Macbeth

by William Shakespeare

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s In deepest consequence-

My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother’d in surmise, and nothing is But what is not.

There’s no art To find the mind’s construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.

Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! Only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay.

The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness’ part Is to receive our duties, and our duties Are to your throne and state, children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing everything Safe toward your love and honor.

That is a step On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness

Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell That my keen knife see not the wound it makes Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, “Hold, hold!”

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench’d them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace!

I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more! Macbeth does murther sleep” -the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravel’d sleave of care, The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in life’s feast-

Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.

Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night; to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper time alone. While then, God be with you!

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.