Macbeth Act 3 Scene 2
The palace.
The Original
Plain Modern English
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.
Lady Macbeth
Is Banquo gone from court?
Lady Macbeth
Has Banquo left court?
Servant
Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.
Servant
Yes, madam — but he's back tonight.
Lady Macbeth
Say to the king, I would attend his leisure
For a few words.
Lady Macbeth
Tell the king I'd like a few words,
whenever he's free.
Servant
Madam, I will.
Servant
I will, madam.
Exit Servant.
Lady Macbeth
Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Lady Macbeth
We have nothing. We've spent everything.
That's what it means to get what you want and feel no peace in it.
It's safer to be the person you destroyed
than to live on top of the wreckage, in joy you can't trust.
Enter Macbeth.
Lady Macbeth
How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making,
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
With them they think on? Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what's done is done.
Lady Macbeth
What's this, my lord? Why do you keep to yourself,
making friends of your most miserable thoughts —
thoughts that should have died
with the men they dwell on? What has no remedy
deserves no attention. What's done is done.
Macbeth
We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it:
She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the
worlds suffer,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams
That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.
Macbeth
We've slashed the snake, not killed it.
The wound will close, and she'll be whole again — while our feeble strike
leaves us exposed to the same old fangs.
Let the whole structure of the universe come apart —
let both worlds, this one and the next, suffer —
before we go on eating meals in fear and sleeping
through the torture of these terrible dreams
that shake us every night. Better to lie with the dead —
the ones we sent to their peace to buy our own —
than to lie stretched on the mind's torture rack
in restless frenzy. Duncan is in his grave.
After life's feverish tossing, he sleeps soundly.
Treason has already done its worst to him. No blade, no poison,
no plot at home, no army from abroad — nothing
can ever touch him again. (He is openly jealous of his own victim.)
Lady Macbeth
Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.
Lady Macbeth
Enough —
come, my gentle lord. Smooth out that haunted face.
Be bright and cheerful with your guests tonight.
Macbeth
So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you:
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we
Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.
Macbeth
I will, love — and please, you do the same.
Pay special attention to Banquo:
single him out with your eyes and your compliments.
How unsafe we are, that we have to
bathe our honor in these streams of flattery
and wear our faces as masks over our hearts,
hiding what they really hold.
Lady Macbeth
You must leave this.
Lady Macbeth
You have to stop this.
Macbeth
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Macbeth
Oh, my mind is full of scorpions, dear wife!
You know Banquo and his Fleance are still alive.
Lady Macbeth
But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
Lady Macbeth
But nature didn't give them eternal leases on life.
Macbeth
There's comfort yet; they are assailable;
Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.
Macbeth
There's the comfort: they can still be reached.
So be cheerful. Before the bat finishes
its flitting rounds of the cloisters, before the dung-beetle,
answering dark Hecate's summons, drones out
its drowsy hum that rings in the sleepy night — there will be done
a deed the world will remember with dread.
Lady Macbeth
What's to be done?
Lady Macbeth
What deed?
Macbeth
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
So, prithee, go with me.
Macbeth
Stay innocent of the details, my dearest chick,
until you can applaud the result. ('Chuck' — his pet name for her, even now.) — Come, night, and sew the day's eyes shut
like a falconer blindfolding a hawk. Wrap up the tender eye of soft-hearted day,
and with your bloody, invisible hand
cancel and shred the contract of life
that keeps me pale with fear! The light is curdling. The crow
flies home to the crowded rookery.
Day's good creatures droop and start to doze,
while night's black agents wake and go hunting.
You're staring at me. Hold steady:
what began with evil needs more evil to make it strong.
So please — come with me.
Exeunt.