Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 7

If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly. If th’ assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all—here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgement here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being taught, return To plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice Commends th’ ingredience of our poison’d chalice To our own lips. He’s here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on th’ other—

If it were finished once it is done, then it would be good to do it quickly. If the murder could net up all its consequences, and catch success with the king's death; if this one blow could be the whole of it and the end of it — here, only here, on this narrow sandbank in the river of time — we'd risk the life to come. But in cases like this we always face judgement here: we only give bloody lessons which, once learned, come back to torment the teacher. This fair-dealing justice holds the ingredients of our own poisoned cup to our own lips. He is here under a double trust: first, I am his relative and his subject, both strong reasons against the deed; then, as his host, I should be shutting the door against his murderer, not carrying the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan has used his powers so gently, has been so free of corruption in his high office, that his virtues will plead like angels with trumpet voices against the deep damnation of his murder; and pity, like a helpless newborn baby riding the storm wind, or heaven's cherubs, mounted on the invisible messengers of the air, will blow the horrible deed into every eye, so that tears will drown the wind. I have no spur to prick the sides of my purpose, only leaping ambition, which jumps too far and falls on the other side —

How now! what news?

Well? What news?

He has almost supp’d. Why have you left the chamber?

He has nearly finished supper. Why did you leave the room?

Hath he ask’d for me?

Has he asked for me?

Know you not he has?

Don't you know that he has?

We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour’d me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon.

We will go no further with this business. He has honoured me recently, and I have won golden opinions from all kinds of people, which ought to be worn now while they are still bright and new, not thrown away so soon.

Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would,” Like the poor cat i’ th’ adage?

Was the hope drunk that you dressed yourself in? Has it been asleep since? And does it wake now, looking so sick and pale at what it did so eagerly? From now on I'll think of your love the same way. Are you afraid to be the same man in action and courage as you are in desire? Would you have the thing you consider the crown of life, and live a coward in your own eyes, letting "I don't dare" follow after "I want to," like the poor cat in the old saying?

Pr’ythee, peace! I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.

Please, be quiet! I dare do anything that is fitting for a man; anyone who dares do more is not a man at all.

What beast was’t, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

What animal was it, then, that made you tell me about this plan? When you dared to do it, then you were a man; and to be more than you were, you would be that much more the man. Neither the time nor the place suited then, and yet you were ready to make them both. They have made themselves, and now their very suitability unmakes you. I have nursed a baby, and I know how sweet it is to love the child that feeds at my breast: I would, while it was smiling up at my face, have pulled my nipple from its toothless gums and smashed its brains out, if I had sworn to do that as you have sworn to do this.

If we should fail?

And if we should fail?

We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep (Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon Th’ unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?

We fail? Just screw your courage tight, like a peg wound to its notch, and we won't fail. When Duncan is asleep — and his hard day's journey will send him soundly off — I'll overcome his two attendants with so much wine and drinking that memory, the guard of the brain, will be nothing but smoke, and the vessel of reason only a distilling flask. When their soaked bodies lie in a pig-like sleep, as good as dead, what can't you and I do to the unguarded Duncan? What can't we lay on his drink-soaked attendants, who will carry the guilt of our great killing?

Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv’d, When we have mark’d with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us’d their very daggers, That they have done’t?

Give birth to sons only, because your fearless spirit should produce nothing but males. Won't it be taken, once we have smeared those two sleepers in his own room with blood, and used their own daggers, that they did it?

Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death?

Who would dare take it any other way, when we roar out our grief and outcry over his death?

I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

I'm decided, and I strain every part of my body to this terrible act. Come, and fool the company with the fairest appearance: a false face must hide what the false heart knows.