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  • Lady Macbeth Monologue

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    TONY STARK
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    Lady Macbeth reads a letter from her husband detailing his meeting with the witches who prophesied he would become king. She is ambitious for her husband to seize the throne and worries his kind nature will prevent him from taking the necessary violent actions. She calls on dark spirits to fill her with cruelty so she can help her husband achieve what was prophesied without remorse or mercy.

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    A Dramatic Monologue

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    Lady Macbeth

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    Lady Macbeth reads a letter from her husband detailing his meeting with the witches who prophesied he would become king. She is ambitious for her husband to seize the throne and worries his kind nature will prevent him from taking the necessary violent actions. She calls on dark spirits to fill her with cruelty so she can help her husband achieve what was prophesied without remorse or mercy.

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    46 views2 pages

    Lady Macbeth Monologue

    Uploaded by

    TONY STARK
    Lady Macbeth reads a letter from her husband detailing his meeting with the witches who prophesied he would become king. She is ambitious for her husband to seize the throne and worries his kind nature will prevent him from taking the necessary violent actions. She calls on dark spirits to fill her with cruelty so she can help her husband achieve what was prophesied without remorse or mercy.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
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    LADY MACBETH MONOLOGUE

    [Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter]


    'They met me in the day of success: and I have
    learned by the perfectest report, they have more in
    them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire
    to question them further, they made themselves air,
    into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in
    the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who
    all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,
    before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred
    me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that
    shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver
    thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou
    mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being
    ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it
    to thy heart, and farewell.'
    Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
    What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature;
    It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
    To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;
    Art not without ambition, but without
    The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,
    That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
    And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis,
    That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;
    And that which rather thou dost fear to do
    Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither,
    That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
    And chastise with the valour of my tongue
    All that impedes thee from the golden round,
    Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
    To have thee crown'd withal.

    That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan


    Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
    That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
    And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
    Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
    Stop up the access and passage to 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 murdering 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 heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
    To cry 'Hold, hold!'

    Lady Macbeth.
    Was the hope drunk
    Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?
    And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
    At what it did so freely? From this time
    Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
    To be the same in thine own act and valour
    As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
    Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,
    And live a coward in thine own esteem,
    Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'
    Like the poor cat i' the adage?

    Lady Macbeth. What beast was't, then,


    That made you break this enterprise to me?
    When you durst do it, then you were a man;
    And, to be more than what you were, you would
    Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
    Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
    They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
    Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
    How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
    I would, while it was smiling in my face,
    Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
    And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
    Have done to this.

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