do contend about them, Whether they live or die. Who's there? what, ho! Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. My husband! I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? When? Now. As I descended? Ay. Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? Donalbain. This is a sorry sight. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. There are two lodged together. One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' Consider it not so deeply. But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- What do you mean? Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their