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e bird earth
To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.
O gentle lady,
O Banquo, Banquo,
it is not so.
Enter Malcolm and DONALBAIN.
You are, and do not know't:
MacD. Your royal father's murder'd.
O, by whom?
MACB. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
Wherefore did you so ? MACB. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and
furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment?
No man: The expedition of my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make's love known? LADY M.
Help me hence, ho! Macd. Look to the lady. MAL. (Aside to Don.] Why do we hold our
tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? Don. [ Aside to Mal.) What should be spoken
here, where our fate,
Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us?
Our tears are not yet brew'd.
Mal. (Aside to Don.] Nor our strong sorrow
Look to the lady:
[Lady MACBETH is carried out.
And so do I.
Let's not consort with them : To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.
Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MAL.
This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;
Enter Ross and an Old Man.
well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore
night Hath trifled former knowings. Ross.
Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old M.
'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. Ross, And Duncan's horses a thing most
strange and certain Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
'Tis said they eat each other. Ross. They did so, to the amazement of mine
Why, see you not?
Alas, the day!
They were suborn'd:
'Gainst nature still !
Where is Duncan's body?
Will you to Scone?