Nor do the pains she is at to 'screw his courage to the sticking-place',
the reproach to him, not to be 'lost so poorly in himself', the
assurance that 'a little water clears them of this deed', show anything
but her greater consistency in depravity. Her strong-nerved ambition
furnishes ribs of steel to 'the sides of his intent'; and she is herself
wound up to the execution of her baneful project with the same
unshrinking fortitude in crime, that in other circumstances she would
probably have shown patience in suffering. The deliberate sacrifice of
all other considerations to the gaining 'for their future days and
nights sole sovereign sway and masterdom', by the murder of Duncan, is
gorgeously expressed in her invocation on hearing of 'his fatal entrance
under her battlements':
--Come all you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here:
And fill me, from the crown to th' toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage of 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, you 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 heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, hold, hold!--
When she first hears that 'Duncan comes there to sleep' she is so
overcome by the news, which is beyond her utmost expectations, that
she answers the messenger, 'Thou'rt mad to say it': and on receiving
her husband's account of the predictions of the Witches, conscious
of his instability of purpose, and that her presence is necessary to
goad him on to the consummation of his promised greatness, she
exclaims:
--Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,
And chastise with me valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crowned withal.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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