,

the thing that feeds us most in this life—

What are you talking about?

It kept crying 'Sleep no more!' through the whole house:

'Glamis has murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor

shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more.'

And who exactly was crying this? Come on, worthy thane —

you're unstringing all your noble strength, thinking about things

in this feverish way. Go get some water

and wash this filthy evidence off your hands.

Why did you carry the daggers out with you?

They have to stay there. Take them back — and smear

the sleeping guards with blood.

I'm not going back in there.

I'm afraid to even think about what I've done.

Look at it again? I don't dare.

Weakling!

Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead

are just pictures — only a child is afraid

of a painted devil. If he's still bleeding,

I'll paint the guards' faces with it,

because it has to look like their guilt.

Where is that knocking coming from?

What's happening to me, that every noise terrifies me?

Whose hands are these? Ha — they're plucking out my eyes!

Could all of great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

clean off my hand? No — this hand would sooner

dye the endless seas crimson,

turning all that green water red.

My hands are the same color as yours now — but I'd be ashamed

to have a heart as white as yours.

I hear knocking

at the south entrance. Let's get to our bedroom.

A little water clears us of this deed —

see how easy it is! Your courage

has abandoned its post.

Listen! More knocking.

Put your nightgown on, in case someone comes

and finds us suspiciously wide awake. And stop getting lost

in these pathetic thoughts.

If I have to face what I've done, better to lose myself completely.

Wake Duncan with your knocking! I wish you could.