Читать книгу The Tragedy of Macbeth - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 6

  LADY MACBETH. "They met me in the day of success, and I have

    learned by the perfectest report they have more in them than

    mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them

    further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.

    Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from

the

    King, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor'; by which title,

    before, these weird sisters saluted me and referred me to the

    coming on of time with 'Hail, King that shalt be!' This have

I

    thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of

greatness,

    that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being

    ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy

heart,

    and farewell."

    Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be

    What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature.

    It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

    To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;

    Art not without ambition, but without

    The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,

    That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

    And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'ldst have, great Glamis,

    That which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it;

    And that which rather thou dost fear to do

    Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither,

    That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,

    And chastise with the valor of my tongue

    All that impedes thee from the golden round,

    Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem

    To have thee crown'd withal.

    What is your tidings?

  MESSENGER. The King comes here tonight.

  LADY MACBETH. Thou'rt mad to say it!

    Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,

    Would have inform'd 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 more

    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

    And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

    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, your murthering 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

    Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark

    To cry, "Hold, hold!"

    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 MACBETH. And when goes hence?

  MACBETH. Tomorrow, as he purposes.

  LADY MACBETH. O, never

    Shall sun that morrow see!

    Your face, my Thane, is as a book where men

    May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

    Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

    Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower,

    But be the serpent under it. He that's coming

    Must be provided for; and you shall put

    This night's great business into my dispatch,

    Which shall to all our nights and days to come

    Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

  MACBETH. We will speak further.

  LADY MACBETH. Only look up clear;

    To alter favor ever is to fear.

    Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt.