Page 2088 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

LADY

Give him tending:
He brings great news.
Exit Messenger.

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full [40]

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever, in your sightless substances,
You wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night,

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, [50]
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark

To cry, ‘Hold, hold!’

Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor!
Greater than both by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond

This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.

MACBETH
My dearest love,
Duncan comes here tonight.

LADY
And when goes hence?

MACBETH
Tomorrow, as he purposes.