Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman. DOCTOR. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked? GENTLEWOMAN.
Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.
DOCTOR. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? GENTLEWOMAN. That, sir, which I will not report after her.
DOCTOR. You may to me; and ’tis most meet you should. GENTLEWOMAN. Neither to you nor anyone; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.
DOCTOR. How came she by that light? GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis her command. DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open. GENTLEWOMAN. Ay, but their sense are shut. DOCTOR. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands. GENTLEWOMAN.
It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. LADY MACBETH. Yet here’s a spot. DOCTOR. Hark, she speaks.
I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. LADY MACBETH. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky! Fie,