Act 5 Scene 1

A room in Dunsinane Castle

Lady Macbeth wakes after her long night of sleepwalking and nightmares. She is no longer sane, however
she is able to reflect on what she has done as her mind steadily creeps into a state of turmoil, leading to the
decision of ending her life.

LADY MACBETH: My wake is haunted with screams of the dead.

They hath paralysed mine very sleep.
Macbeth’s letter filled mine thoughts with cruelty,
We hath wrongly sped our path to power.
Mistaken I was; for fate takes its own course.
Had I let fate take its own course,
perhaps the foul smell of Duncan’s blood
would disappear from mine corrupt hands.
The tragedy of the just, generous,
and virtuous Duncan, worthy Banquo,
the Thane of Fife’s wife, His young ones;
all in a better place, which I envy.
They lurk dreadfully around mine conscience.
Oh what I would gift to undo these deeds!
Where hath mine sleep perished to? Perhaps mine
too has departed with King Duncan’s soul
A revelation of a plot to assassinate the king,
Hinders my sleep with absolute panic.
Yet my puzzled thoughts are made occupied,
With raging jealousy of the old man.
“When you durst do it, then you were a man.”
I sung into my lords contemplation,
That only ruthless ambition had run.
And now, trickles of blood blanket mine eyes.
They torment me, torture me, and taunt me.
Give me the daggers, A little water,
can clear us of this deed. Who’s there? [pause]
Who durst knock, creeping devilishly.
I am locked with mine feverish demons,
Who’s claws have grown longer. They reach for me.
Get back! Get back, I demand! Leave at once!
Mine sinful hands are blotched with bloodiness.
’Twas not the owl that screeched but the king
Bathing in the holy river would be
Incapable of washing the remnants
Of this filthy witness that glares me.
Be gone! However many times I wash,
My hands remain the same colour as hell.
Why doth he adhere to tormenting me?
Art thou reminding me of mine foul deeds?
Yet, he must grasp that twas’ no fault of mine,
But that of those malevolent witches,
Whose prophecies foretold our succession.
Then why do their ghastly faces appear,
Before me at this lingering moment.
Evil ambition has led me to this,
Duncan’s devastation keeps me from rest.
Before my reality is revealed,
‘Twould only be fair for me to join him.

 Although, my soul would reside with Satan,

Unlike Duncan’s, whose would have slowly knocked
On the magnificent gates of heaven,
And been given a pleasant welcome.
The same dagger, painted with their blood,
It’s thin, sharp crescent, like the moon on the
night of the deed, invites me. Come hither.
Why doth thy run? My dearest Macbeth,
forgive me my lord, I can no longer live,
for truth haunts me. No amount of washing
can clear mine hands, nor mind.