Go and tell your mistress that when my drink is ready she should ring the bell. Now go to bed. Is that a dagger with its handle facing me? Can I hold you? I can't seem to grab you but you are still there! Am I not able to feel you as I see you? Or are you just a dagger from my imagination? A hallucination conjured by a fever? I can see you, as if you are as real as my own dagger. You show me what I am about to do and what I will use to do it with. Either my eyes are wrong, or my other senses are wrong, because I still see you. And your blade is now soaked in blood, which it wasn't before. You can't be real, and the blood shows this. Now in this half of the world, everything seems dead, people are having nightmares. Witchcraft gives offerings to Hecate, and murder. The wolf (the sentinel) howls his watch and he moves like Tarquin with ravishing strides towards his goal. He moves like a ghost. Don’t hear my steps and where I walk. I fear the stones talk of my whereabouts. And show the horror of what is happening. While I talk, he still lives; words so warm about a deed so cold. I must go; Lady Macbeth has done her bit. Don’t hear the bell, Duncan, for it heralds your death.
Now go to bed. Is that a dagger with its handle facing me? Can I hold you? I can't seem to grab you but you are still there! Am I not able to feel you as I see you? Or are you just a dagger from my imagination? A hallucination conjured by a fever? I can see you, as if you are as real as my own dagger. You show me what I am about to do and what I will use to do it with. Either my eyes are wrong, or my other senses are wrong, because I still see you. And your blade is now soaked in blood, which it wasn't before. You can't be real, and the blood shows this.
Now in this half of the world, everything seems dead, people are having nightmares. Witchcraft gives offerings to Hecate, and murder.
The wolf (the sentinel) howls his watch and he moves like Tarquin with ravishing strides towards his goal. He moves like a ghost.
Don’t hear my steps and where I walk. I fear the stones talk of my whereabouts.
And show the horror of what is happening. While I talk, he still lives; words so warm about a deed so cold.
I must go; Lady Macbeth has done her bit. Don’t hear the bell, Duncan, for it heralds your death.