MACBETH - Soliloquy: Act 2, Scene 1 - pg. 79

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a false creation,

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,

And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,

Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still,

And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,

Which was not so before. There's no such thing:

It is the bloody business which informs

Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates

Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murder,

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,

And take the present horror from the time,

Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
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This knife pointed in my direction? Come, let me hold you.

I don’t touch you, and yet I can still see you!

The act of murder is as un-caring

As the feelings that you are seeing? Or are you just

A threaten to the mind, a betraying being,

Acting from the thoughts put down by the excitment?

I still see your ghost, as clear to my touch

As the one I now draw.

You lead me to the place that I was going,

And you showed me the weapons I was going to use.

None of my other senses can see you except my eyes,

I still see you,

And the large amount of blood dripping off your blade,

Which did not exist before.

It is the murder I have committed that is making

Me see you? Now, because I took your life

Sleep makes people seem like they have died, and nightmares threaten

Everyone's sleep. Now the witches celebrate

By worshiping the leader of dark magic. And the murder,

Warned by his guards, the wolf,

Who howls as he watches, and in this secret way,

With great strides, moved silently like a ghost

Towards his prey. Quietly moving along the ground,

You can't hear my foot steps, which ever way I walk,

You finally discover where I am,

And take in what's happening at the time,

Which now fits it. While I do the murdering, he survives;

Words bring him back to life from the excitement of the murder.