LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it!
Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,
Would have informed for preparation.
MESSENGER
So please you, it is true. Our thane is coming.
One of my fellows had the speed of him,
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more35
Than would make up his message.
LADY MACBETH 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,40
And fill me from the crown to the toe topfull
Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood;
Stop up th' access and passage to remorse,43
That no compunctious visitings of nature44
Shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between45
Th' effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers,47
Wherever in your sightless substances48
49 You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night, 50 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." Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor,
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter,
Thy letters have transported me beyond
56 This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant.
MACBETH My dearest love,