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Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key.
There’s definitely knocking! If a man were the gatekeeper of hell, he’d be used to turning the key all the time.
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, i’ the name of Beelzebub? Here’s a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you’ll sweat for’t.
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, in the name of Beelzebub? Here’s a farmer who hanged himself because he thought there’d be plenty of food: come in quickly; make sure you have napkins with you; you’ll sweat for it here.
Knock, knock! Who’s there, in the other devil’s name? Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator.
Knock, knock! Who’s there, in the name of the other devil? Actually, here’s a liar, who could swear on both sides of the argument; he committed enough treason for God’s sake, but couldn’t lie his way into heaven: Oh, come in, liar.
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Faith, here’s an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose.
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Actually, here’s an English tailor who came here, for stealing a French hose: come in, tailor; here you can roast your goose.
Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.
Knock, knock; never at rest! Who are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I won’t be the devil’s doorman any longer: I thought I’d let in some people from all walks of life who follow the easy path to the eternal flames.
Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.
Soon, soon! Please, remember the doorman.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late?
Was it really so late, my friend, before you went to bed, that you’re still lying here so late?
’Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.
Faith, sir, we were drinking until the second crowing of the rooster: and drink, sir, is a big cause of three things.
What three things does drink especially provoke?
What three things does drinking especially cause?
Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.
Well, sir, it causes a red face, sleep, and urine. It also causes lust, sir, both to increase and decrease; it stirs up desire, but it ruins performance: so, drinking a lot can be compared to lust: it builds him up, and it breaks him down; it gets him going, and it takes him out; it convinces him, and discourages him; it makes him stand firm, and makes him waver; in the end, it confuses him and, after lying to him, leaves him stranded.
I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
I believe drink deceived you last night.
That it did, sir, i’ the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him.
It did, sir, right in my throat: but I got back at him for his lies; and, I think, being too strong for him, even though he tripped me up sometimes, I still managed to throw him down.
Is thy master stirring?
Is your master up yet?
Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes.
Our knocking has woken him up; here he comes.
Good morrow, noble sir.
Good morning, noble sir.
Good morrow, both.
Good morning, both.
Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
Is the king up and about, noble thane?
Not yet.
Not yet.
He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp’d the hour.
He asked me to wake him early: I’ve almost missed the time.
I’ll bring you to him.
I’ll take you to him.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet ’tis one.
I know this is a happy trouble for you; But still, it’s a trouble.
The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door.
The work we enjoy cures the pain. This is the door.
I’ll make so bold to call, For ’tis my limited service.
I’ll be bold and call, Since it’s my duty.
Goes the king hence to-day?
Is the king leaving today?
He does: he did appoint so.
He is: he made plans to do so.
The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i’ the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour’d the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake.
The night was wild: where we slept, Our chimneys were knocked down; and, as they say, We heard cries in the air; strange screams of death, And prophesies with terrible voices Of horrible disasters and confusing events About to happen in this tragic time: the dark bird Screamed all night long: some say, the earth Was feverish and shook.
’Twas a rough night.
It was a rough night.
My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it.
My memory is too young to compare Anything to it.
O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!
Oh horror, horror, horror! Words and feelings Can’t even imagine or describe it!
What’s the matter.
What’s going on?
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence The life o’ the building!
Chaos has just created its greatest work! The most disrespectful murder has opened up The Lord’s sacred temple, and taken from there The life of the building!
What is ’t you say? the life?
What are you talking about? The life?
Mean you his majesty?
Are you talking about his majesty?
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves.
Go to the room, and prepare yourself For a horrifying sight: don’t make me say it; Look, and then speak for yourselves.
Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom’s image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.
Awake, awake! Ring the alarm bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this soft sleep, which is like death, And look at death itself! Get up, get up, and see The image of the great judgment day! Malcolm! Banquo! Rise from your graves and walk like ghosts, To bear witness to this horror! Ring the bell.
What’s the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!
What’s going on, That such a horrible trumpet is calling The people of the house from their sleep? Speak, speak!
O gentle lady, ’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman’s ear, Would murder as it fell.
O gentle lady, It’s not for you to hear what I must say: Repeating it in a woman’s ear Would be so shocking it would kill her.
O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master ’s murder’d!
O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master has been murdered!
Woe, alas! What, in our house?
Oh, woe is me! What, in our house?
Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so.
It’s too cruel, anywhere. Dear Macduff, please contradict yourself, And say it’s not true.
Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There ’s nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
If I had only died an hour before this happened, I would have lived a blessed life; because, from this moment, There’s nothing serious about life: Everything is just distractions: fame and honor are dead; The wine of life has been drunk, and only the dregs Are left in this tomb to boast about.
What is amiss?
What’s wrong?
You are, and do not know’t: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.
You are, but don’t realize it: The source, the head, the fountain of your blood Has stopped; the very root of it is stopped.
Your royal father ’s murder’d.
Your royal father has been murdered.
O, by whom?
Oh, by whom?
Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done ’t: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man’s life Was to be trusted with them.
It seemed like those from his chamber did it: Their hands and faces were covered in blood; So were their daggers, which we found still covered In blood on their pillows: They looked shocked and confused; no one could trust Their lives with them.
O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them.
Oh, I regret my anger, That I killed them.
Wherefore did you so?
Why did you do that?
Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature For ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep’d in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech’d with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make ’s love kno wn?
Who can be wise, shocked, calm and furious, Loyal and neutral, all at once? No one: My violent love pushed me to act faster Than reason could stop me. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin stained with his golden blood; And his bloody wounds looked like a breach in nature Letting ruin in: there, the murderers, Covered in the blood of their crime, their daggers Unnaturally stained with gore: who could hold back, Who had a heart to love, and in that heart The courage to make that love known?
Help me hence, ho!
Help me out of here, quickly!
Look to the lady.
Look after the lady.
[Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours?
[Aside to DONALBAIN] Why are we keeping silent, When others could take credit for this and say it’s our fault?
[Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let ’s away; Our tears are not yet brew’d.
[Aside to MALCOLM] What should we say here, when our fate, Hidden in a secret place, could strike and seize us? Let’s get out of here; Our tears haven’t even begun to form yet.
[Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion.
[Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor has our deep sorrow Even begun to move us.
Look to the lady:
Look after the lady:
And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice.
And when we have hidden our weaknesses, That suffer from being exposed, let’s meet, And discuss this bloody act, To understand it better. Fears and doubts confuse us: I stand in the great hand of God; and from there I fight against the hidden evil intentions Of treacherous malice.
And so do I.
And so do I.
So all.
So do we all.
Let’s briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i’ the hall together.
Let’s quickly get ready and act like men, And meet in the hall together.
Well contented.
We are happy with that.
What will you do? Let’s not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I’ll to England.
What will you do? Let’s not join them: Pretending to feel sorrow is something A false man can do easily. I’ll go to England.
To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody.
I’ll go to Ireland; our separate fates Will keep us both safer: where we are, There are daggers hidden in men’s smiles: the closer the blood ties, The closer the danger.
This murderous shaft that’s shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there’s warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there’s no mercy left.
This deadly arrow that’s been shot Hasn’t landed yet, and the safest way for us Is to avoid the target. So, let’s mount our horses; And let’s not make a big deal about saying goodbye, But just leave quickly: there’s justification in this escape When there’s no mercy left.